One night on vacation, my mom and I lay on the bed we were sharing and started talking about religion. To all you readers, this may seem perfectly normal, so let me give some background context as to why it was not. Though my mom and I were really close and talked about a lot, religion was not one of those things. For most of my life that I can remember, my mom didn’t go to church with us, except for some Christmases and Easters. From what I could gather, she didn’t really believe in man-made religion, had had negative experiences with the church and its people before, and overall, just didn’t quite believe what I did.
So, faith wasn’t shared nor was it a topic of conversation. That is, until college where I got into some arguments and shouts with her trying to force her to believe what I did, and therefore what I thought was the only truth. Yeah…not my finest or proudest moments.
She was gifted with being very analytical and logical, so naturally, she had a lot of questions and things that didn’t make sense to her. Something I didn’t quite understand until I began deconstructing. Even at that point, I think part of me was afraid to have conversations with her, thinking she would try to pull me to her side.
Fears that were so unnecessary because my mom was the most loving, supportive, and safe person throughout my whole deconstruction journey (as you’ll hear about in our conversations throughout this chapter). But fears I had, nonetheless.
Anyway, this leads us back to that one night on vacation. To be honest, I don’t even remember how we got on the topic of faith and religion. I know at the time, I was struggling with a lot of shame around where I was at in my deconstruction journey—which seemed exactly nowhere. I wasn’t the hardcore practicing Christian I used to be, I wasn’t atheist, I wasn’t even seeking out deconstruction anymore. And so, I felt a) guilty that I wasn’t seeking answers and b) lost like I couldn’t be defined or put into a box as I’ve mentioned in other chapters. I so badly wanted to know where I stood, what I believed, and where I belonged.
I remember sharing this with my mom, being frustrated with myself that I couldn’t just figure it out or “get there”. Don’t even get me started on where “there” was. I hated having all these questions and not being able to blindly believe like I used to.
She asked me why I felt the need to understand and comprehend it all, or to have it all figured out. I didn’t have a good answer to give her; only that I just did. I felt like a failure if I didn’t. And I didn’t want to be wrong.
We talked about verses out of context and how the Bible is so much about culture and context of the times it was written in. Not that we can’t get anything from it today, but that it’s important to look at it with this lens of why they would’ve written the things they did.
And I get it. The people in and of the Bible were truly just trying to figure out the mysteries of the world like we are and doing their best to make sense of it all. That’s all any religion, at its core, is trying to do, really.
There is so much to this world and this life that is mysterious and unknown. Way more than our human brains could ever, and I believe were meant to ever, handle. And so, we do our best with where we were raised, what we were given, and how we think to make sense of and uncomplicate the chaos.
On the surface, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I think where it gets harmful is when we decide everything has to fit into a box, and try to fit everything into said boxes, and anyone remotely outside of that is wrong. Because the mysteries of God, the Universe, life, a higher power cannot and will not ever be able to fit into a man-made box. I wouldn’t want it to.
So there my mom and I sat, talking about these mysteries and how we tried to deal with them. We talked more about my deconstruction journey, the things I had been processing in therapy, and the things my therapist had told me.
Throughout the conversation, my mom said some pretty beautiful and profound things to me. Things that I want to unfold in the following paragraphs as magical ideas I took away from our talk, things I’ve processed out of them, and lessons I think we could all stand to hear and meditate on.
Journeys Are Meant for Discovering
First, was the idea of the mystery and my struggle to accept the things I didn’t know or wasn’t sure of anymore. While
I tried not to think about it, knowing it would cause me stress, when I did think about it, questions flooded my mind. Was I still a Christian? What did I believe? How could I explain where I was at or my faith? Where did I want to go?
My brain often resorts to black-or-white thinking, especially when it came to my faith journey. I wanted to be on either end of the spectrum, not in the messy, gray middle. And I just could not wrap my head around being in a place where I both knew and didn’t know what I believed; where I felt certain and uncertain at the same time, where some things were the same and others vastly different.
