I Used to be a Christian

“The other day, when I was reading something you posted, it hit me. YOU are the writer!”

 

I know, the title is going to get everyone’s panties in a wad.

Chill out.

Read it.

You’ll get it.

I am 36 years old.

I have one HELL of a story to tell.

I’m not sure I’ll make money off of it, but it I do, I’ll have to A: change the names of the people so I don’t have to get their consent to tarnish their names, or B: Get consent from people I love dearly, to drag their names through the mud, because it’s a part of my story.

I remember when I was little. I remember going to church and loving Sunday school. I remember coloring and playing with other kids, praying at night for all of my loved ones and even all the strangers I never met, and never would meet to be safe. I was naive. I believed that if I prayed for EVERYONE, everyone would be safe. Then, one day, I was in shorts and a t-shirt, accepting Jesus into my heart as my lord and savior, as I was dunked into a pool of water in front of a congregation.

I was 7.

I remember, because I remember the look on my dad’s face when I told him I wanted to be baptized. It was a look I craved. A look of acceptance, of love, pride and happiness. I believed that Jesus was good and God loved all of mankind.

The older I got, the more confused I became. It wasn’t because of outside influences. It was because of everything I had read in the Bible.

I’m not going to bash the Bible, or God, or Jesus, or Christians.

I guess, I am writing this to say a few things. I am one of those “think outside the box” types of person. I know. You probably never would have guessed it, am I right? ha!

I have read the Bible. I have read it cover to cover a few times.

It. Makes. NO. Sense. It’s about as contradictory as anything could be.

But that’s okay. MOST of it is good guidelines for how to be a good person.

Jesus was this totally rad dude, who helped poor people, sex addicts, drug addicts, thieves and more! He totally loved them and taught them how to be good people. He proved to them that the choices they were making weren’t the only choices set out for them. He showed them that, although a rough road, a possible road. Right?

Totally cool guy. Loving, accepting, nurturing.

One of those guys you aspire to be like. Right?

Well, you don’t have to BELIEVE the Bible, to believe in the main character. Right?

Either way, my “faith” is different than it was when I was a child.

I have lived. I have observed. I have survived, and have stayed pretty damn level headed in the process.

At the point where one would finally break, I, instead,  keep striving for better. Not to GET something better, but to BE something better.

When I was a child, I believed that I would forever be protected. Nothing bad could happen to cause heartache or sadness, or the things that I have experienced through my 36 years of life.

Boy, was I wrong.

I say something that I know may piss off a lot of people, but I believe it one hundred percent.

Everything happens for a reason.

I’m sure many people who are grieving right now want to reach through their screens and slap the ever-loving shit out of me, right now.

I believe it. You do not have to. But, I do. I always will.

I REALLY met Mitch at a point in my life where I was really ready to call it quits with dating. I honestly never wanted to see another man in a dating manner again. (That was my dramatic teenage mind)

He walked into McDonald’s, smiled his brilliant smile at me, and told me I was coming to his birthday party.

You read that right. He didn’t ask if I’d go. He told me I was going.

“Hey, What are you doing this weekend? Oh? going to my birthday party. Okay, We’ll pick you up at 6!”

I was stunned. I was shocked. I was ALREADY in love with that boy, and he didn’t even know. We were both 17 years old.

He walked into that McDonald’s on the most perfect night, with the best “invite” to a birthday party I had ever received.

I think if God is real, he laughed when I swore to all things holy that I would NEVER name my child Megan, when I was 15 years old…

Que the laughter…

My favorite human, aka my daughter, is Megan. I can’t even imagine her with a different name.

Just as I remember the first time he “asked” me out, I remember our last night together. I remember what he had for dinner. I remember what movie we watched. I remember the words he spoke, as if they were gospel.

I remember his hand as he held mine during that movie.

I remember the next day, when I walked… ran to the doors of the FedEx Hub only to be dragged into an office and told that he was gone. I remember thinking “There’s no way there is a god. There’s no way a god would take such a man from this earth. No way!”

I always joked with Mitch about how I didn’t remember life before him. I think I phrased it wrong. I remembered life before him, but it felt like another lifetime. Like everything was happening as it should .

