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I do not consider myself to be a deeply religious person. I don’t pray as often as the priest suggests or believe in holding a man above myself as an idol and gateway to God. I don’t believe that I need to be in a church for God to hear me and I don’t believe that just because I “sin” every now and again that I’m going to be stuck in Hell of Purgatory for the rest of my life UNLESS I allow a priest to dissolve me of my sins.

I’m sharing that to say that, though I don’t consider myself to be what the devout Christians or Catholics are all about, I do still have faith. Often times my faith is confused for me being lackadaisical. In truth, most of the time, I don’t find it necessary to fret or stress of things that are well out of my hands. If I’m questioning something then there is a reason and if I can’t stop thinking of something then there is also a reason.

I’ve always thought about writing. Ideas dance around me like sugar plums and every time somebody reads my work, I get this feeling in my stomach and I hold my breath, and then they smile and it’s Christmas for me.  My parents worry about me and my future, I do sometimes too, but why would this dream fill me up like a school girl crush or first love every time I bask in it? That isn’t something fleeting or childish…..it’s moving, it’s profound, it’s consuming, and I don’t want to let that go. I only hope my faith doesn’t give up on me and I on it.

 

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