I woke up this morning to a message from the sister I had spoken to at church last time. She referred me to a chapter in a book, one that I happen to have read already, and said that she was sure I’d find comfort. She then told me to have a wonderful day.
She was referring me to a book. The brother referred me to a verse in the Bible. The Bible. This only stood out to me because a fellow blogger had written a blog post about how referring atheists to the Bible or some other religious book was not the thing to do in order to convince them that Christianity was valid. Sure I’m not an atheist, and I guess since they know me as a strong Christian they thought it might be okay to refer me to those books, but I had…well like I said, that stood out to me because of the blog post I had read before. (What I wanted to say was that I had read both these books already, but neither of them were strong enough to keep me in the faith.)
The second thing that I noticed was that she said I would find comfort. I didn’t want that. I thought about it before, and I don’t want religion to make me comfortable. I want it because it’s real and it’s true. I don’t want some fake thing that everyone else has that will make me feel good. I can probably take drugs for that. I want something thick and solid that nothing can rip through. That’s what I thought I had, but that wasn’t it. It wasn’t impenetrable, it wasn’t unbeatable. That makes it hard for me to trust it again. I was never looking for comfort from the beginning, only truth.