Are you there God? It's me, S.I.F.

I grew up in the church, kind of. My granddad was a minister. When my parents were married (and he was preaching in town) we were regular members of his congregation. I sang in the choir, I believed in the power of prayer. I was young, but the church felt like home. Then my parents got divorced, and my mom came out of the closet, and for some inexplicable (at least to me, at the time) reason we no longer went to church (now I know it’s because we were all sinners, and my granddads church was a pretty strict Methodist congregation where we were no longer welcome... and also, my mother may have stopped wanting to be preached at).

Years later, when I was maybe in 6th grade, I had friends whose families started bringing me to church with them. I got involved in the choir again (although, for the life of me I don’t know why anyone would ever have let me sing in a choir after the age of like 7), and more importantly to me, I was cast in a role almost immediately through their drama department (I had aspirations of being an actress from a very young age). It was my first acting gig, I played "Stormy". I loved it. I got to perform in front of the entire church, we got to take a group trip to California, and there was a boy in the group who I had the biggest crush on (the only motivator I really needed as the hormonal almost-teenager I was!) It was around that time when my friends parents started to pick up on the fact that my mommy was into other mommies though (it didn’t help that she would come to school activities with her girlfriends and partake in the kind of PDA that would make anyone uncomfortable at a child’s school function, no matter who was involved in the coupling). First, my friends weren’t allowed to come play at my house anymore, and then slowly but surely, they stopped wanting to hang out with me at all. Before I knew it, my “church friends” were making my life miserable at school, and I was fighting more battles for my mom than any child should ever have to fight for a parent. There were kids who told me I was going to Hell because of who my mom was (and also that my entire family was going to get Aids... junior high was awesome!)

Needless to say, I didn’t try church again until I was in college. Syrah was dating a guy at the time who was very charming, and was from a very devout family. They started picking us all up from the dorms on Sunday’s and taking us to church with them. I loved it, not just because the church itself seemed so large and full of faith, but because I just adored the togetherness of us all going and then getting brunch as a group afterwards. It felt like family. I loved making a whole day out of it, so much so that I even spent my 21st birthday (which just so happened to fall on Easter Sunday) partaking in this ritual, and not bemoaning the loss of my “power hour” or drunken 21st at all. Shortly thereafter though, we discovered that Syrah’s little alter-boy was some kind of narcissist and his psychosis was borderline scary. The boy could lie like you wouldn’t believe (turns out he never was a professional baseball player, and he also didn't compete as a Tai Kwon Do pro and  had never modeled a day in his life after all, among other outrageous mistruths) and he took great joy out of manipulating situations to his liking. We stopped going to church with them after a pretty messy break-up where he actually dropped out of school in a ploy to show Syrah how much he needed her (they had only been dating a few months).

It was around that time that I started to formulate my list of things I hated about church. Firstly, I had encountered far too many “church people” who were judgmental, hateful, and hypocritical. I lost contact with my mother from a young age, but I never believed it was because she was a lesbian (instead, I felt it was because she was bat-shit crazy and that I was better off without her). Throughout my life though, I had so many people preach to me about how wrong my mother’s lifestyle was. This used to raise so much indignation in me I cannot even explain it. I wanted to scream back at every one of those “religious” people that “a sin, is a sin, is a sin” and ask them what exactly they believed their judgment was. I was never OK with the concept that my mother’s sexuality was a choice she had made, after all, who would choose a road that was so much more difficult? If anything, I’ve argued the idea that certain people may have been put on this earth to gauge the tolerance of others, and from my experience, it was the self-proclaimed “religious” people who spit the most venom in regards to who she was born as. My other difficulty was that I had been exposed to a lot of “super-churches”, and the scramble for money always astounded me. I just couldn’t force myself to believe that the God I looked towards really wanted such a large push to build the biggest church in town, complete with a shopping center and school. Call me crazy, I just felt like there were other things we should be praying for.

