Chris asked me the other day why I haven't been posting much lately. I've had lots of thoughts in my head but I really haven't been able to figure out how to write them out.

I grew up in a Southern Baptist home. We went to church every time the doors opened. I was extremely judgmental...I can remember arguing with my Methodist friends about whether they were going to heaven or not. They didn't know the "right" way to worship God. Of course I was the first one of my group of friends to lose my virginity too, but I'm sure the two aren't related. I didn't go to church much at all when I was in college-when I came home for the weekends was about it. After college I didn't go much either. I would go occasionally-more than Christmas and Easter but it wasn't a big part of my life. The God I knew about was this foreign Being that watched me mess up from Heaven.

When Chris and I started dating I started going to church with him. I didn't think a lot about what was going on. I do remember the pastor talking about "the joy of the Lord is my strength" and not understanding what that meant. I remember thinking how could you find joy in the bad things.

When Chris and I got married I stopped going to church. I didn't really like God a whole lot. I don't really know why I was angry with God or why I had such animosity, but I did. Then the bottom fell out.

When I moved back home with my parents it was understood that I would go to church. There started being some curiosity about things. More than that though my world had fallen apart. I was angry with God. What had I ever done to deserve all of this? I wasn't a bad person. I tried to do the right thing--even if I didn't try "really" hard. At the same time though I needed something to believe in.

I did a Bible study by Beth Moore entitled Breaking Free. I learned about a God I never knew before.
This was a God who watched me from Heaven. But he wasn’t watching all the ways I messed up. Instead I learned about a God who cried with me when I was hurting. A God who wanted to wrap me in His arms and hold me when I hurt. It was an amazing thought to truly realize that God knew the numbers of hairs on my head-and could tell me how many were gray!

I can’t even begin to tell you how far from perfect I am-physically, emotionally, mentally. The list is too long to even think about. You know though, what matters to God is that I know He loved me so much He let His son be sacrificed. As a mother I can’t imagine a love like that. I would fight to the death for M.

I wouldn't do a very good job of analytically discussing Christianity with someone. I don't know that Christianity is logical. It's a matter of faith.

So I’m still a Southern Baptist. I don’t think my way is the only way. I do think Jesus is the only way.