I was somebody who discovered my faith on my own. My parent’s were not overly religious – church was not a weekly event. What they did do was expose me to religion. Sending me to Sunday school to learn about the Church and it’s beliefs. At the time it was a burden. Something I had to wake up early on a weekend for.
But the foundation built during those years of Sunday school gave me an opportunity. An opportunity to choose faith. Which I did. Long after my Sunday school days were behind me and I was confirmed in the Church I choose to build a relationship with God. I choose to go to Church on the weekend instead of sleeping in and I choose to be a leader in a youth retreat organization. I choose to try to believe with blind faith. I trusted my faith and clung to the comfort of belief when life’s challenges rose up in front of me.
But the death of my mom has profoundly challenged that faith, that belief and left me rattled. I desperately tried to make sense of loosing her, pleaing for an answer — but none would come. Why my mom? Why now? Why before she got to meet her grandchild? Why when I needed her so badly? Why would my God take her from me?
I still ask these questions often. I’m still angry that an answer never comes. But maybe the fact that I’m still waiting for one is a sign that I’m not ready to let go of faith. That I still want to believe.