So, it was a few years before I tried church again. At the time I was living in San Diego and felt the urge to go, for reasons I don’t even remember now. It was just before Christmas, and I went by myself and enjoyed the entire sermon. It wasn't until the end that they lost me. The pastor had been so amazing that entire hour, but as people were leaving he said “And just remember; This Christmas is about Christ, so the next time someone tells you ‘Happy Holidays!’ you make sure and stop them and say ‘No! Merry Christmas!’ It’s high time we stop being PC and take December back as ours!” That’s when I was over it. Completely. I thought to myself “What if that person is Jewish, or celebrates Kwanzaa, or was simply trying not to be offensive in their well wishes? Who am I to push Christmas on them?” And I get that the bible encourages spreading the word, but that is simply not me. I am not the girl who will ever push my beliefs on anyone, because you know what? I am far from perfect, and I will not pretend to have all the answers. I never went back.

I’ve always had faith and considered myself to be a spiritual person. I’ve always prayed and believed in a higher power, and I have always blindly followed the idea that I have a purpose. I love having religious conversations with people, as long as they are logical and open-minded. I’m fascinated by other people’s beliefs, and by what drives those beliefs. I just gave up on ever finding a church that would encompass my beliefs and my drive to be accepting of everyone, no matter what. I don't agree with everything in the bible taken at the most literal interpretation, and I don't know that there is anywhere that will allow me to be an ala-carte Christian. I had always thought I would go back when I had kids (because despite some of the drawbacks, I think there is something to be said to raising children with faith), but until that point I didn’t think I would try again. I didn’t have the belief that I could find someplace where I felt comfortable. There was also always the fact that I didn’t relish the idea of giving up my Sunday mornings (I do love a good sleep-in!)

When I started my job here though, I quickly discovered that the one friend I made at work was part of a pretty religious family. He and his wife and 3 kids attended church every Sunday, and they also participated in activities and bible studies throughout the week. This surprised me, mostly because this guy was so much like me. I have a crass sense of humor, and I often lack the filter required for appropriate/normal human interaction. I don’t always carry myself as a person of faith, and have always kind of figured that finding my way back to church would take a literal act of god! My friend shared my sense of humor, and my crude nature. Yet he was such a wonderful husband and father, and so involved in the church. I loved our conversations on the topic, because he was so open to my issues with religion. He pointed out time and again that my experiences were not how church was supposed to be, but I was not so quick to believe. Either way, it was nice having a sounding board when I had questions. I strive to be a good person (and like to think I always have), but I have lost my way on more occasions than I can count. There were years there when I was not so good to myself. I struggled with an eating disorder, with cutting; I slept with men who weren’t good to me (and who I wasn’t so good to back), and I punished myself in general for things that weren’t my fault. Even after I pulled myself out of that dark place, I still struggled with letting people in, and my stubbornness could incur a wrath of epic proportions upon those I felt had wronged me. I punished, and to this day I still hurt the people who care about me when I am hurting; usually without any real intention, but also without any real drive to stop it. I know that I am far from being devout, and that as much as I struggle to be a good person, I often fall very short of the mark. One of the biggest questions I have always had is how much I really deserve from religion after all of the things in my life I have done so wrong.

After this last surgery though, I was struggling. There were days immediately after when I didn’t want to get out of bed. I felt so wronged, and was so angry. When I did go back to work, and broke down in my friends office (something that is so unlike me, I don't typically show so much emotion in such inappropriate settings), he encouraged me to try church. He gave me the recommendation of a church in town that he thought would be the best fit for me, and he sent me on my way. Normally I would have taken this advice with a smile and a nod, and then never followed through. But, at the time, I was so lost and so hurt (and wanted nothing more than to not feel that way), that I went to church. Less than two weeks after surgery (and finding out that I may be losing the one thing I had ever really wanted), I got myself up early on a Sunday and I got ready and went to church for the first time in years all by myself. I just felt like I could use some faith.

