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Tuesday, June 24th, 2008
To Pray Or Not To Pray, That Is The Question...

So my husband, Bill a/k/a Pastafarian (don't ask), started a conversation about his atheism last week, and I mentioned that I should probably do a blog about my "side of the story." Many of you have already read the very beginning, and Pegi said that I was a "very brave woman" and "generous to share such deep matters." To that I say, I must. In order to live with integrity, I feel the need to exchange information about my past with others. Now, this might not be the same for anyone else, but for me, it helps.

On May 14, 1988, I was raped. I was on a date with someone I'd known for a few years--we met in college in '85--and we'd been out a few times, after running into one another a couple weeks prior. Anyway, without disclosing the details, we ended up driving out to the country to stargaze and, you know, what I thought was innocent kissing and such. Not his plan. To make a long story short, I never reported it because I felt it was my fault for agreeing to go out there in the first place and for climbing into the back seat willingly. Besides, "Date Rape" wasn't really part of our vocabulary back then. Afterward, I spoke to someone I thought I could trust with everything: God. After weeks and weeks of praying and not getting any answers from God, I gave up trying.

Then, in September of that same year, I got a telephone call from my OB/GYN asking me to come in for a consultation: I had pre-cervical cancer. My parents were terrified, but needed to be strong for me because I was a mess! After my surgical procedure, I recovered, but felt that the cancer was my "answer" from God...my punishment, so to speak. From that point on, I decided that I was going to throw caution to the wind and live my life, not caring about whether it was a "sin" or not.

I quit school and got a second job. I went out with friends to clubs and bars and drank and danced to my heart's content. I traveled with my girlfriends to see cities and meet people and have fun. I dated, I went "stargazing" whenever and with whomever I pleased, and you know what? God didn't strike me down with a bolt of lightning! By the time a few years had passed, I felt my faith in God wain.

Then, on a cold day in March 1991, a customer came into the store where I worked and took my breath away; it was him. I was furious! Why was he here? I had hidden him deep within the far reaches of my memory, and now, all of a sudden, here he was--physically--standing in front of me. Well, he needed to tell me something that would turn my world upside down yet again: he had AIDS.

OH MY GOD!!! Would this nightmare ever end for me? Was I such a horrible sinner that God would punish me and those I love in this manner?? I mean, weren't there people who had done worse things than me in the world?! Over the few years that followed, I would lose my faith in God completely...

After he disclosed the AIDS information to me, I had to be tested on two occasions: right away and again in six months; both were negative. Once those initial tests were done, I decided to relocate and moved in with friends near San Francisco; I needed space and time to recoup away from my family--they could see through me at times, and I didn't want to burden them with this information. I stayed there for a year, and was tested for AIDS in California 10 times, just to be sure. Then, I moved home to Illinois, which was made easier because he died of AIDS-related pneumonia. I sighed a bit, then...at least the physical reminder of that night, May 14, 1988, was gone, and a new memory for that date had taken it's place - my nephew, Cody, was born on that date in 1992; the year I returned.

I decided to change my life, so I moved and took a job in Springfield, and at the urging of a mentor of sorts (Tom Easley), went back to school. I also tried to renew my faith by attending several Missouri Synod Lutheran churches in that fair city, but felt let down after every service. Nothing spoke to me; the creeds recited beliefs I no longer had. I tried other denominations: Catholic, Methodist, Baptist, and just plain ol' Christian churches. Nothing moved me there either. So, I decided to stay away from structured religion for awhile.

Then, I met Bill. He was a Deacon at his hometown Presbyterian church, but after many conversations he revealed that he only did this to spend time with his mother and that he was Atheist. We talked and talked about how he arrived at this conclusion, and after studying many different sciences and conversations about Atheism, I felt fear. Fear of nothingness. However, my new relationship with Bill seemed to smooth over my fear, and I pushed it aside.

A year or so after we were married, my father wasn't feeling well and after many tests, he was diagnosed with a terminal metastasis of colon cancer to the liver; they gave him six months to a year. The family was devastated. Now my father was not an "absolute faith" type, but he had attended church with my mother weekly since the early 80s. He did cling to the hope that there was a God and that he'd ascend to Heaven at the end of his fight, but still disclosed to me during one of our many, many talks during those final months that deep down inside of himself, he was still uncertain. After his last breath on June 2, 2002, I was petrified of death...

Upon building our home and finishing my degree, our first child (Galvin Montgomery) was born in June 2005, and instead of being over-the-top thrilled about this beautiful baby, I cried and cried every day. I lost confidence in myself. In life. I didn't think I could be The Momma. I had P.P.D. and two weeks after Galvin was born, I needed medication, which I hated. Then within months, I fell and broke my leg, dropping Galvin in the process, and it seemed to be a downward spiral from there. Even though the Zoloft seemed to help the P.P.D., I stopped taking it in early 2006. Then I got pregnant with Gwendolyn, and my fears escalated once more, but something was about to happen that would change me forever: Cali Jo was diagnosed with cancer in April 2007...

I can vividly remember that day - it was a Thursday. Bill, Galvin and I were eating dinner, waiting for the phone to ring because we knew it would since Cali had gone into surgery for the biopsy at 4:30pm. I remember taking the call from my sister's best friend, Carrie, and her words: cancer. I was calm, told my husband what she said, walked the hall to our bedroom where I closed the door, knelt down beside our bed and placed my face into a pillow to muffle the guttural screams and sobbing that ensued. Then, for some reason I can't explain, I prayed. And I continued to pray from that day forward, through the near-fatal accident that left my nephew with a traumatic brain injury, through the birth of our daughter, Susannah Gwendolyn, through another diagnosis of P.P.D. (go figure) and through everything that has happened since April 26, 2007, up until today. And it's said that "Out of tragedy comes...triumph; hope; life." I believe all are true, at least for me.

So, have I fully restored my faith in God? No. Do I consider myself a religious person? No, though I do consider myself a spiritual being. Do I believe in structured religion? Not at this time, but if it works for others, fine. It's kind of like "support groups" - loads of folks swear by them, but I've never found them helpful for me. I'd rather lean on the relationships I currently have and the new ones I make along my journey, like all of you! And I don't foresee myself giving up my Sunday paper between waking and waffles for a sermon anytime soon.