Crisis of faith

Warning, religious rant ahead…

In the last couple years, I have had a crisis of faith. I very rarely talk about my faith because it’s a hot button issue for many and for that reason I prefer to be an unknown entity.
I was raised to believe that being Christian meant following the teachings of Christ and living by his example. I was taught to be accepting, empathetic to the plight of others, give time or funds to causes that feed the hungry, heal the sick and injured, and/or clothe the poor — including outside the country. Turns out, a lot of Christians (particularly in the U.S.A.) believe otherwise. They believe that archaic cultural and patriarchal influences on the bible are more important than good works. To top that off, turns out if I don’t believe as they do I’m not technically a Christian, because a real Christian would follow “the book” blindly without regard for history.
They are incredibly self-centered rather than selfless, screaming about infringements on their right to be bigots and the supposed war on Christmas. Guess what? Not everything is about YOU. This is NOT a Christian nation, and no, your beliefs are not any more important than anyone else’s who lives here. And for the love of God (literally) educate yourselves — many of the current Christmas traditions (including the date) were appropriated from other faiths in order to make Christianity “fit” better for the cultures of those the church was recruiting to the faith. And that's OK. They are not all YOURS. Christmas has become a secular holiday — get over it. Let everyone celebrate as they see fit.
Stop acting like spoiled children. Your willful ignorance is what is killing this once great nation. Frankly I wish we could put you all in “time out” in a single state cut off from federal assistance of any kind until you learn to play well with others.

I am a Christian, but one of my own definition, and if you don’t like it tough — I don’t need or want you in my tribe anyway.

Mama

A few days ago, something startling happened. While listening to our child whining from her crib about her impending nap on the monitor, we heard something. We both stared at the little white box. And my husband said “I think she just said mama.” Then we heard it again. Definitely. Maybe. "Mama.”

After that it turned into a string of verbiage “Mama. (quieter: ma ma ma ma ma) Mama.” She started doing this again when my husband was watching her while I was at work. He said “Mama’s not here.” And she quietly stared at him, then resumed playing. Or switched to general whining.

At 7 1/2 months old I hesitate to assume this is her first word, her first real clear word. M noises are simple to make and it’s likely just a progression of that… right?

I’ve been struggling lately with my own personal concept of being a good mom. I have never been and organized person. I only cook because I like to eat. I like baking but detest the cleaning that comes after. My “mama” goals for myself include cooking more “homemade” meals, doing laundry more regularly, and cleaning more frequently.

My husband helps by keeping an eye on the baby, feeding the baby etc. while I tend to these chores.

So far, I’ve added two new recipes to my very limited repertoire. But on evenings when I do venture to “cook all the things” it comes with a completely destroyed kitchen. So one improvement makes another thing on my list more difficult. Add a screaming, teething baby and I tend to collapse in a chair and do none of “the things”. 

Mama.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled my baby loves me. I adore holding and cuddling her while she giggles. But I’m tired. And there is a ton of whining and screaming between giggle sessions.

“OK sweetie, repeat after me — Da-da."

Bless her heart

Hi! I’m the friend that means well. I suspect the term “bless her heart” or something of that nature is used in reference to me frequently. 

It’s amusing to me when people think I’m outgoing or social — I’m really not. I’m a mess in nearly all social situations. Particularly just before something begins. My palms sweat, I pace the floor. 

I constantly worry that my friends dislike me in some way. One social misstep or misspeak and I beat myself up for months. 

I’m the friend that means well. 

I suspect my husband is often puzzled as to why I’m so jubilant after we have friends over — it’s because I was reassured by their mere presence that there are people out there who like me and enjoy my company. I need that reassurance. I thrive off of it. If I go to long without it, the worry festers and makes me miserable. So I push myself to host gatherings, and leave the house and do things, so that I can breath again. So that I can get the validation I need and stop the voices of doubt in my head. 

Unfortunately, this often leads to my being taken advantage of or letting myself be mistreated in my constant desire to be liked, because I am the friend that means well.

This all feeds into my New Year Resolution: To stop dwelling on past hurts on a daily basis and focus more on the positives the future holds with my husband, daughter and our loved ones. I am tired of making myself sick over events from the past year that I can not fix or change. I’m tired of blaming myself when in truth I did nothing wrong. 

I am liked. 

I am loved. 

And that’s all that matters.