I Don’t have a Religion, I have Faith

Written last Friday night in my mole skin notebook:

I’m sitting here in the “crying room,” the place where parents go with their new born babies that haven’t learned yet that you have to be silent in church. I have sat in there many times, growing up with a “young” younger brother, and every time, I feel as though I’m being interrogated like I’m behind a two-way mirror. Only an orange peel thick of glass separates my family from the rest of the congregation.

I am there for one reason and one reason only: TRADITION, or in simpler terms—my mother.
Every year it is the same routine: My mother tries to curl her hair just perfect; it falls before we even get in the car. My father makes sure he has a piece of gum in his mouth to keep him busy and complains how we have to leave so early when there are never any spots open in the pews anyway. And, Jesse puts on his “best” holey pants for the occasion. Me, I just follow the Liedke train.

I don’t have religion in my life. I have faith. And as Elizabeth Gilbert said, “Faith is belief in what you cannot see or prove or touch. Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be . . . a prudent insurance policy."

Yes, we can believe in something greater than ourselves, but why not see what is in ourselves first? I do not have an insurance policy.

I don’t want to need because then I have to feel. That would be the easier route. . . . I have NEVER taken the easy road. And, you know what? I’m not going to start now. I’d rather take that chance of falling again.