The Mind of ~Ifer

I know I said I was going to show you more pictures today from our trip, but I am going to postpone that until tomorrow, because I have something else on my mind and heart today.

Last night, I lay in bed, staying up late to finish a book. That in itself is not an unusual occurrence, but the way I was affected by this book was. I ask your indulgence on this post… I want to talk a bit about my religious heritage, and this is not an easy topic for me to talk about to most people. I was reading Churched-One kid’s journey toward God despite a Holy mess by Matthew Paul Turner, and it was like reading a story of my childhood. This is the author’s memoir of his childhood, growing up in a fundamental Christian household. Many of his stories are memories of some of the more outrageous, and legalistic, rules that they lived by, beliefs that they held, things that they thought and did. This book is his way of coming to terms with a disillusionment of his childhood beliefs, and a chance to move on to finding a deeper faith of his own in his adult years.

I could see myself on every page of this book. My family, until my early teen years, also attended a fundamental Baptist church. The rules were strict, the portrayal of God as a heavy taskmaster. I don’t, and I won’t, go into some of the beliefs and practices that we had, because to people who are not part of that culture, of that faith, they sound silly, and maybe a bit extreme. Think church… but the ULTRA version… I wouldn’t even recommend this book to most of my friends, because unless you come from that background, you really just won’t understand.

I reached a time in my life, much like the author, where I became disillusioned with the belief system. I began to see the flaws, and as the church was a “believe it all or don’t believe it at all” church, doubts and questions were a dangerous thing, at least in my mind. But the doubts continued, they grew, and eventually, I felt I had no other option than to walk away. I would never be good enough, I would never measure up, and I was soul-weary of trying.

But… and this is the important part… I still believed in God. I walked away from that church and that belief system with the knowledge that although I could no longer hold to those beliefs, the God I believed in, He was still very real to me. This is where I appreciated the author’s words in that book last night. He understood that feeling, that emptiness when you leave behind all you held dear as a child, that seeking for a foundation to rest your faith on. That need to belong to a community of believers, that need to share your faith with someone, someone who would understand, someone who could relate. I also appreciate his ability to acknowledge the foibles of his faith without being mocking and judgmental. He points out some of the things that perhaps seem silly to us now, but at the same time, honors the people who are in that church, even stating once that he envies them their faith.

And here’s the thing… I have found that place I was looking for. It is no longer about me still searching for a place to belong… it is now about the baggage that I carry from my past. The bitterness I carried towards the people that taught me those beliefs, the pain I still had towards the ghosts of that past. And in the pages of this book, I found something so priceless I don’t know that I can even put it into words.

I found freedom. A freedom to look back on where I came from. A freedom to acknowledge the bad as well as the good. A freedom to laughingly shake my head in slightly embarrassed acknowledgment of the way I once lived. A freedom to allow myself to see it in shades of gray instead of the stark black and white, to allow myself to think of it not as “wrong”, but as “wrong for me”. A freedom to finally allow myself to see that while the people might have been flawed, they still gave me a gift. They gave me a heritage. They gave me a foundation of faith, that I could then go on to build upon. I learned the strength to hold fast to my beliefs, even when I didn’t think anyone else shared them. I learned to be confident in what I believe. I learned to seek out a church, a faith, that would feed me, that would nurture me, that would not judge me.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the day in the world of Christendom when people vow to give up something for the days of Lent. A day when we make a commitment to put down something that is a part of our life, and to use that extra time to think about God. Mike and I have decided to give up sweets and desserts, certainly a tough call. On a more personal, spiritual level, I am making a commitment to myself. I will give up the bitterness. I will embrace the places that I have come from because they formed the person I am now. I will look back, and allow those people to have their flaws, without making them monsters. I will understand that although it was a place that I walked away from, it was not somewhere I left empty-handed.

They gave me a foundation.
They gave me a faith.
They gave me a heritage.

And I thank God for that.

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