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Dec. 1st, 2001 10:45 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kuangningI've been trying to figure out how to say something for a week now. And not having much luck even figuring out to whom I could say it, although I feel the need to speak it, to put it into words.
I've asked a few of my friends to tell me what they believe. And yes, I do mean religion. I'm still curious to know what you on my friends list believe in. What do you hold as bedrock truth? What carries you through?
You who know me may or may not know; I don't discuss religion often. But my family started out Catholic, and then my father started a search for the One Truth that led us through every flavour of Protestantism that wasn't immediately recognizable as fraud, deception, or outright heresy. And a couple that were, such as the one which claimed that the Return would take place in September 1994.
Each new flavour was adopted fervently, and never mind the fact that the new one might blatantly contradict something that was held as gospel truth in the last one. Predestination? Ecstatic speech, or "speaking in tongues"? Faith healing? Those major conflicts in doctrine never seemed apparent to my dad. And we, being children, had no choice in the religious diet we were fed. The result was predictable. Once I left home, I did not voluntarily set foot inside any church. In fact, I turned to Wicca and paganism, because the approachable deities of those faiths appealed more than the autocratic, jealous, vengeful God I had been taught to worship.
I look back over some of my posts, now, and I have to wonder. Following 9-11, in the midst of the chaos, there was stillness. There was peace. Hurt, too, yes, but knowledge that the hurt was transient, a feeling of being connected. And, more than connected, sustained.
In the days leading up to my move, I was more and more convinced that I was on the right path. That there was something here for me, that things were going to change, and for the better. And even when I got here, and things bottomed out, at the time when it was worst, I wrote in a log which isn't going to be open to the public:
"People keep telling me, this last week or so, how "beautiful I am" and -- oddly -- "how bright my aura is." What's more odd is that I believe them; I know something has changed in me, and I know why, if not how. Despite setbacks, despite frustrations and disappointments, I have been happier lately than ever before with three exceptions. Someone called me "serene" -- and I laughed, but I know what he meant. I'm not calm. But I am, somehow, at peace. I know that things will work out, and I may be tired, worried, and hurting, but still that knowledge is there. And the only times I remember feeling this upswelling of assurance and peace, is/were with my pregnancies. [Note: I didn't mean that I thought I was pregnant; that's not possible, and I didn't mean to convey that. On rereading this line, though, I thought I'd better clarify this.] It's a knowing, a gut feeling of health and wholeness and good things happening."
That was before I had any inkling of what would come next. Before I had any reason for feeling that way. And all of my time here has been a growing time, in more ways than the obvious. It feels right.
This week, I bought a Bible. I haven't owned one since I was eighteen, nor truly read one since I was fourteen. That feels right, too.
I am never going to be a fundie. My current roomate talks constantly about Jesus and how He gives her everything she wants, and how hard she works for Him. According to her, she's a travelling evangelist, and set on the task to win souls. She "adorns herself for Him," because He is her husband, she says, and she uses the word "I" in everyday conversation more often than anyone else I've ever known. She, frankly, makes me cringe, and if that's what Christianity is, then I don't ever want to be a Christian.
But for the one shining example of what not to do, I've seen more than a dozen people, now, who seem to have more peace than anyone I've known before. Despite circumstances, despite death and robberies and beatings, they manage to maintain a serenity, in the real sense of the word, that amazes me. And they all feel, they say, guided. I know, because I've asked them all. They all feel as if this is where they need to be, and what they need to be doing. The same way I feel. And after having eleven strangers approach me on the street, within the last two weeks, and tell me that they felt led to say to me that I'm to hang on because God has a plan for me, I'm wondering what I've gotten myself into, but still I feel so strongly that I need to stay, that I'm not afraid, and running's not an option.
I don't want to be different. I don't want to be, ever, in any religious sense of the word, chosen. My roomate chases the religious spotlight, and I sit back and watch her because when you're chosen, you have to fulfill expectations. I want to be normal. I don't want a calling beyond my kids and my home, I think evangelists are crazy and half of them are frauds. I am not ever going to be the one lapsing into ecstatic speech or a missionary to another country. I take medicines, because faith is fine, but apparently mine is smaller than that grain of mustard seed, because faith hasn't healed me of anything the doctor didn't take a good swing at first with antibiotics or corrective lenses.
But still I feel... guided. It hasn't gone away; it hasn't wavered. If anything, it's gotten stronger. The thought has crossed my mind often that this might just be me latching on to anything that can bring comfort... but it did start before the worst of this. I'm confused. But I can't say that, whatever this is, I dislike it or want it gone. I talked about bedrock beliefs... I'm not sure what mine are anymore.