When he died, I had that same feeling. Everything is falling into place. Everything is exactly as it should be.

I hate it. Megan hates it. Our families hate it.

But that feeling. Gawwwwwd that feeling.

I’ve thought so many times that if anyone knew how I felt, how I felt as thought this is meant to be, I’d be looked at as heartless.

Now, though, I know I am not. I know my family and my friends, my coworkers and my past coworkers know that I am not heartless.

Mitch, I believe, completed his mission here. Whatever his mission was, he completed it, and he did it FAST.

I can tell you that whoever was supposed to learn from him, learned well.

Whatever it was he taught, he taught it without knowing he did.

I feel like I was a part of his mission, but definitely not the whole of it.

He taught me to be kind, even when I didn’t want to be. He taught me to see everyone’s point of view, and not take sides. He taught me that I have the ability to be amazing, I just needed to put forth the effort. (still trying, babe!) He taught me, most of all, that good men did still exist. He taught me that there were really still good fathers. He taught me that I am so much stronger than I ever imagined I could be.

I could write a book about how much like Jesus Mitch was. He never “laid hands on” and “healed” people like the Bible says Jesus did, but he sure did heal people with his words, his kindness, his acceptance, and his love. He talked to everyone, and he helped everyone.

So, again, I say: I used to be a Christian.

Now, I no longer align myself with any one religion, but, I believe that something is out there. Something is in charge and we are mere pawns in a game.

Am I winning?

Am I losing?

I guess I will only know when I pass on to the next realm.

Until then, I will continue my path of love and acceptance. I will not intentionally harm anyone. I will cherish my family and friends. I will teach kindness, empathy, and happiness through example.

 

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Do You Know What You Want in Life? Sex? Relationships? Money?

Or, do you only THINK you know?

Recently, I had myself convinced I wanted to be something I am not. I wanted to let myself go, with abandon, and not give 2 shits about it.

I wanted to be this person, who I have never been. Or so I convinced myself. Maybe I do want it? Maybe not. Most likely, not.

I am still figuring things out.

I found I like things I never thought I would like, and that’s what I am going to take from this life lesson. Because, honestly, everything is a lesson, in life. Right?

After being with someone for nearly sixteen and a half years, it’s hard to really know what you want, outside of that relationship, and all of the things that come along with it.

Many of our friends would joke about who wore the pants in our relationship. They always said it was me. It was, mostly. And there’s nothing wrong with that. That’s just how we were. I, more dominant than he. (and before anyone gets all weirded out, I mean in every aspect of our relationship. Not just sexual.)

I had convinced myself that I don’t want those pants, again. I don’t. I say “convinced myself”, but I have figured out, I don’t ever want to be that person who is bossy, and bitchy, and argues, and always gets her way. I was spoiled. Mitch spoiled the shit out of me. I am NOT complaining, at all. He was perfect. Perfect for the person I was. Perfect for the family that we created. Perfect.

Becoming a widow has opened my eyes to many things that I could do differently, when it comes to the next step. Now, don’t get me wrong, I am not ready for relationship status, and won’t be for a long time. That’s just not something I want, right now. I wanted sex, sure. But, I realized, after a very long, drunken, conversation, that I didn’t actually want what I was asking for, but for some reason, I thought I did. And that’s fine. I have no regrets.  But, enough about that.

In life, I want to be happy. That’s something that many people struggle with. I am doing everything in my power to keep myself and my daughter happy. Being widowed has shown me, no more “next year! We will do this NEXT YEAR!” No, we will do it NOW! Next year may never come for us. There’s a deep longing to be free. To do everything that I have ever wanted to do. That is one of the reasons I have started traveling. Short, weekend adventures, to run dirty, muddy, obstacle course races. The people I find myself surrounded by, during these races, are genuine people. They are happy. They are out there, playing in the mud, and swinging from the monkey bars, like overgrown children. Happy.

I want to be successful. I want to continue to be successful in my career, in my friendships, and in my LIFE. There’s nothing wrong with being an independent woman. I really hate that the way I had to realize how independent I am, was losing the love of my life, my soulmate, the father of my child.

