Growing up, my parents weren’t very religious. I think I was aware of God from an early age, but we didn’t attend church on a regular basis. My siblings and I did sometimes attend Sunday school and Vacation Bible School. On special occasions, my grandma would take me to her church. Still, it always felt like church was just a place to have fun. I didn’t understand what or who God was. My dad taught me how to pray, and I thought every prayer had to follow the exact same formula. When I was afraid, which was often, I would say a prayer of protection for myself and everyone I’d ever loved. My dad said the best time of his life was when he married his second wife. She managed to get him to go to church regularly. As a result, he ended up sober for maybe the first time. He says he doesn’t know how it ended, but he looks back fondly. I spent a lot of time trying to convince him to get that back.
Sometimes, he would agree. On the weekends I went to visit him, Friday night he would sip his beer and tell me about how we would go to church Sunday morning. I would get excited and look forward to it. Saturday, he’d still insist we would go to church. He told me things like, “The devil tries to get you to stay home from church.” Sunday mornings would roll around, and my dad would decide church wasn’t in the cards for us after all. I remember always being disappointed, but never truly understanding what was occurring.
When I was 7, my cousin invited me to his church for Vacation Bible School. I gladly accepted. The first day, I came home with a bag full of candy. That evening, my friend Maggy introduced me to cigarettes. She taught me how to smoke them behind the cinder block wall that was in my back yard. Maggy offered a cigarette to my little brother, too, but he accidentally burned himself. That night, when my mom was helping him in the bath, she asked what happened. He told her about the cigarette. She began investigating. After my second day of Vacation Bible School, I came home to my mom and stepdad on the couch. Austin said, “Throw that bag of candy away.”
“This isn’t candy, it’s popcorn,” I told him, immediately scared.
“Throw it in the trash,” he insisted. I did as I was told.
They told me they’d discovered Maggy and my stash. We had just thrown the cigarettes on the ground. I tried to insist they weren’t mine. My mom said that she could take them to the police station and have them tested for DNA. I confessed. I wasn’t allowed to go to the rest of the week of Vacation Bible School.
In 10th grade, I rediscovered God. I became increasingly interested in knowing not only who God was, but who I was. I thought the answer must lie in religion and church. I began attending Rock Prairie’s youth group. I never felt as if I belonged, but I kept attending, hoping something would stick. I did make a few important relationships. I was compelled to be baptized. One of the youth group leaders really stood up and became a guiding figure for me. She would pick me up when I didn’t have a ride. She made sure I was always included. She went out of her way to teach me about God and the place God could have in my life. When I decided to be baptized, I asked her to do it, and she did.
High school continued, I grew away from religion in general. After graduation, I hopped into my car and ran away with Zach. On this journey, I learned more about spirituality than I had in my entire life. I still didn’t know if God was “real” or not, but I did know that somehow, everything worked out. I found myself in many precarious situations, and yet I always got out just fine. There were many times I had less than a quarter tank of gas in my car, no money in my pocket, and was miles from a gas station. Somehow, I always made it to the next station, and somehow I always found a way to get gas. Everything leading up to that point in my life felt fateful. I didn’t know how I ended up there, but I felt like there was a reason.
One time, in a small Texas town, Zach sat in front of a family dollar busking. Busking is the act of playing music for money. I think he had a banjo at this time, and he strummed away. I sat next to him on the bench, playing along with a harmonica. Pancake, our dog, sat next to us, watching people walk by. We were there for about an hour before anyone approached us. A lady finally did, and she asked if she could pray for us. Zach was not religious at all, and I was confused about where I stood, but we never denied letting people pray for us. It always felt so endearing, and I appreciated it. So, this lady, whose name escapes me, began praying with us. She asked the Lord to help us get whatever we needed to reach our next destination. She asked him to keep us well fed, healthy, and safe.
Within minutes of this woman walking away, a man and his two daughters brought us a meal from Dairy Queen. Then, another family approached us with entire bags of food they’d just bought from the family dollar. Finally, a man brought us a bag of dog food. Then, the police came. They’d received a call about someone worried for our well being. They asked what we needed to be on our way. We told them truthfully, we needed some gas. The police led us to a shell gas station, where they paid to fill up the tank on my car. We were on our way, then, with bellies, hearts, and gas tank full. I remember it so vividly. It felt like proof of the power of prayer.
