It drives me nuts.
I've wanted to write about it for a while now. But I thought it would be in bad taste. After all, religion, politics, and money (?) are all things you should stay away from in conversation. But for me, it was because I didn't know how to really approach it. A little depressed about my life, I wrote a short quip online about how "being an adult sucked," which in turn my father stumbled across, causing him to give me a call to "check up on me."
I love talking to my parents. I don't like talking to them when I'm depressed. I don't like to worry them. But mostly, there's nothing I can say that won't spark a talk about God. No, about my mother's religion. It always starts off the same way: like a salesman who slightly has his foot pressed against your front door, "There is a way to be happy. Eternally. God wants all of his children...." I immediately throw up my walls. I don't want a lecture on God and what he wants for me. I don't want to hear the spiel. I've heard it countless times before. I become defensive, almost antagonistic really; willing and ready to pick apart her theory, her belief. I assume it's probably unhealthy to want to crush your mom's hopes and dreams.
I'm not really that bad a person. It's not that I don't believe. It's that I feel it's generic. Her immediate answer for all that happens is so generic. Why can't you give me a pep talk about something tangible AND not based solely on faith alone. I don't think that's really my issue though, I think my problem is my mother, at the age of 50, has found her faith. That part is great, anyone should be so lucky. My problem is that because she has found her faith, she feels the need that everyone she cares about --and a lot of people she probably doesn't purely because she has no clue who they are before knocking on their door-- should share in that said faith. I feel it's unfair to ask me to catch up in her faith game.
Spirituality is a very sacred thing. You may feel the need to boast and banter about it, (and from what I hear the Bible even tells you to accost people and "preach the good word.") at the end of the day no one can truly form a relationship with God until they are ready to. And what about those who already have a relationship. I don't go to church, or hall , or masque. But that doesn't mean I'm not exploring my options with God.
I personally feel like my mother doesn't even see the many options available. She's not allowing me to follow my path and grow. In fact she's doing the oposite; she's stifling me and causing me to shun the very thing she had hoped I would embrace. Some times I feel like religions is just a coping mechanism. A way to deal with the inevitability that is death and unknown. It places a possibility of happiness in a world, a physical world where it would not happen in any other situation.
I remember a time in my childhood, when I first asked about God. I was sitting in the passenger seat up front in my mother's van. I'll never forget that conversation. No more than a minute in length, but so much information I have kept with me since then. I asked my mom a very important question: how do you know which religion was the right religion. There are so many in the world. It was boggling my mind.
My mother was driving the car. She paused and thought. I remember I looked at her, then I looked at my feet. I was about seven then; preoccupied with some candy I had in my pocket, but still worried enough about my mortality. My mother took a breath and answered, "As long as it is worship of one God, it is the right religion." I know how hard that had to be for her. Years later, in my 20's when I told her she told me that, she rebuffed it, saying she should have told me the truth. But I know better. That was the best answer she had at the time. And way back then, as bad as she wanted to shape my thought process with her own beliefs, she gave me the most precious gift a person could give: the ability to think and feel for myself.
I remember a time in my childhood, when I first asked about God. I was sitting in the passenger seat up front in my mother's van. I'll never forget that conversation. No more than a minute in length, but so much information I have kept with me since then. I asked my mom a very important question: how do you know which religion was the right religion. There are so many in the world. It was boggling my mind.
My mother was driving the car. She paused and thought. I remember I looked at her, then I looked at my feet. I was about seven then; preoccupied with some candy I had in my pocket, but still worried enough about my mortality. My mother took a breath and answered, "As long as it is worship of one God, it is the right religion." I know how hard that had to be for her. Years later, in my 20's when I told her she told me that, she rebuffed it, saying she should have told me the truth. But I know better. That was the best answer she had at the time. And way back then, as bad as she wanted to shape my thought process with her own beliefs, she gave me the most precious gift a person could give: the ability to think and feel for myself.
Sometimes I think to myself, there is no doubt there is a God above. Other times I can not be sure. I believe there is nothing wrong with questioning the "all knowing." God gave me the ability to think freely. I just feel like a lot of religions say God gave you free thought, but then turn around and ask you to not use that free thought because it will lead you away from his grace; but really from their dogma. How hypocritical....
My Aunt told me a story when she was visiting my parents this past December. She told me a story of strength and of triumph and of faith. I smiled throughout the entire story. I knew within seconds of her beginning it was a Bible story. My aunt had so much excitement in her voice as she told the story and I nodded in agreement as she told that story and I felt at ease. She didn't push it on me, she just said it. She sounded like she believed it. Every word. She didn't give me a spiel afterwards, she left it at that and I got to think about what she said. Before I had to fly out, my mom passed out booklets and pamphlets. I took them and thanked her, knowing I wouldn't read them. Anything I needed to know then, at that exact moment in life, I had already discussed with God himself. No middle man, just me and him.
And so far, s/he thinks I'm doing okay... For now.