I have had a rough few days, thinking about everything. I go through phases. Sometimes, I accept what is my life. Other times, I question it all. But, the last few days have been more like living in a dream. I am back to that. Like, I am going to wake up, soon, and everything that’s wrong in the world will be right again. I just need to let the dream go a little bit longer. Just a little while longer. I’ll wake up, soon.

But I am awake. I am completely aware of how awake I truly am.

I have started to spread Mitch’s ashes, as I travel. I placed him in the Grassy Knoll in Dallas, TX. I know it sounds insane, but Mitch was such a nerd, he would have LOVED it there. I placed him by a quote from Kennedy’s speech, that he never was able to give. It reads:

“We in this country, in this generation. Are-by destiny rather than choice-the watchmen on the walls of world freedom. We ask, therefore, that we may be worthy of our power and responsibility, that we may exercise our strength with wisdom and restraint, and that we may achieve in our time and for all time the ancient vision of “peace on earth, and good will toward men.” That must always be our goal, and the righteousness of our cause must always underlie our strength. For as was written long ago: “Except the lord keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.”
–John Fitzgerald Kennedy

It’s a beautiful place, with beautiful words. And just to make it so much more emotional, there was a man, playing the violin, in the gazebo, and we could hear his music, as we spread the ash. I cried, harder than I’ve cried in a long time, that afternoon. Spreading his ashes was like conformation that he is actually, physically, gone from this place. It hurt. It hurt so bad.

I think that’s when I started to feel like I was in a dream. Or, like I am just a character in a movie, following the script I was given. It’s a very strange sensation. I am not sure what to think of it. I am not sure where to go with it. I am not sure if anyone else feels this way, or if it’s just my widow-brain.

I was chatting with a friend. A very handsome friend, but no worries there, we are both very dedicated to our children, live 1,000 miles apart, and if anything went down between us, it would be at least 6 years from now. ;P But we were chatting. We were talking about how I have always wanted to live in the country, and how he has always wanted big city life. Funny how that worked out, huh? But, my point, we were talking about being single, and how it sucks, but it is what it is. I told him that I feel like people are scared of me. He asked why, I told him, because I am a widow. That’s terrifying to so many people. And that’s okay! I’ll say, you should not be scared of me, because of my being a widow. I’m not exactly sure what there is to be afraid of, but if anyone has any insight, please, share!

I know, that in the future, I will want a relationship. I will want something fun, exciting, sexually adventurous and strong. Key words: In. The. Future. Not now, not next month, and probably not next year. But, I already know that it  will be something I want. I can see it in my head.  Right now, though,  I want to continue to find myself. It’s important to me, to find out who this new woman is. Not knowing myself will be a problem, for any future endeavours.

So please, bear with me, here, as I continue to search within myself, and find out everything I ACTUALLY want. Sexually, in life, or in general. Only I can discover these things.

And keep in mind, this is much harder for me, than anyone will ever realize. I struggle with myself, daily. Like, do you really want to do that? Yes. No. Yes. No. It’s a cycle that I must work through. I’ve only talked to one man about this stuff. Poor guy. I’ve treated him like he’s my private journal, rather than a friend. Sorry, man. I’m working on it.

Now, about money. I know what I want in the money department. I want to be comfortable. I don’t need to be dirty rich, I can’t go back to paycheck-paycheck. I like where I am, with savings, with budgeting, with being able to vacation. I like it. I know that when I do start dating, my number one thing with be, that man has got to have his own self comfortable, financially. I don’t want to worry about someone else’s struggles. That sounds terrible, but I am being completely honest. I have my own money. I have my own savings. I am financially stable, and don’t plan on screwing that pooch. I think, even if in 5-6 years, I end up married to someone else, (IF!) I would not merge bank accounts. I am working too hard to fix all the shit that we screwed up, as youngins. I will never risk ruining my hard work.

In all honesty, I really don’t care about YOUR money, just as long as you have your OWN, and aren’t interested in MINE. Does that make sense? I’m not into sharing anymore. 😉 (dear goddess, I sound like a bitch. oh well. I know the truth.)