For much of my life, I was the most important thing in my life. I sought pleasure and self-gratification. My goals in life revolved around what I wanted and what would make me important.
I wasn't a "bad" person; I was even well-liked by my circles of friends and acquaintances (usually). I had a degree of compassion for people. But when it comes down to the bottom line, most everything I did was self-centered and self-serving.
I was raised with Christian principles and beliefs. I was raised to believe in Jesus Christ, and that he died for my sins. I was taught the Ten Commandments, and I was taught about good and evil. But going to church every Sunday and knowing a lot about the Bible doesn't make one a Christian.
As a teenager and young adult, I set aside what I had been taught as a child. At one point, I wasn't really sure I believed in God. I renounced my membership in the church to which I belonged. I pursued the best of what life on this planet could give me.
That was a very long time ago. Now, I am married to a man who claims to be Atheist. Much of this attitude stems from his childhood - his Mother spent most of his childhood dragging him from one church to another, different denomination's, different customs. He went from the strict Lutheran church to the laid back non-denominational Christian church. He went from the charismatic Pentecostal church to the quiet ritualistic Catholic church. At one time, she even attended a Jewish Synagogue. No wonder he had no idea what to believe....so he chose to believe nothing.
That being said - it's hard to be a woman of faith when married to someone who claims to have none. I remember Sunday mornings growing up - the hustle bustle of everyone getting ready to attend church together. I loved sitting next to my Dad in the pew, watching him smile as he sang the old familiar hymns at the top of his lungs - a sparkle in his eye - praising God in his own off key way.
After church - we would have breakfast together. Sometimes, as a real treat - my Dad would stop at the donut shop on the way home. We would laugh and eat, and carry on - together. The only day of the week we ever ate breakfast together was Sunday, after church.
Those Sunday mornings made us feel like our family was united, all on the same page, loving each other and our Father in Heaven. I should have exposed my children to that. I should have taken them to church. I should have - no matter what my Husband felt.
And now - I have my Faith - my personal spiritual path - it is, however, alone. I pray alone. I worship alone. I believe - alone. And while I know that ultimately our relationship with our God is a personal one - it is sad to not be able to share that with my husband.
But I will continue ...and I will pray for you. . . if you will return the favor.