SP question of the moment: There’s a million different ways to believe. Why did you end up believing in the way that you do? What Draws You To Your Faith?
Thinking back, I have always been on speaking terms with God, I just couldn’t articulate who or what I was talking to. I didn’t grow up in a church, and up until the age of 9 or 10 I had never heard of God/god/faith therefore it had no place in my life. However, as far back as I can recall there was always a special place—usually in a closet—that these “conversations” would take place.
Behind last years snowmobile suit and some long special occasion dresses you could find my “altar.” Made from an old milk crate, a grocery store box, an old bed-sheet, some boards and a shoe box tucked in the back corner of my closet, I used to sit with my most precious things. There was an old dried up beehive, some buttons that belonged to my mom, notes passed in class, a notebook to write in, a picture of someone I was “going with” and various other bits and bobs from my little life. Alone in this quiet space I would talk to myself, cry, read and write letters to whom it may concern about wishing for this or that—mostly to be loved by a certain boy, and for the other stuff, to please please stop.
Over the years I have had pictures of my boyfriends, girlfriends, best friends, dead friends, and Jesus all adorning this space, in every place I have ever lived. My altars have moved, the precious things have become less like things and more like people, stories and experiences. The altars have changed, the names of who I am talking to have changed, but the conversation continues.
I don’t know where the idea ever came from, I only know that my faith, my belief, like my altars, has always been with me. And what exactly is my belief? I believe that I am loved, was created for love, from love.