I've asked a few of my friends to tell me what they believe. And yes, I do mean religion. I'm still curious to know what you on my friends list believe in. What do you hold as bedrock truth? What carries you through?
You who know me may or may not know; I don't discuss religion often. But my family started out Catholic, and then my father started a search for the One Truth that led us through every flavour of Protestantism that wasn't immediately recognizable as fraud, deception, or outright heresy. And a couple that were, such as the one which claimed that the Return would take place in September 1994.
Each new flavour was adopted fervently, and never mind the fact that the new one might blatantly contradict something that was held as gospel truth in the last one. Predestination? Ecstatic speech, or "speaking in tongues"? Faith healing? Those major conflicts in doctrine never seemed apparent to my dad. And we, being children, had no choice in the religious diet we were fed. The result was predictable. Once I left home, I did not voluntarily set foot inside any church. In fact, I turned to Wicca and paganism, because the approachable deities of those faiths appealed more than the autocratic, jealous, vengeful God I had been taught to worship.
I look back over some of my posts, now, and I have to wonder. Following 9-11, in the midst of the chaos, there was stillness. There was peace. Hurt, too, yes, but knowledge that the hurt was transient, a feeling of being connected. And, more than connected, sustained.
In the days leading up to my move, I was more and more convinced that I was on the right path. That there was something here for me, that things were going to change, and for the better. And even when I got here, and things bottomed out, at the time when it was worst, I wrote in a log which isn't going to be open to the public:
"People keep telling me, this last week or so, how "beautiful I am" and -- oddly -- "how bright my aura is." What's more odd is that I believe them; I know something has changed in me, and I know why, if not how. Despite setbacks, despite frustrations and disappointments, I have been happier lately than ever before with three exceptions. Someone called me "serene" -- and I laughed, but I know what he meant. I'm not calm. But I am, somehow, at peace. I know that things will work out, and I may be tired, worried, and hurting, but still that knowledge is there. And the only times I remember feeling this upswelling of assurance and peace, is/were with my pregnancies. [Note: I didn't mean that I thought I was pregnant; that's not possible, and I didn't mean to convey that. On rereading this line, though, I thought I'd better clarify this.] It's a knowing, a gut feeling of health and wholeness and good things happening."
That was before I had any inkling of what would come next. Before I had any reason for feeling that way. And all of my time here has been a growing time, in more ways than the obvious. It feels right.
This week, I bought a Bible. I haven't owned one since I was eighteen, nor truly read one since I was fourteen. That feels right, too.
I am never going to be a fundie. My current roomate talks constantly about Jesus and how He gives her everything she wants, and how hard she works for Him. According to her, she's a travelling evangelist, and set on the task to win souls. She "adorns herself for Him," because He is her husband, she says, and she uses the word "I" in everyday conversation more often than anyone else I've ever known. She, frankly, makes me cringe, and if that's what Christianity is, then I don't ever want to be a Christian.
But for the one shining example of what not to do, I've seen more than a dozen people, now, who seem to have more peace than anyone I've known before. Despite circumstances, despite death and robberies and beatings, they manage to maintain a serenity, in the real sense of the word, that amazes me. And they all feel, they say, guided. I know, because I've asked them all. They all feel as if this is where they need to be, and what they need to be doing. The same way I feel. And after having eleven strangers approach me on the street, within the last two weeks, and tell me that they felt led to say to me that I'm to hang on because God has a plan for me, I'm wondering what I've gotten myself into, but still I feel so strongly that I need to stay, that I'm not afraid, and running's not an option.
I don't want to be different. I don't want to be, ever, in any religious sense of the word, chosen. My roomate chases the religious spotlight, and I sit back and watch her because when you're chosen, you have to fulfill expectations. I want to be normal. I don't want a calling beyond my kids and my home, I think evangelists are crazy and half of them are frauds. I am not ever going to be the one lapsing into ecstatic speech or a missionary to another country. I take medicines, because faith is fine, but apparently mine is smaller than that grain of mustard seed, because faith hasn't healed me of anything the doctor didn't take a good swing at first with antibiotics or corrective lenses.
But still I feel... guided. It hasn't gone away; it hasn't wavered. If anything, it's gotten stronger. The thought has crossed my mind often that this might just be me latching on to anything that can bring comfort... but it did start before the worst of this. I'm confused. But I can't say that, whatever this is, I dislike it or want it gone. I talked about bedrock beliefs... I'm not sure what mine are anymore.
