I imagine that this going to be long.
When I was fourteen years old I was "saved" and started to attend a local church that I now believe to be...well, whacked, for a lack of a better term. I went there for eight years on and off (off only when I moved away for a few years) and I have never, in all of my days, encountered a group of more hateful people.
My sister and I have been publicly humiliated because we are biracial (our parents, though married when we were conceived, are apparently evil because they dared to marry one another as one is white and the other is not). I have been called a harlot because I took birth control, on the advice of my doctor, to regulate problems I have (at my age, I am still a virgin). I felt called to write to prisoners, to encourage them and to lead them to God. I was told that I am stupid for such a desire, that God does not intend for us to do such things. I was chastised in front of the entire congregation (of course my name was not mentioned, but everyone knew he was talking about me) because I had tried to minister to prisoners through letters. I have a tattoo, from a wild period in my youth, and I have been told that it is the mark of a devil. It is only a rose, and I haven't the money to remove it, and I don't think that I would even if I did...I see it as part of me now, a battle scar, not a sign that I am wed to Satan.
My sister was told that the reason her first child died is because she married outside of the church (her husband is a Christian, just not a member of our former church). I was engaged to a man in my former church. He beat me. I was told that it was my fault, that if I was a good Christian woman that he wouldn't hit me. He cheated on me. Once again, this was my fault. He threatened to kill me. Everyone turned a blind eye when I reached out for help. And so I left him, because I could not stay. Suddenly I felt what it was like to be shunned. I was told to leave the church because I had refused to obey God (because I would not marry my fiancee). I was blacklisted. And although it has been nearly five years now since I last stepped foot in that church, whenever I see old church members they glare at me, or spit in my direction, or whisper loudly about how I am damned so that I can hear them say such things, or tell me that I am going to hell and that God hates me.
Ironically, any time that I seem to show a bit of interest in religion, I run into these folk and am reminded exactly why I left the faith.
I have tried going to a new church. The new church members were very nice to me. I was suspicious of them, because the only time people at my former church were ever nice to me was when they wanted something from me. I went a few times to this new church, but could not remain going there. I do not trust them when they smile at me or greet me.
I have tried to read the bible. I have no luck in this. Every time I look at one I am reminded of the hurt, and within a few days, even if it has been months since I have seen a member of my former church, without fail I run into one at the store and they mock me.
And still, sometimes, I remember the child-like faith I once had and miss it.
I went to Mexico in 2000. Oh it was a learning experience. People there were living in cardboard boxes but their faith was unlike anything I had ever seen around here. The Christians down there welcomed us so warmly, so genuinely. There was no condemnation to be had there. No one made fun of me because I am not white enough. They insisted that we sit in their folding metal chairs, an honor for they had so few of them, and the women touched my hair and said that I was beautiful.
When I returned here, it was doubly hard because my hair, you understand, has always been the biggest problem...in the house of God it has been called "frizzy" if they were feeling kind, "nappy" if they were not. And my former pastor saying that if you are not rich God does not love you, your faith is weak, yet here were people who were so poor, who had so little to give, and I could not help but think that if there is a God, that he must surely love them the most, for they had little but were willing to give so much of that little. Some of them only had kind words to give, and yet they gave them to me, and never had I felt so connected to something bigger than me than I did there.
My heart is breaking anew as I write all of this down, because even though I have told myself that there is no God, and if there is that I do not want to be part of his people only to be ridiculed and mocked again, my heart still wishes for something more. But faith, I do not know how to find it. Any faith I did have has been stolen from me, or given away by me, and there is none to be found now.
I have been told that it is impossible to go back once you have left the church. My pastor himself said that if I left the church that there was no hope to be had for my soul. And yet, somehow, the soul still has a little speck of hope left, although it is very dim and grows dimmer by the year, until I am afraid that there shall soon be nothing left at all. The only thing that has been keeping it alive this long is those people in Mexico who changed my life so...but I cannot seem to find anyone like them up here, until I think that maybe I imagined them all and that they never existed.