Another time in my journey, I was introduced to the idea of “manifestation.” In Colorado, I met Sunny. He was a weird yet interesting man. He’d just turned 30. His dirty blond hair was shoulder length, and not well kept. He carried with him a piece of wood and a knife. He carved faces into the wood extraordinarily. He told me about how he lost his mind. He said on his 30th birthday, he took LSD, and stared at his reflection for hours, carving his own face into a block of wood. He said it took him 16 hours, and when he finished, he promptly fell asleep. He said the next day, he began recovering memories from his past lives. He remembered being all sorts of prominent characters in history. Abraham Lincoln and Jesus’s brother James, to name a couple. He said his revelations led him to Colorado from New Orleans.
While Sunny was obviously a bit off his rocker, I found his character charming. I invited him to tag along to the next Rainbow Gathering I would be attending. He enthusiastically agreed, insisting he would help get gas money and food. It was then that he told me about his ability to manifest whatever he wanted. I took it for a grain of salt, along with everything else he had told me. I thought it was just another one of his delusions. We happened to be fresh out of marijuana, and Sunny informed me of his intention to manifest us some. He asked me to join him on a walk. We were at America the Beautiful Park in Colorado Springs, Colorado. We began the walk to downtown, in search of some weed. Before we even had the opportunity to leave the park, a man on a motorcycle sped up to us.
“Hey! You guys smoke?” He asked.
I answered hesitantly, “Yeah.”
“Here you go,” he handed us an 8th of dispensary weed. “I decided I’m done smoking, but I didn’t want this to go to waste.”
I was completely blown away. I figured it must have been the craziest coincidence ever. Never mind the fact Sunny had JUST told me he was going to manifest weed. Never mind the fact that nothing like this had ever happened. It had to just be a coincidence, right? Well, probably. I still don’t know. Sunny did not end up coming with me all the way to Washington. He and Zach ended up not getting along. A fight broke out, and he ditched us. I was never able to see if he could recreate his magical results. I certainly was unable to recreate them myself, though I did try.
I still don’t know what role religion plays in my life. I still say prayers. I still feel as if someone is there listening. I still look around for signs and answers and guidance. I still sometimes receive it. I have seen things in life that feel too crazy to not be divine. A few years ago, I was more lost than I’d ever been. I worked midnights at a grocery store, hating every minute of it. I went to the bathroom, and prayed.
“Please help me understand what I should be doing. I can’t continue in this way. Help,” I prayed silently. The next morning, a woman who worked in the kitchen of an assisted living facility said they were hiring. I applied that same day, and received a call the next day. A week later, I started working as a personal care assistant. The day after my first day, my car was hit by a semi truck (I’ve yet to figure out what this means.) It was totaled. I worked at the assisted living facility for a year, and it ultimately led to me meeting my friend Haley. Haley was in her 3rd year of nursing school, and because of her, I decided to move forward with my own education. It truly feels like that night in the bathroom at the job I hated, I asked and since then I’ve done nothing but receive.
I don’t know what it all means. I don’t know if I ever will. Still, I find comfort knowing there seems to be someone out there looking out for me. Someone’s got my back. I express my gratitude as often as I can. I try never to take it for granted. I truly feel like one of the luckiest people in the world. I’ve found a man who treats me the way I deserve. We have done nothing but grow with each other. I have an amazing support system, friends who care deeply for me. I’ve found my “calling” through both writing, and caring for other people. While I by no means have all the answers, I am pretty content with the state of my own life. I don’t think I could ask for anything more.
Personally, regardless of religion, I do have a philosophy I live life by. I try to spend as little time possible being angry or worrying. I try to trust in the universe. My friend Alina and I have a habit of saying, “It will all be okay. In fact, it already is.” I try to treat every living being with kindness, always. I try to be honest with everyone I meet. I also strive to help anyone who needs it. I am not perfect, nor will I ever be, but I will always try to grow. Tomorrow, I will be better than today.
