Have you ever told someone who believes in God that you don’t?
Did pity cross their face as soon as the words left your mouth?
Were they hurt by it? Were they defensive over it? Were they disappointed in you?
Personally for me, the answers are, yes, yes, yes, yes, and yes. I feel uncomfortable writing about it even now. Part of me can even still feel their hurt, and disappointment in my admission, which oddly enough might be because I have personally been disappointed in myself for not believing in God before, which is a little weird since I’ve never felt the pressure to.
I’ve gone to church twice in my entire life. Once when I was a child and begged my parents to take me. The other time, when I became the God Mother of a close friends daughter, which was incredibly awkward, by the way. I love my friend, and I love her daughter, and I fully disclosed to my friend that I don’t believe in God when she asked me to be her daughters God Mother. She said she had no issue with it, and the reason she wanted it to be me was because she thought I would be a good example for her daughter. She knew I loved her daughter and would always be there for her.
After that, I accepted the role immediately. I mean, technically marriage is supposed to be about God too, right? And I did that anyway. So why not?
A good argument for that question is probably because I had to stand up in front of an entire church filled with people and lie to all of them. I had to state that I accepted God and rejected Satan, which sort of is only a half lie then, right? Because if Satan is real, I most certainly reject him, I promise.
Side note: Should someone who doesn’t personally believe in God still capitalize his name? Ugh, see how horrible and awkward I am when it comes to this stuff.
Anyway, I remember the first time I told someone I didn’t believe in God. I was with my three best friends in high school. They all came over to my house that night and we were having a sleepover. They all believed in God, and somehow the topic had got brought up as we sat on the kitchen floor eating s‘mores.
“Do we all believe in God?”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Luckily, my best friends are all very kind, and loving people. They asked me why, but not in an accusing or angry tone. They were just genuinely curious, as I was the odd one out. I explained I tried to, that I always wanted to, but that I just couldn’t, and thankfully, they accepted that answer.
“The bible does state some pretty unbelievable stories,” one of them said, and we all laughed, as we discussed every single one we’d ever heard of.
But still, at the end of the night, they all still believed in God, and I didn’t.
And since then, not much has changed for me.
I don’t believe in God, but I wish I did.
I wish I was able to trust that a man who lived in the sky always wanted what was best for me. I wish I believed that the people I loved were always being looked after too. I wish there really was a Heaven and that everyone I’ve ever lost lived there together and that I would see them again some day.
If I believed in a God, it would make the devastating thoughts of losing my husband one day so much more bearable. It would ease the absolutely crushing fear of dying I have.
And all together, I think I might just feel freer.
I think I would love more easily and trust more openly. I think I might be kinder and more empathetic. I think I could be more patient, and a hell (sorry, I mean heck) of a lot stronger. And mostly, I believe I’d feel so much more loved.
But then I thought, maybe I don’t have to believe in a rewarding afterlife where everything is perfect and everyone safe.
Maybe I just have to appreciate the life I have right now.
Maybe my Heaven is having dinner with my parents on a Sunday as we all laugh and share our lives together.
Maybe my Heaven is lying on my husbands chest as I listen to his steady heartbeat.
Maybe my Heaven is cuddling with my dog on a Saturday afternoon.
Maybe my Heaven is a future moment as my husband and I finally watch the Detroit Lions win the Super Bowl. (come on, we’re allowed to dream, right?)
Or maybe my Heaven is back in that kitchen, sitting on the floor with my best friends as we stuff our faces with s’mores, and we all accept each other, regardless of what we believe.
And maybe I don’t need to believe in a God to feel so loved after all.
Maybe I just need to trust the world, and free myself.
