The Luckiest

I've been going through an interesting stage of life and self-discovery for the past couple of weeks. It's been rather interesting, too. But, I guess I should start from the beginning.

I've never been a very religious person. I mean, I was raised in the Methodist Church, baptized in the Methodist Church, confirmed in the Methodist Church. But, I guess the idea of religion never really took to me... or perhaps I distanced myself from it at some point. Either way, somewhere a long the way, I "stopped being Christian."

Now, this is not to say I was an atheist. No, I wasn't an atheist. I'd say I was more... agnostic. I believed that there was some guiding force out there. I believed that there was some form of intervention. I just wasn't sure what it was.

Perhaps this whole journey began back in my sophomore year of high school. See, I had a Sunday School teacher whom everyone loved and enjoyed being around... except for me. I didn't agree with what he taught, nor did I really agree with how he taught it. And this all just happened to coincide with several events that affected the youth group I went to. I guess the combination of these events led to my rejection of what they were attempting to teach me. I still went to church on Sundays, but it was reluctantly, and with great frustration (and by my senior year of high school, it usually involved a big fight as well). I still went to youth group, and I even became the president of the youth group during my senior year (a grand total of.... 10 people! And that's on a good day), but I didn't enjoy what I was doing.

It probably didn't help that I had a personal crisis during my senior year. See, I've never been a very emotional person. That's not something I like to delve into. I compartmentalize things... tuck them neatly into their little boxes where they're supposed to stay. And in the beginning of my senior year, my entire world was rocked.

My Poppy died during the first week of school my senior year after a long battle with Congestive Heart Failure. For five years, I watched him fight this condition, and it was always one step forward and two steps back with him. And for those five years, I constantly wrestled with one question- how could a God who's supposed to be so merciful cause my Poppy so much pain and suffering? Poppy had never done anything wrong; why was he the one to go through this?

Throughout my senior year, I continued to grapple with this question. And in the meantime, I was forced to confront my own mortality and my own emotions. I'll admit it- I was bitter after Poppy died. I was depressed after Poppy died. Hell, truth be told, I'll still bitter, and to an extent, I'm still depressed. And strong emotions like grief and I don't do well together. We butt heads because grief needs to be fully expressed before one can accept it and go on, and I simply did not want to deal with that. I wanted the grief to get tucked in its little box in the back of my head.

As my senior year went on, I found that I gained no comfort in anything. My parents couldn't comfort me because more often than not, we were at each other's throats. I couldn't bury myself in school work or actual work because eventually, I'd run out of things to do. I couldn't attempt to supress my emotions with running because running can only block out but so much. And I couldn't find comfort in religion because I was constantly questioning it.

Eventually summer came, and my parents couldn't force me to go to church because I was working most Sundays. May led to June, which in turn led to July and August, and eventually I found myself up at college. At Student Org Night, I gravitated towards the Wesley Foundation table out of sheer habit; after all, being raised a Methodist, it was only natural that I checked out the Methodist organization that was on campus. But I never went to any of their events or meetings. And when I was home, I only went to church on holidays, like Good Friday or Easter. Once more, I found myself home for summer, and once again, I was working most Sundays. However, I noticed a new trend- my parents had stopped going to church. This puzzled me. Here were the people who just a year ago had forced me to go to an institution I hated with a passion, and yet they were sleeping in every Sunday morning. I took it with a grain of salt, though. They were adults; they could make their own decisions. Instead, I took to working all the time, occasionally pausing to consider the possibility of religion.

Now, I find myself back up at school again. A week ago, I decided to take a leap and go to the Wesley Foundation's Tuesday evening Bible Study. The next day, I found myself hauling my tired bones out of bed at 06:30 AM to go to 08:00 AM Communion. I was shocked at how I was treated, but in a good way. The members of the Wesley Foundation welcomed me with open arms. They knew I was grappling with the idea of God and Jesus and whatnot, and yet they still welcomed me. And truth be told, I'm still in awe of it. I'm in awe of it, but I'm also thankful.

I'm still wrestling with the idea of religion as I write this post. I'm sure I'll be wrestling with it for a long time after this. After all, I'm the logical person in my family. It's only natural that I attempt to understand something that I truly can't. But for now, I'm Ok with it. See, I think I've found a place where I can voice my opinions and questions without prejudice. I think I've found a group of people that I can talk to and trust. I think that maybe, just maybe, I've found a community.

And for that, I am thankful. Truly, deeply, utterly and completely thankful.

I don't get many things right the first time
In fact, I am told that a lot
Now I know all the wrong turns, the stumbles and falls
Brought me here

And where was I before the day
That I first saw Your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest.
-Ben Folds, "The Luckiest"