What a Shattered Knee, a Diabetic Cat, and 110F Heat Will Teach You
Years ago, I was a devout Christian. I’d been saved, and in that moment I thought the world would be set to rights. I thought faith would give me clarity and calm. I found faith as an adult who nearly drowned in Mexico, a woman who wanted to believe in the larger things. A woman who wanted to be a little less selfish and a little more selfless.But believing gave me none of these things, no matter how much I prayed, no matter how much I cleaved to my community. Faith couldn’t solve for the wreckage that was my mother, a wound I’d spend my whole life dressing. Faith didn’t have the ability to find me in the darker places I inhabited. And when I saw the politicking, the hate, the we’ll only help them if they can be saved not because it’s the right thing to do, and the money-mandering, I walked away from it altogether.
Christianity felt like any other transaction. An exchange of belief for grace. Laws for votes. A plate of food, a warm bed — only if you consent to being washed in the blood of the lamb.On the ride from Bakersfield, the rain comes down in sheets. The road is sparse and clean and there are only mountains ahead. Felix sits quiet in his carrier while Gabriel and I talk about our lapse in faith. We walked away from the same reasons, but he tells me he wants to make the slow climb back. And although I no longer believe, I don’t admonish him this. If this is what nourishes and sustains you, makes you full and complete, then it’s the right things for you.
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