Well, it's Sonday again. For me, this means three hours in church, constantly being unknowingly offended by christians who believe I'm one of them.
I'm not though. Definitely not me. I am an agnostic who heavily leans towards the atheistic side of the spectrum.
Because of my current position, I must continue living in my parents home. My family are all devout believers. My father is a paster of fifteen years.
To continue living with any happiness at this time, I am forced to use to faces.
The face of the devout christian, and of course my face, who I really am.
For this reason, I know a lot more about the bible than some people, much more than I want to know.
Anyway, I never really accepted Christ into my heart. I may have at age six, it is hard to remember whether or not I was truly senceer about that.
I was babtised shortly after that, at any rate.
When I was eleven, I made a decision. God's too hard. I'll burn up in hell, and just have a good time.
I didn't go crazy, mind you. No drugs and alcahol, but then again I was only eleven.
For the next four years, I continued to believe in god, but I chose to ignore him.
You can imagine the stress I would sometimes have.
The hellfire and brimstone messages caused me to vommet with fear, every time I would feel slightly ill, I would wonder if it was god's punishment, ready to take me to the dark pits of hell.
At age sixteen, I met some very important people, who would change my life forever.
Eventually, I realized the truth. God's not dead, he's surely alive. But not like christians think. He's alive in the hearts, minds and actions of the devout.
They keep the concept alive.
My storms not over, but I can hope for a clear future, something I couldn't do so much before.
Thanks for reading my story.
I'm not though. Definitely not me. I am an agnostic who heavily leans towards the atheistic side of the spectrum.
Because of my current position, I must continue living in my parents home. My family are all devout believers. My father is a paster of fifteen years.
To continue living with any happiness at this time, I am forced to use to faces.
The face of the devout christian, and of course my face, who I really am.
For this reason, I know a lot more about the bible than some people, much more than I want to know.
Anyway, I never really accepted Christ into my heart. I may have at age six, it is hard to remember whether or not I was truly senceer about that.
I was babtised shortly after that, at any rate.
When I was eleven, I made a decision. God's too hard. I'll burn up in hell, and just have a good time.
I didn't go crazy, mind you. No drugs and alcahol, but then again I was only eleven.
For the next four years, I continued to believe in god, but I chose to ignore him.
You can imagine the stress I would sometimes have.
The hellfire and brimstone messages caused me to vommet with fear, every time I would feel slightly ill, I would wonder if it was god's punishment, ready to take me to the dark pits of hell.
At age sixteen, I met some very important people, who would change my life forever.
Eventually, I realized the truth. God's not dead, he's surely alive. But not like christians think. He's alive in the hearts, minds and actions of the devout.
They keep the concept alive.
My storms not over, but I can hope for a clear future, something I couldn't do so much before.
Thanks for reading my story.
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