No Longer Seeing My Family’s Faith As A Stumbling Block
“It’s not that I didn’t want to believe in heaven, but rather I was terrified my belief would be in vain.”
Photo by Janelle Pol
“Some people inherit trust funds from their grandparents; we’ve inherited our faith,” my mom used to say to me. I’d roll my eyes, grit my teeth, or on more unfiltered occasions, respond in a tone way more teenager than mid-twenties: “I knnnnnnow,” giving ‘know’ as much air time as possible, as if that could fend off the guilt trip.
That’s what faith had become to me: a guilt trip. Resisting it became my form of rebellion against my parents, to be sure, but I think it was also subconsciously against all of the uncertainty my “inheritance” suggested I buy into. The main stumbling block for me was the concept of life beyond death.
STUMBLING OVER HEAVEN
It’s not that I didn’t want to believe in heaven, but rather I was terrified my belief would be in vain. At each of my grandparents’ funerals, I’d cry through hymns celebrating their earthly departure while envisioning them as angels who I could (and would) pray to and hope to see again one day. Then, without warning, my hope would devolve into fear. I’d imagine a death, my own, where I was simply gone: no consciousness beyond my last breath, just a body, burned to ashes and/or buried in the ground.
Feeling doomed toward darkness, I’d try to escape it. And New York City seemed to offer many opportunities to do so. But, “Satan himself masquerades as an angel of light” . Not only did I succumb to these demons in disguise, I sought them. I sought them in the arms and hearts of men, mistaking their fleeting affection for love and their eventual abandonment for my unloveable nature. I sought them through the validation of acting instructors and casting directors, deeming myself worthy with every praised performance or audition, and worthless with every condemned one. I sought them in mirrors and on scales, in extra glasses of alcohol, social media likes, and self-berating text messages to friends and family members who were tasked with convincing me I had potential and virtue despite my failures, brokenness, and imperfections.
DISCOVERING I WAS IN HELL
Doubting heaven, I made my life hell. I often went to bed hoping that reincarnation was real so that when I died I would have a second chance at life on earth as a new person, a better person. If I could’ve known that would happen, I might’ve prayed to not wake up. But every morning, I would wake up, and eventually I would awaken on a spiritual level, too. I’d realize that there are too many true angels here on earth for heaven not to be real.
Despite the years I’d spent worshiping false gods, the God entrusted to me at birth remained with me all along—even in the moments (which together make up years) where I doubted, denied, or disgraced him. I didn’t need a second chance at a new life; I had every chance imaginable at this one with his love and forgiveness. And sure, I was born into a faith-focused family, but my “inheritance” of this faith isn’t one I’m entitled to as their descendant. Rather, it’s one we are all eligible for no matter when we realize it.