I remember sitting in a room as a very small child, looking up towards the ceiling, and challenging God. As I held my doll, I ardently prayed:
“Dear God, if you’re really real, then you can make Lucille real. If you don’t make Lucille real, I’m not going to believe in you! Do you hear me, God? I’m not going to believe in you!! For reals. I’m not!!”
Spoiler: God did not make my beloved doll, Lucille, come to life. In fact, at some later point, I’d accidentally left her in a hot car and her head popped off. I could never get her head to stay on quite right after that.
Score –
Sandy: 0
God: 1
I think I am still challenging God. Maybe not in the same obnoxious way as only a 5-year-old child can do….but I’m still looking for signs, still asking for proof.
Recently, as I sat in front of my altar, I came to the realization that I don’t know what God means to me anymore and maybe I never did. Perhaps it wasn’t so much of a belief in God that I had, as it was a hope. I HOPED God was real. I HOPED there was someone behind the curtain controlling this thing called life. I hoped there was a game plan and this world wasn’t some random chaotic fuckery.
When I discovered religion it was like being given a rulebook for life. The religion I belonged to had a rule for everything: Bible study, body hair, skirt length, dating, sex, rape, medical care, marriage, equality, prayer, divorce, schooling, friendships, sinning, and so on and so on and so on. Any life event and there was likely a rule. For someone like me, who grew up in a household that had so much lack of stability, the idea of having rules felt solid. It felt like hope. Follow these rules and you’ll be happy. Maybe not right now, but that’s because, ya know…. Satan! Eventually, though, you’ll get to live forever in paradise. This was an easy sell for me. I wanted something to make sense. I needed something to make sense. And religion seemed to have all the answers, providing hope for the hopeless.
After I lost my faith in organized religion, I suffered from a void in my life. Eventually, though, I found a replacement- My new religion became Self Help books, which slowly morphed into Psychospirituality. Every self-help book or spiritual theory has its own set of rules and if you follow those rules, you’ll get better, you’ll get happy. There are books and rules for every part of your life. And I became a faithful devotee. I’ve clutched a Wayne Dyer book like it was my bible and I was at church on a Sunday. I’ve repeated all the affirmations like I was reciting the rosary. Faithfully I’d repeat my “I am’s” over and over. I am healthy. I am fertile. I am good. I am loved. I am happy. I am financially well off. I am. I am. I am.
There were periods of time in my life where I’d just let go of the books and the mantras. At first, it would be okay, but inevitably my life would spin out of control. And around those times is when I’d find myself in a bookstore, where I’d end up in the self-help, diet, or spirituality section. After browsing for my salvation, I would grab on to the anchors of rules again and head to the checkout line.
Co-mingled with the rules was a new definition of God. The name changed and varied greatly, but the idea of a higher power was unchangeable. And this higher power worked with the rules. I had jumped off one bus and got onto another form of transportation, thinking I was doing things differently. But really I was still bumming a ride, trying to find my way to happiness.
But did I follow the rules? Really follow the rules? I have this theory that I have self-sabotaged as a way to explain why I wasn’t getting what I wanted. My internal self-sabotaging loop-hole helped me keep my faith intact. It helped me hold on to the only anchor I have known: rules.
I must be doing something bad, that’s why I’m still unhappy.
That’s why my life isn’t how I want it to be.
Then one day, I was following all the rules. It was like taking a big deep breath and swimming from one end of the pool to the other. It wasn’t a long period of time, but I was doing it. I was underwater, holding my breath, and doing it. Swimming the full length of the pool, no cheating. I was eating “healthy”, I wasn’t drinking alcohol, I was working out….But I realized I was still feeling guilty. And it occurred to me that I needed something to feel guilty about. I needed an explanation as to why my life wasn’t suddenly “better”. At that moment I realized that If I gave up drinking three glasses of wine a night, I would not wake up and be blessed that week or the next. My soul mate connection wouldn’t suddenly knock on my door with flowers and a box from Tiffany’s. Sure, my liver might thank me. I might add some more years to my life…. But I’m not going to be rewarded for “being good” or for following the rules. There is no reward for “good”, only the likeliness of better consequences.
Shit. Now what? What happens if I take all the rules away? Where does my focus go? What does that mean about God? What does that mean about purpose? What does that mean about happiness? What does that mean about my future?
My first instinct is to pray about it…. To fervently pray:
“Dear God, Yahweh, Jesus, Universe, Mother Earth, Father Sun, Great Spirit, Spirit Team…
Please, show me a sign. Preferably a big flashing, neon, solar-powered, with battery back-up, sign. Show me what is real. Give me a map. Help me to live.”
I don’t know what hurts more, feeling like there is no God to pray to, or praying and feeling like you don’t hear any answers back.
It feels strange to throw out the rule books. But really, there is one planet and everyone seems to be reading a different rule book. What happens if I try and live in a way that just ensures better consequences? What if I live knowing there are no guarantees? What if when I screw up, I brush myself off and try to make better choices the next time? What if I don’t live in what was or what will be, but instead live in the right now? And in regards to God, what if I live in the uncertainty of not knowing. What if I take some of my power back and all of the responsibility? What if I’m grateful for this creation and live in a way that reflects that appreciation? What if I allow myself to still pray because it gives me comfort?
God, grant me the serenity
to accept the things I cannot change;
courage to change the things I can;
and wisdom to know the difference.
Amen.
Sandy's Short Story Long- This is where I write. 