Throughout most of my college career and for a few years after, I wandered the desert. Searching. Searching for something to fill the emptiness in my heart.
Sure, it sounds a bit cliche, but as I mentioned in my previous post, “Is God for Me?”, my soul had just taken a hard hit after losing my mom. In my sadness, anger, and frustration with life, I turned away from the one who had orchestrated these events.
As I muddled through my undergraduate program, I enrolled in a philosophy class in order to satisfy my course requirements. While I still believed there was a higher power in this world, perhaps this “God” that I knew of was not the true god that existed. So many of the world’s religions made so much sense and were so similar. Did they all originate from one source? Did different cultures just shift their beliefs a bit over the many years? While my mind wanted to learn as much as possible about every possibility, my heart pulled me into knowing that it all started with one.
But who exactly was this “God”?
The internet of the ‘90s held not nearly as much information as we could find today, and as I attempted to seek more information on different religions, different sects of Christianity, and different views on “God,” I found myself with more questions than answers. Internet searches just led to different actual church buildings, not on the differences between religious beliefs. Books on the topic were not engaging and were as lifeless as they were in high school. Anglican. Protestant. Greek-Orthodox. Catholic. Baptist. Why were there so many different churches when they all believe in the same God?
I felt a bit like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, hiding from God in my search. It was if I felt wrong to question the necessity of religion. I knew if I wanted to learn more, I could just ask someone in the different churches. The introvert in me refused to make my search public, and kept me safe behind computer screen and lurking in library aisles between classes. The skeptic convinced my brave side that any church, synagogue, temple, or what-not I walked into would just try to pull me in, brainwash me, and convert me. (In hindsight, I probably had been watching a bunch of cult documentaries as well.)
I avoided the “churchy” girls in the dining rooms. They looked so peppy, so happy, so…fake. They walked around as if life was perfect. But I knew there was no such thing. Life was hard. Life was merciless. Life was more than just a bubbly sorority group. And either these girls never experienced real life, or they were just really good at hiding it.
No. I don’t want to go to bible study. Thank you.
You found Jesus? That’s great. (I didn’t really know he was lost.)
Sorry, it’s just not for me right now. I already know about God. I’ve already been baptized.
I knew if I went with them, I wouldn’t be able to live the life I wanted to. I would have to conform to rules. Rules I just didn’t believe in. I would be trapped. And I didn’t want to be trapped anymore. I didn’t want anyone telling me how I had to live my life. And worst yet, I would have to share about my messed up life. I didn’t want any of that. I just wanted to be free.
But I didn’t want to be empty anymore. I didn’t want to be alone anymore.
Something had to give.
Next Up on the Blog: Crossing the Threshold
A change led me to find a new perspective on life, as it all became less about just me.
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