I had actually been doing pretty well that entire weekend (I had made it 2 days without tears, and had torn myself out of my bed to get together with friends), but as soon as I walked in there I just felt emotional. There were kids running around everywhere, and I think that’s probably what got me the most (I am still struggling with seeing pregnant women [or women surrounded by children] and not feeling like I’ve been jipped somehow. I’ve determined that my Doctors office should have a separate entrance for its infertile patients, because that is the one place where I feel like losing it the most; surrounded by women who have my dream!), but I held it together. Then, in the middle of worship, the singer stopped and said something along the lines of “Did you feel that pastor? Someone here needs help and the spirit is here for us to help them”. I immediately felt uncomfortable. The pastor stepped in and said “Can we get a few of our elders up here? This is not planned, but there seems to be someone here who needs our help and we are being drawn to assist them. If you feel like you are being called to right now, please come up and talk to our elders and they will take you to a private room to talk and pray and figure out how we can help you”. It was so weird. The church was full (we’re talking well over a hundred people, and I was in the back blending in), but not a single person went up front to talk to them. I felt like I was supposed to (as I was fighting back tears), but that would have been so unlike me. To draw attention upon myself in a room full of people I didn’t know would have taken a level of courage I do not have (and more importantly, it would have taken a complete belief that this call really was for me, and I just couldn’t convince myself that I would ever warrant that kind of interaction). But then this young, alternative-looking woman came up to me and said “I don’t normally do this, but I feel like I’m supposed to pray for you, do you mind?” Seconds later those tears I had been fighting burst through and I was broken down. Suddenly, 2 more women were around me, and they were all praying. For healing. For faith. For strength. The whole thing was just so surreal (and embarrassing, I was crying in front of complete strangers), but by the time I left I felt better.

I still don’t really know what any of that means. It was one of those moments in time when you find yourself questioning if it really happened. My friend at work thinks it was a divine intervention of the Holy Spirit. He said I should take it as proof that God cares so much for me that he would reach out to me in such a way the first time I ever really went into church looking for something. I don’t know if I would go that far. I still have trouble believing that God really works that way, and that even if he did, I would be the one he picked. I mean, after all, I am a sinner if ever there was one. I am promiscuous (although, since I let myself fall in love and get my heart broken, my sex life has taken a pretty serious downturn… I am highly disappointed by this fact and the lack of sex in my life, so it’s not like I’ve made a change for the good!), I curse like a sailor, and I can hold a grudge like no one else I’ve ever known. Even my dad, upon hearing I had been going to church, asked if the place had burned down the second I entered. I can’t believe that I would be worthy of that kind of intervention, but thinking it does make me feel better. And if something that large hadn’t happened my first go-round, I may not have gone back (I probably would have sat quietly and observed, and then went on my way thinking it wasn’t really for me). I know there are people out there who would think that this entire revelation is just silly, and I can’t blame them. If I hadn’t been there I would chock this entire story up to someone’s pathetic need to believe in something, but it made me feel better. Going there makes me feel better. So I’ve been going every week since.

I’ve been observing lately. This church is full of families, and I can’t help but watch them. There is this guy who sits near me with his beautiful wife and their 3 kids. He is exactly my type; dark hair, un-groomed facial hair, beautiful eyes. In truth, he is probably one of the most attractive men I have seen in a while (another reason I am undeserving of a divine intervention; I have been coveting this married man every Sunday for the past 4 weeks!) He’s young, and his wife is gorgeous, and they have 3 young and beautiful children. Every service they hold their kids and sing during worship, and once the kids go off to Sunday School, they hold each other. I find myself watching them and thinking “Wow. What wrong turn did I make in my life that I didn’t get that? And how do I go back and fix it?”

There is another woman (one of the women who came and prayed for me that first visit), who has two young, rambunctious, and naughty boys (and I say that in the best way possible. There is not much I wouldn’t give for a couple of naughty boys of my own!) They run down the aisles when she isn’t looking and punch and poke at each other, but they just love her. They cling to her side and vie for her attention. She is not a beautiful woman; more plain than anything else, but she loves those boys, and her face brightens up when they speak to her. She wears a ring, but it is only ever her and those boys, so I like to think that they are hers and hers alone. I like to pretend that she is a single mother and that she is doing a damn good job of it.