I still believed there was a God. Looking at the awe of the world around me, the magic of life, the fucking wonder that is the human body…how could something not have created all of this? It could not have been a mere lucky accident. I also still believed that Jesus existed, and I really believed in the way he lived and calls us to live and love.
But everything else? Yeah, that I have no idea where I stand on. Well, at least for the most part. So much was a big fat question mark in my brain of what I still did or no longer did believe.
How did I get to this place? How did I go from knowing so confidently to having so many questions? Again, I felt like a failure.
But the answer is, as my mom reminded me, because I’m on a journey. We all are.
My mom so gently asked, “Why can’t you believe there is a God, and believe Jesus existed, said what he said and did what he did, and believe in how Jesus calls you to live? Why can’t that be what you believe, and the rest be things you’re still discovering—actively or not—on your journey?”
The more I deconstruct, or sit in this messy middle not really doing anything (which in and of itself may be exactly what I need to be doing ironically), the more I no longer believe faith is a destination. That you believe, have faith, and everything stays the same, no questions asked.
I believe faith is a journey, regardless of what you believe or where you’re at. It’s not a one-and-done thing, not a once in a lifetime decision you make. It’s a constantly changing, ever-evolving pathway that we have walked, are walking, and will continue to walk.
But I think that makes us uncomfortable. To not have everything set in stone (remember, what I said about boxes earlier?). So, we put labels. On everything. On everyone. And we try to button everything up so that nothing new or different can be added.
But doesn’t that defeat the point of a journey? As humans in general, disregarding religion, we are always evolving, changing, learning, and growing. So, how can we not expect our faith to do the same?
As my mom reminded me, I don’t have to have everything figured out right now. That’s kind of the whole point of the journey. Journeys are meant for discovering, unlearning, rediscovering, and more. Religion-based things or others. No matter where you end up or how long it takes, give yourself patience to get there when you get there.
God Doesn’t Fault You for Being Human and Trying
Second is something I’ve been really thinking about in terms of how other religions fit in. Christianity, evangelicalism especially, will tell you that no other religions count, not even Jewish. Christianity is the only one right way. And I believed that for so long.
But along the way, I began thinking about how that really wasn’t fair depending on where and what you were born into. Which I guess some Christians would argue is the point of evangelism. To keep a long story short, I no longer believe in forcing my beliefs or views on others.
But how did everything fit in? How did Jesus dying on the cross fit in? Was it the universalist theory that Jesus’ dying and atonement really was for everyone, regardless of what you believed? That God was making all things new? Or was it that Christians went to heaven and everyone else just died? (Since I have already deconstructed the common, but I believe incorrect, idea of hell).
But how could a God who created and loved these people be okay with them just being gone for the rest of his life? Or if he knew from the start that they would be Buddhist and not Christian, how and why could he keep creating them? These are just some of the questions that swirled around my beautiful mind.
And things that my mom and I talked about. Mostly, I had a big fear that I was wrong. Or what if I was wrong. Yet, at the same time, the God I believe in sees our hearts, and our hearts are one of the most important matters. As I mentioned in another chapter, I just wanted to know that God saw me trying and he did and would accept me.
As I was sharing my fears of being wrong, my mom said that if God is who he says he is, he sees you trying and he knows your heart. Your heart that wants to figure it out, that comes from a good place. He sees your struggles and he doesn’t fault you for it. For not knowing. For doing your best.
While that was a very difficult God for me to imagine and wrap my head around, it was also like a heavy burden was taken off my shoulders. Because if all of that was true, how freeing!
And when I stopped to think of it, it fit with the God I believed in. The God I believe Jesus showed up as.
The Jesus who saw, really saw, people. Who accepted and welcomed and gave belonging to. Who knew people would doubt and betray him and loved them anyway.
As of now, writing this, I still struggle to know what I believe when it comes to Christianity and how other religions play in. I’m allowing myself to accept the not-knowing and instead trust that I can and will discover things along the journey. But one thing I do believe is that God doesn’t fault us for being humans—he created us this way.