When I was fourteen years old I was "saved" and started to attend a local church that I now believe to be...well, whacked, for a lack of a better term. I went there for eight years on and off (off only when I moved away for a few years) and I have never, in all of my days, encountered a group of more hateful people.
My sister and I have been publicly humiliated because we are biracial (our parents, though married when we were conceived, are apparently evil because they dared to marry one another as one is white and the other is not). I have been called a harlot because I took birth control, on the advice of my doctor, to regulate problems I have (at my age, I am still a virgin). I felt called to write to prisoners, to encourage them and to lead them to God. I was told that I am stupid for such a desire, that God does not intend for us to do such things. I was chastised in front of the entire congregation (of course my name was not mentioned, but everyone knew he was talking about me) because I had tried to minister to prisoners through letters. I have a tattoo, from a wild period in my youth, and I have been told that it is the mark of a devil. It is only a rose, and I haven't the money to remove it, and I don't think that I would even if I did...I see it as part of me now, a battle scar, not a sign that I am wed to Satan.
My sister was told that the reason her first child died is because she married outside of the church (her husband is a Christian, just not a member of our former church). I was engaged to a man in my former church. He beat me. I was told that it was my fault, that if I was a good Christian woman that he wouldn't hit me. He cheated on me. Once again, this was my fault. He threatened to kill me. Everyone turned a blind eye when I reached out for help. And so I left him, because I could not stay. Suddenly I felt what it was like to be shunned. I was told to leave the church because I had refused to obey God (because I would not marry my fiancee). I was blacklisted. And although it has been nearly five years now since I last stepped foot in that church, whenever I see old church members they glare at me, or spit in my direction, or whisper loudly about how I am damned so that I can hear them say such things, or tell me that I am going to hell and that God hates me.
Ironically, any time that I seem to show a bit of interest in religion, I run into these folk and am reminded exactly why I left the faith.
I have tried going to a new church. The new church members were very nice to me. I was suspicious of them, because the only time people at my former church were ever nice to me was when they wanted something from me. I went a few times to this new church, but could not remain going there. I do not trust them when they smile at me or greet me.
I have tried to read the bible. I have no luck in this. Every time I look at one I am reminded of the hurt, and within a few days, even if it has been months since I have seen a member of my former church, without fail I run into one at the store and they mock me.
And still, sometimes, I remember the child-like faith I once had and miss it.
I went to Mexico in 2000. Oh it was a learning experience. People there were living in cardboard boxes but their faith was unlike anything I had ever seen around here. The Christians down there welcomed us so warmly, so genuinely. There was no condemnation to be had there. No one made fun of me because I am not white enough. They insisted that we sit in their folding metal chairs, an honor for they had so few of them, and the women touched my hair and said that I was beautiful.
When I returned here, it was doubly hard because my hair, you understand, has always been the biggest problem...in the house of God it has been called "frizzy" if they were feeling kind, "nappy" if they were not. And my former pastor saying that if you are not rich God does not love you, your faith is weak, yet here were people who were so poor, who had so little to give, and I could not help but think that if there is a God, that he must surely love them the most, for they had little but were willing to give so much of that little. Some of them only had kind words to give, and yet they gave them to me, and never had I felt so connected to something bigger than me than I did there.My heart is breaking anew as I write all of this down, because even though I have told myself that there is no God, and if there is that I do not want to be part of his people only to be ridiculed and mocked again, my heart still wishes for something more. But faith, I do not know how to find it. Any faith I did have has been stolen from me, or given away by me, and there is none to be found now.
I have been told that it is impossible to go back once you have left the church. My pastor himself said that if I left the church that there was no hope to be had for my soul. And yet, somehow, the soul still has a little speck of hope left, although it is very dim and grows dimmer by the year, until I am afraid that there shall soon be nothing left at all. The only thing that has been keeping it alive this long is those people in Mexico who changed my life so...but I cannot seem to find anyone like them up here, until I think that maybe I imagined them all and that they never existed.
May God lead you to the right place.
