How do you start a life with God? It is not that I wasn’t a believer. I wanted to believe in God. Somewhere deep inside of my soul it felt as though I did. The problem I was faced with was incorporating faith and belief into my life on a daily basis. That seemed like a big commitment. Taking into account the limited exposure I had with religion, there was no one religion that touched my heart. There was no place that I truly felt I could call home.
Church, to me, is like a dirty little word. It encompasses a society of people who believe they are better than those who don’t believe. They are a league of followers who feel that they have been “blessed” with the right to judge those who follow a different belief structure than the one that they have chosen. Why would I chose to join a Church filled with people who certainly didn’t love me, but even more than that- clearly didn’t seem to love even God?
Falling into a relationship with God was not a choice for me. It was almost destiny. I suppose that seems a little “new age” for some of you, but I would like to explain. I am a mother to two wonderful children. They are a blessing and they allow me to see the world through the innocence of a child daily. This gift from our children is often over looked and taken for granted. My advice to you is to slow down. It is this innocence that lead me to the most important decision I have ever made.
The words of my daughter struck my heart and soul with an intensity I did not expect, “Who is God?” This was a question that I simply could not answer. The questions did not stop there “Where did Grandma go when she died?” “What is heaven?” I was at a loss for words. Even more so- part of me felt very empty, and almost afraid that I did not have answers to the questions that make up the very core of my so-called-faith. My daughter relied upon me for guidance, and I had no idea which way to lead her.
We got the very first door-hanger the next day. It was an advertisement for a new church in our area called Verve. I threw it away. This was a problem that I could handle this on my own. Church, after all, is a dirty little word. A few days later another door hanger hung from the knob of my front door. I stood on the steps of my front porch and stared at that piece of paper as it fluttered in the breeze. That breeze was blowing straight into my soul. This was the turning point.
Sunday came quickly- and my heart pounded in my chest. I was so nervous that this was going to be the same as the churches from my past; the judging, the staring, people whispering under their breath. I waited for it, and waited. It never happened. The people at Verve were genuine. They cared about us. There with no judgment at all. Could this be real?
