Faith Rewarded Part I

I have toiled for the last two weeks to decide on something to write about. It's not that I can't think of a topic. Not at all. It's that I have about half a dozen floating in my head and I was being indecisive. No more.

Faith.

Way back in June I think, one of our priests asked if we had had our faith tested. This was a group of about 20 college students from the RTP area and I was one of the four who raised their hands. It wasn't followed up on that day so I eventually put it out of my mind.

Today, said priest who I will call Father Oak, asked during Mass if those who felt compelled would share their testimony with the congregation. My roommate's girlfriend who is one of the five people not counting myself that knew the story started nudging me and telling me I should share.

Something you need to understand is that I am not a shy person. In the least. For all my other issues, I am a very extroverted person who has little trouble striking up conversation when I meet people. However this is sharing something that I am ashamed of to this day with over a 100 people.

The easiest way to describe the fear is that I felt as if I may be run out of the church once I finished with torches ablaze. Especially since I taught a good number of the younger children in Sunday School.

Growing up I never questioned that God created and loved me. I loved having either my Nana or a great aunt of mine read stories from the Bible and explain in a way a small child could understand. Something I know now is not an easy task.

Then certain events came about when I was 13 and I was so angry. People told me 'God has a plan' and that just made me madder. I wanted to feel better right then and there. My grandmother (who has largely disowned me, I'll post about that at some point) had me talk to her pastor about what I was feeling.

Think pretty much every negative stereotype of a preacher and you have this guy. Pinstripe suit, Jerry curl, at least one woman on the side, and a Mercedes obtained mysteriously. Needless to say, I did not trust this man so I wasn't too responsive.

I don't remember the actual conversation now but by the end of it I wanted to punch him. He then told me God has a plan. In that moment, I made a decision. I turned to the cross that had been situated behind the altar and spat on it. Cue, shocked gasp from the people of my church as I tell them this.

Knowing what was about to come would shock them even more I asked the parents of children who they didn't want to hear a very strong curse word to cover their ears. Those who felt the need did so and I told them how my last act before leaving that place was to yell, "Fuck God's plan."

To be continued in Part II...