Am I a Christian?

I’m going to share something I often keep to myself. I don’t share this for many reasons, but I feel sharing it now may help me uncover some unanswered questions I have rattling around in my brain. I’m currently reading the book I Don’t Have Enough Faith to Be an Atheist. I was hoping reading through some of the the book might encourage what little faith I do have buried inside me. Those who have known me for some time may think I have always been a fairly devout Christian. However there is a lot of “junk” I think about that often makes me squirm in my seat. It makes me question what I believe. I even often think I’m better off not knowing. I think that being a good person is all that matters. Yet, the religious upbringing I had sits in the back of my mind nagging me to figure it out.. or else.

So, here is my story. Like I said, maybe putting pen on paper so to speak is just what I need to help answer some questions.

I grew up in a Christian home and attended a Christian School through the eight grade. I was naive and innocent entering high school. I quickly learned innocence was not an option in the real world. I learned it was time for me to decide who I wanted to become. I decided I was not going to be a church girl. I did everything in my efforts to make myself cool, to make myself popular. I lied and cheated my way into what I thought was the “it crowed”. Though, I did realize even though they accepted me, something about me didn’t quit fit in. It was at this point I decided to abandon all my religious upbringing. I decided to take on a new role. I loved all things that I knew my parents would disapprove of. I smoked, I drank, I swore, and I hung around people who were like minded in those things. My senior year was in my mind my best year because I felt like I finally had it all. I lived for staying out late and getting high in my friends garage. I loved watching raunchy movies. I loved making out and doing more than just making out. I thrived on it. I couldn’t allow myself to be caught at home on a weekend. It was such a rush. Tons of bad things happened during this time but to me, belonging to this group of people meant far more to me than occasional getting hurt. It was the best.

Now enters my freshman year of college. I was so excited to be moving out of my parents house and to be independent of them. I had ideas in my head of party’s and drugs and how much fun I was going to have. As it turned out, my first couple weeks of college sucked. I felt so alone. The “cool kids” in my dorm didn’t like me. They never invited me to hang out or to go to the dinning hall. I didn’t fit in anymore. I was back to square one. In this new place I needed a place to fit in again. That’s when I found His House, a Christian fellowship group on campus. The people were kind and genuine. They accepted me when others didn’t. I had found my people. So much like I did in high school, I assimilated myself to these people and there beliefs. I took on a role of college girl that loves Jesus. It felt comfortable for me as I had grown up in a Christian home. Yet here I was able to make it my own. I spend the better of three years in this group with these people. I’d like to think a lot of my faith during this time was sincere. Perhaps it was. A lot of what I see looking back at it though is how I was different behind closed doors. How I lied to fit in. How almost every move I made was to help me become more popular in our own group. When the depression took me, it was so easy to let go of the faith I loosely held.

I held onto my faith the next couple of years because even though I was out of school, many of my friends were still those I had met at His House. It was also still a good way to get friends. Church is a great place to meet people. If I’m honest, I wouldn’t tell people I’m Christian in the hospital because I didn’t want that to be a part of my treatment. It was easier to just be without the burden of faith. I did struggle with ideas with my pastors regarding my depression, but answered were not comfortable in such a horrible crisis. I sought after even more fellowship as my yearning became stronger to be a part of something. I started attending Bridge Street Mission School.

If there is anything good I can say about this time in my life, it’s that it taught me so many valuable lessons. I had a family where I was loved. I learned humility and I learned to serve others. I learned discipline and the value of hard work and dedication. I learned how blessed we are to live in the United States. It gave me a heart for the nations. It also totally and completely ruined me. Let me back up first.

At the schools we lived together, ate together, and did everything together. It was the greatest. I never felt like I belonged so well in my entire life. It is during this time that I think I had a really genuine faith in God. With all the outside distractions stripped away, I felt like I was completely surrendered to God. I was alive… that is until I wanted to die.

You see, they didn’t understand depression. They didn’t get that it was a physical disease that I couldn’t control. They more or less thought it was a demon. They more or less thought God would heal me… but funny thing is… he didn’t. This one thing had always made me uncomfortable, despite all the good things the school brought me.

Before we went abroad, they basically gave me guideline as to what would constitute me coming home. I agreed to them. One was if I attempted suicide. I did. They sent me home, here is the thing about that… I attempted my very last week there. They sent me home the next day and charged me for the plane ticket. I attempted suicide because I was in a very dark spot after seeing some very traumatic things. I also felt alone there because no one understood my darkness. I understand why. But I don’t understand the aftermath. I was told I could no longer be a part of the school. My home, my friends, my family, and o could no longer be a part of it because I have an illness. They didn’t welcome me back with open arms. Instead they shunned me like I was a dirty person. I hated them. I hated the God they believed in of this is their version of compassion.

I took my rage and anger, and turned it into destruction. I cut myself, I Drank, I swore off God, and I desperately tried to fill the hole those people had left in my life. I started sleeping around to fill the void. It got so bad that I almost got myself killed in a shady motel room. I gave up. I gave up on God and everything else in my life. This is my rock bottom.

Three years later and I’m still recovering from the hurt that the leaders in the school caused me. Three years later and they are still my number one objection to Christians and Christ. Healing is a slow process but I’m finally getting to a point where I want to know truth. I want to know if this life is it or if there is a God. And if there is a God, I want to be a Christian that shows compassion. I want to be one that has doubted, and struggled, and hated, and fought.

So, no, I’m really not a good Christian. I’m just a person trying to find the truth. I’m just working to make sure others know they belong.

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