A Quiet Faith.

I don't write about this to push my beliefs on anyone. I write it because some people have been curious and because I like to write about all aspects of myself.

I don't talk much about my faith. But I think most of the people who know me know it. I remember Facebook asking me about my religious views; I wrote the only words that made sense to me: I can't help but believe.

As a child, around ten, I had deep doubts. Why should I believe all this? Because my mother did? Because almost everyone I knew did? That wasn't enough for me.

The feeling of faith didn't come. So like love, I made a choice. I chose to believe. Blindly. Without understanding all the questions, contradictions, and terrifying Biblical stories. Without believing myself worthy of such a truth as a loving God. Without knowing what I was getting myself into.

And as I stumbled forward, God stepped toward me. At the moment of my baptism in a church camp swimming pool, I felt the impossible peace of the Holy Spirit, and a miracle happened: God transformed my faith. I believe He blessed me with a child's faith-natural, effortless trust. I think that perhaps God gave me this because He knew how sick I would be, and He knew I would need a faith that wouldn't budge.

In Les Miserables, Jean Valjean sings, "My soul belongs to God; I know I made that bargain long ago." For me, it's that simple.

I don't go to church. Even visiting the church I grew up in is a dreadful ordeal (solely due to the shape of my brain). I'm married to an atheist. I don't read the Bible regularly, but its words fall like crystals through the maze of my mind every day.

Maybe God will judge me for these things; I don't know. My mind is so often like an open diary--a prayer. He has brought me comfort through sorrows I couldn't have imagined. He's saved me in terrible struggles. And He accepts my faith, simple as it is.