I’ve spent a good portion of my life wondering why everybody seems so damn determined to tell everybody else how to find God.
Apparently, there’s a right way to pray, a right way to believe, a right way to worship, and a whole collection of people standing around ready to inform you when you’re doing it wrong.
I didn’t grow up in some terribly strict religious household. But I did spend an impressive number of weekends being deposited at Bible school.
And somewhere along the way, I was instructed that if anybody asked, I was Baptist.
Did I know what being Baptist meant?
Not a damn clue.
But I knew the correct answer to the question, and apparently that was good enough.
Years later, when I was pregnant with my daughter and had plenty of time on my hands, I decided to read the entire Bible.
Not a few favorite passages. Not the verses somebody had selected for a Sunday sermon.
The whole thing.
And I had questions.
Lots of questions.
I found contradictions and inconsistencies that surprised me. I wondered why certain things were taught one way when the words on the page seemed to tell a different story.
Now, I’m not here to debate anybody’s interpretation of scripture. If your faith brings you peace, comfort, and a sense of belonging, I’m genuinely happy for you.
But reading that book for myself made me realize something.
I wanted to understand what I believed, not simply repeat what somebody else had told me to believe.
I still invited Jesus Christ into my life.
But my relationship with him wasn’t quite what some people might expect. I felt him more as a brother and a teacher than a savior standing between me and God.
To me, he taught me how to save myself.
And I never believed another human being was somehow more worthy of a connection to God—or whatever we choose to call that something greater than ourselves—than I was.
Which brings me to something that’s always bothered me.
Years ago, I worked in a grocery store, and one day a Christian couple approached me and asked if they could pray for me.
Right there.
In the grocery store.
And what was I supposed to say? No?
So I said yes.
And there I stood, feeling awkward as hell, participating in a prayer I hadn’t asked for.
It wasn’t the only time something like that happened. I’ve had similar experiences in other places, and while I genuinely appreciated the thought behind those prayers, something about the whole situation never sat quite right with me.
I know they meant well. And I certainly wasn’t going to turn down a few good prayers.
But there was always this feeling that they needed to pray for me, as though I couldn’t reach God perfectly well on my own.
And that’s what bothered me.
I didn’t need someone to establish a connection with God on my behalf. I already had one.
Why not go home and quietly pray for me? Send me some good juju. Wish me peace, happiness, or whatever wonderful things you believe the universe might deliver.
I’ll gladly take all the good wishes I can get.
I just never understood why I had to stand there holding hands while you sent them.
I didn’t need a spiritual supervisor.
Here’s what I believe today: every person’s spiritual journey belongs to them.
Christian. Buddhist. Pagan. Atheist. Agnostic. Still figuring it out.
Whatever.
I believe everyone has the right to their own faith, and everyone has the right to decide whether they want to participate in someone else’s religious practices.
We can talk about our beliefs. We can share our experiences. We can even disagree and still respect each other.
Imagine that.
I wasn’t rejecting everyone else’s faith.
I was refusing to let anyone dictate my own.
And what I didn’t know at the time was that my journey was about to take a very strange turn.
One that involved a masked figure beside my bed, a terrified scream, and several weeks of sleeping with the nightlight on.
But that’s a story for Wednesday.
Now I’m curious about you.
Have you ever felt pressured to participate in someone else’s religious practices, even when you didn’t want to? Or have you found a spiritual path that feels entirely your own?
I’d love to hear your experience in the comments. No converting anybody. No spiritual superiority contests. Just a conversation between people trying to figure out this wonderfully strange thing called life.
Life’s a little prickly. Might as well laugh about it.
— The Barbed Belle