I am a believer. I am. But I struggle.
It has been a while since I have gone to church. Raised Christian I spent my formative years going between my birth mom’s church, Baptist and my dad and mom’s, Catholic. We are talking about two ends of the Christian spectrum here. They read from the same book, and they believe in the same principals. Even with all this sameness, somehow these two churches view themselves so differently.
More people, in my generation, seem to have faith but no ties or roots in a specific religion or church. I am one. Just this past Sunday morning I took an early morning trip to Wal-mart. Looking around the store I wondered, “Where are all the people?” It took me a second to realize that they were in church. Sunday, in a way had just become another day of the week for my family. Relaxation taken over. Getting dressed up and leaving the house would probably be a chore.
Maybe I feel a little guilty. My kids know bible stories and the importance of being good and kind to others, but I can count the number of times they have been in a church on one hand. Stewards of faith mediocre at best. Stewards of religion and going to church poor.
I do feel bad. In a way, in my young life I felt that choosing my religion was equal to choosing what parent I loved best. I can look now and see how ridiculous this concept is but I know I still harbor the resentment of that choice. And in a way I don’t want my kids to have that resentment, especially when it comes to matters of faith and religion.
Battling it out will take time. Writing I find to be a great release. So deal with me here as I work it out. It is deciding what is important and valuable to me. It will be my choice. And I think that is what is most important. I know my choice will influence my children, so that is why I need to look into every aspect, if I am going to make this jump I am going to do it with my eyes open. And more importantly with my heart open.