He knows our struggles and our doubts, he sees us trying and working through questions, he understands that we don’t have all the knowledge and never will. I believe in a God who sees us trying to make sense of the mystery of life, of a higher power, of the universe, and loves us all deeply. Not despite all of that but because of it.
No one is entirely right, and no one is entirely wrong. We are all going to get parts right and things wrong and twist other ideas all around. But we’re trying and we’re doing our best. God made us; God knows. And he doesn’t fault anyone for how they’re trying on their own personal faith and spirituality journey. May we all find some more freedom and room to breathe in that.
No Place is Permanent
Last, but not least, though she didn’t say these exact words, my mom reminded me that no place in life is permanent. Since starting my deconstruction journey, I’m coming to realize that I’ve put this pressure of an end destination onto myself the entire time. I’ve said that I’m giving myself the freedom to roam and find my own way, but it wasn’t true.
See, if you know where you’re at and force yourself to reach a certain destination, there’s not really any freedom in that is there. You can lie to yourself all you want that you have room to roam and take whatever path you want…as long as it of course ends up right where you decided it needed to.
That’s not freedom.
But that’s what I was doing with my deconstruction journey—needing to end up back as a strong believer who had all the answers and knew exactly what she believed. All wrapped up in her pretty little box tied with her pretty little bow.
Essentially, I was forcing what I was deconstructing from back onto myself.
It just scared the hell out of me to not know where I would end up which, coupled with the fear of being wrong in the end, made for a pretty disastrous mind. I needed to be defined; I needed a label. None of which was certain, so I tried to make my own certainty and control my faith journey.
But the thing about faith journeys, or any journey for that matter, is…no one knows exactly how they’ll end up. I’m sure there’s lots of backlash right now as you’re thinking you’re 100% certain. But you can’t be, certainty doesn’t mesh with faith. That’s kind of the whole point of faith, you don’t know for sure, but you hope and believe.
I think that’s a big reason why so much of the Christian community is hates on deconstruction—they’re just scared. Scared that if pastors and people who were so strong in their faith can find themselves in a place of doubt, questioning, and deconstructing, then maybe so could they. And that idea and unknown terrifies them.
In our conversation, my mom actually addressed the fears that I had, without me even mentioning them. She mentioned that with where I was at that she wasn’t thinking she “finally got me to see the light” and question all of this. Instead, she comforted me with where I was and wherever I might end up.
She reminded me that this was my journey. Maybe I would end up right back where I started, and that will be great and okay. But maybe I wouldn’t end up anywhere near where I started, and that was great and okay as well.
Where I was at in deconstruction wasn’t where I had to stay if I didn’t want to. And likely isn’t exactly where I would stay just with the nature of change and growth. Just like where I had been with my faith wasn’t where I stayed.
In other words, no place is permanent.
And I get that that can be downright terrifying and overwhelming to think about. As humans, we crave certainty, roots, and steadiness. Not change, movement, and chaos. I want to validate whatever you may be feeling right now; I’m right there with you.
But at the same time, it’s freeing and lightening in some ways too.
If you realize that no place in your journey is forever, then you can withstand almost anything. You can let go of the worries and the stress and the need to control everything perfectly. Or really, control anything at all. You can just be, where you’re at, and accept it. Embrace it even.
One day, you won’t be here. Maybe you’ll be really close or maybe you’ll be super far away—that doesn’t matter. The point is you don’t have to stay there if you don’t want to. I know one day, I won’t always be not caring about faith or not actively deconstructing, and though I think I will always be on a journey of learning and unlearning, maybe I won’t be in deep deconstruction at all.
But right now? Right now, I want to accept the unknown of it all and learn to live in the messy middle. I want to embrace where I’m at and find a way to be safe and come back home to me. To be okay being on a journey of constantly changing and discovering.
I may not have it all figured out. In fact, I don’t. I may never have it all figured out. In fact, I won’t. But my journey is meant for discovering, I believe in a God who doesn’t fault me for being human and doing my best to make sense of it all, and I know that no place is permanent.
And so here? Here is where I’ll be.