The church ministers to my passions. The weekly flier has recently been looking for a tempory home for a 14 year old boy, and if I didn't have a roommate I would have called and taken him in immediately (I just saw The Blind Side, I'm now convinced I want to turn some young boys life around!) They have recently opened up a homeless shelter for single women and their children. I want to volunteer there, but I am hesitant to step forward. I haven’t really made any connections or ties (I will forever be uncomfortable in groups of people I don’t know. I am fine surrounded by friends, but when I am a stranger in a room my shyness comes out full force), but I want to be a part of that shelter. One of these Sundays I’ll grow the courage to put my name on that list.

My favorite part though is that they alternate pastors every week. So far, there has been a different speaker every time I’ve gone. I like that, because I like getting peoples varying perspectives; I like hearing different stories. A few weeks ago the pastor was a young kid (he can’t have been much older than me) with a faux hawk and an electric guitar. He spoke about the end of times, and he had me in deep thought the rest of the day. Today, it felt as though the pastor was speaking directly to me. He spoke about how the devil had stolen many Christmases from him by making him focus on all the things he doesn’t have, and on all the people who had left him. I hate Christmas. I have hated Christmas for as long as I can remember. It has always reminded me of the people in my life who have let me down. It has always been a painful day for me. I’ve always promised myself that when I have children of my own I will make the effort to make Christmas what it is supposed to be, but now that that dream too has been altered (and possibly forever destroyed), this Christmas seems particularly unnerving. There was a time in my life when I was convinced that everyone I ever loved would hurt me and leave me (and I had some pretty strong evidence to back that up). I’ve worked so hard to be able to let people in, and to rid myself of those fears; maybe it’s time to take the destruction away from Christmas as well.

He said one other thing that really struck me. He said that Jesus may not always be there when we think we need him, but when he shows up he will be right on time. He said that in the end, everything will be better. I have been praying a lot lately. For a miracle, for an end to feeling so hurt by this, and for the strength to make it through. I’m here Jesus. I am waiting. You can go ahead and show your face anytime now; I’m ready for it to be better! I was reading some things I’ve written throughout my life, and I came upon something I wrote about 2 years ago. It’s when I was in school finally finishing my degree, living in San Diego surrounded by some of the best friends a girl could ever hope for, and planning the next stage in my life: my move to Alaska. I wrote about how great my life had been lately; about how I was almost waiting for the other shoe to drop because I felt like everything was going too well. That is my biggest fault, I cannot simply be happy when things are right; I have to prepare myself for when they won’t be. I know better than most people that life has its ups and downs and that you have no control over when those dips appear. Even when I am at the high points, I wait for the falls. I would love to change that about myself, to enjoy the highs when they are here and keep those memories close when the downs appear. I know this life has more to offer me, and I know that these struggles will be eased eventually. What doesn’t kill us makes us stronger, right? I’ll admit, part of me has been dragging my butt out of bed every Sunday because I feel like I can use all the help I can get. This is the most I have struggled in a long time, I need to feel like I have something to hold on to, and more importantly, I need to feel like something is pointing me in the right direction. I have no idea how to make the “right” decision, and I struggle daily with what is best for any future baby, what is best for me, and what is best for anyone who may come into my life in the future. I need guidance from somewhere.

There are prayer request cards they hand out every week. I’ve had one filled out and sitting in my purse since that first Sunday. I can’t bring myself to drop it in the box. Every time I go to do it I think about those women and their children in that shelter. There are people in this world struggling so much more than I am. I have always been able to provide for myself, I have always been able to take care of me, and I have been blessed in this life with a drive to succeed and friends who always support me, no matter what. I have more than most people, and I have never had a “need” I couldn’t fulfill. I feel selfish putting my request for prayers in that box; I feel undeserving.

So instead I just ask for myself. Are you there God? It’s me, S.I.F. I need your guidance, I need your support, and I need your light on the path that I am supposed to take, because I simply cannot see the way…