Some days I wake up, and I don’t believe in God. On these days, I can’t see past the science. Logic shines too big and bright for emotions to get through. Life without emotion seems so empty to me. I just breathe and survive. My life assumes the relevance of a vegetable. I am living, but there’s no electricity inside me. My organs are simply soaking up power from an outside source.
Without a creator, miracles can not exist. Magic can not happen. Love can not be real. On these days, I am miserable with the realization that my life is meaningless. Everything I’ve been through, everything I have yet to experience, is all just a matter of happenstance.
I have learned that my spiritual beliefs are a conscious decision. I have to wake up on those days and search, sometimes for hours, sometimes for weeks, sometimes for months, to find my rose colored glasses.
This is my religion. My relationship with spirituality is a lifeline to happiness. I need to believe in something outside of reality, because my sanity can not bare a life without meaning. And so I pour meaning into every molecule of my life. This is my bliss.
I am a girl who often sits quietly by the river as I watch butterflies, lady bugs, and dragonflies zip through the tall, sunkissed grass. I close my eyes and my imagination pours out and all around me. I am surrounded by beauty so carefully designed that it proves the existence of a designer. Tiny colorful creatures are so miraculous to me. In nature, I find my rose colored glasses quite easily.
I didn’t even need those glasses to feel the presence of God when I gave birth to my daughters. The exquisite process of pushing a tiny person into the world, one agonizing contraction at a time and having her sweet wet body laid across my heart while she sucks in her first breath. That is the closest to God that I have ever been. My heart still longs to relive those moments, for they were the sweetest, most miraculous moments of my life.
I remember watching a young widow howl with grief as her husband was carried away in a shining black coffin. It made me wonder what type of God could allow such sorrow. Anyone who saw her fragile shell of a body trembling with terror would have wondered the same. I ached for her shattered heart. But in that moment, I also wondered how a love so deep could possibly exist without the presence of a God? This young widow was being torn away from a spiritual connection that she shared with her husband. Her grief was a lense into the love she shared with him. That was real. That was the type of love that could never exist without meaning inside of it.
Science can be blended into these miracles to try and explain away the truth. We experience hormonal responses in our bodies that push us into emotions and love. Massive amounts of oxytocin and dopamine flood a mother’s brain when she gives birth. This basically explains love as a chemical reaction. The emotions I felt when my daughters were born were a chemically induced high.
Love is just a consequence to our endocrine system. This consequence is found throughout nature and is designed to create and protect life. But I wonder how this immaculate design could exist without a devine designer?
Look into any ecosystem, any food chain, any pattern in nature, and you will find a flawless design of balance and beauty. This can’t just be happenstance.
I’m not saying that life always feels like a miracle. As I have said before, some days I don’t even believe in God. But those days are so dark for me.
Those days, I wake up in this cruel and savage world, and I search frantically for the rose lenses that help me to put a reason behind all this pain. And I see that every tiny detail is designed by something bigger than reality. And it’s purpose is to cut and mold me into a fucking champion who will one day be worthy of seeing the other side. It could all be rubbish. Maybe I am a lunatic for wearing the glasses.
I could easily be an atheist. But why the fuck would I want to? Ignorance is bliss and life is too fleeting to be wasted in reality.