As A Matter of Faith: An Introduction

Be forewarned: this is a lengthy, confusing, and somewhat convoluted post. If you don't have time to read the whole thing, please come back when you do. :-)

I have avoided blogging too much about my faith for fear of turning off readers. This hit me the other day as utterly ridiculous and at the same time very revealing. It speaks volumes about me and my level of faith, doesn't it?

I decided a few weeks ago that I wanted to start blogging more about faith; so much so that I am going to dedicate one day per week to it. My first dilemma was what to call it. Should I go with "Faithful Fridays" even though I think my faith is far from what anyone would call "full?" "Faithless Fridays" seems even less accurate. I thought I had settled on "Faith-Based" -- but that still didn't seem quite right. You see, I struggle so much with my faith, the questions I have, and the reality I see vs. how I see God working in my life that I don't even know what to call it! I finally chose "As A Matter of Faith" to reflect my lack of factual knowledge in this area.

Some of you (those careful, read-between-the-lines sort of readers) may have noticed some inconsistencies when I do mention God or my faith. That is not just because of our IF struggle, although that does play a major role in it. The reason my posts seem conflicted is because I am conflicted. Perhaps a brief history will help explain what I mean.

I grew up in a non-religious home, with parents who were raised in very religious homes. My father grew up Mormon, but left the church when he was in his teens, after some sort of major disagreement that was never fully explained to me. He has remained very anti-religion since then -- in fact, the only time I have ever seen my father in a church was when my sister got married. He doesn't like to talk about God, or faith, or anything spiritual, really. I do not even know if he is an athiest, or just agnostic.

My mother, on the other hand, is a PK (that's Preacher's Kid for ye who don't know). She grew up Methodist, and when we went to church, that's where she took me. When she married my father, though, she decided spending time with him on the weekends was more important than going to church; we went only sporadically over the years. She was very careful not to force any particular religion on me or my sister; she wanted us to be able to "choose" when we got old enough. She does remain a Christian, though she is still not a regular church attendee. I do know that she prays, and that she believes in the Bible. While I have embraced her idea that church attendance is not mandatory for a person to establish a relationship with God, I do feel as though I lack something for not having had a religious upbringing.

My own experience with religion is very back-and-forth, up-and-down. I tend to be an "all or nothing" type of person. I first became very interested in God when I was 14, and living in Salt Lake City. If you have ever lived in or around the state of Utah, you can imagine what it was like being the only non-Mormon girl in my 9th grade class! My friends were very religious, and we talked about it a lot. This terrified my mom, who thought I'd end up converting and that she'd never see me again. She refused to let me attend services with my friends, though I did study the Mormon faith quite extensively, and found some precepts that made sense to me, both then and now. (Of course, there are others that I don't agree with as well).

When I was 15 we moved to Arkansas, another Bible-belt town, although in a very different way. There, I was very left out, not being a member of any of the Baptist mega-churches that my friends were involved with. Strangely, I was never invited to any youth-group gatherings and I began to see church as more of a social outlet than a religious one.

I started going to church again when I entered college. I joined a Methodist church, started going to Sunday school, and attended Bible Study. I was drawn to the Methodist message of acceptance and tolerance, though I preferred the more traditional service. (I always got up early to go to the 8 a.m. worship with all the old ladies!). Two years later I moved to Florida and, not having a church home, stopped going. I met Mo, got married, and started trying to have babies. That's when IF reared it's ugly head.

Mo and I talked before we married about religion and faith being important to both of us. (He also has a complicated religious background, but one I won't go into here). We knew that church was something we wanted in our lives, but we figured it would play more into our FUTURE lives (when we had kids). When we discovered we were infertile, I was too angry to even talk to God. I spent several years just pissed as hell. I wanted nothing to do with Him, if He wouldn't do what I wanted Him to for me.

In the midst of all the crap that was our life at that point, Mo turned to me and said, "I want to call my preacher." He was referring to his teenage pastor, the one who baptized him and whose family he was close to growing up. I didn't object, and soon I found myself attending weekly services at a non-denominational (though very Pentacostal-ish)church across town. The pastor and his family (which included his kids, two couples our age) embraced us immediately and I felt very at home, despite the fact that they worshipped very differently than how I was raised (much more contemporary, with lots of time dedicated to praise and worship). I actually found that I got more from the services here than I did from the more traditional ones in which I was raised. We went consistently for several months and I saw the effect it had on our marriage. Alas, it was too good to last. Mo got busy with football and stopped going. I got tired of making excuses for him. As things got hard for us again, I found reasons not to go, also. For three years we did the merry-go-round: things are good, things are bad, things are so-so. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Finally, the climax came last summer. My father-in-law, whom my husband worshipped, passed away after a four-year battle with lymphoma. It was devastating for Mo, and it sent him into a tailspin. Our relationship fell on the rocks at the same time. We sank deeper and deeper, even starting counseling as a last-ditch effort to save our marriage (it didn't work, by the way). Finally, it was again my brave husband who said, "I want to go back to church. I think this can help us."

He was right. We went back to our small ministry. The preacher had done his dad's funeral, and Mo felt comfortable confiding in him about our struggles. Without question, the congregation embraced us again and made us feel like family. We were invited to dinners, to groups, to Bible studies. I was desperate. I knew that our marriage was almost over; not because of a lack of love, but because of all the other, consuming struggles we had. I finally turned to God, and was honest with Him for the first time in my life.

I told God how pissed I really was. How unfair I felt He had treated me. How much I hated having to endure the struggles before us. How weak I felt, how unable to cope. How I just wanted all of it to end.

And because I was honest, I felt that for the first time God really heard me. It opened something up inside me that I hadn't felt before. For the first time in a very long time, religion was REAL for me. I started praying daily. I bought books about how to pray for Mo. I started studying the Bible. I even adopted the Duggars' "One Proverb every day" pattern. It has helped so much in so many ways.

And yet.

I still feel hopelessly lost. I feel uneducated. I feel like this is one area of my life where I have no experience, and no knowledge. I guess that's why I struggle with the right words, with how to express my faith. I just don't know how to do it.

That's what I hope to learn to do here. I hope that, once a week at least, I can be honest about my faith and the conflicting, confusing aspects of it. Am I a Christian, if I think that the History channel's expose on the Da Vinci Code has merit? I attend an evangelical, non-denominational church: and yet, I don't like to talk about God openly. I respect other religions, and don't necessarily believe that there is only "one road." And yet, Jesus said "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me"(John 14:6).

Clearly, I have more questions than I have answers. But that, in a nutshell, is what has brought us here.

I hope you'll stick around as I try to figure things out.