I have always viewed my faith as something personal and intimate. It isn’t something that should be broadcast unlike some who would. Sometimes, shouting the faith can be good, but I always believed in the spirit that transcends boundaries and penetrates the core of our being. It doesn’t have to be uttered.
My relationship with God has been interesting. The road to Him is narrow and at many times, blurry.
I was born to a family who isn’t practicing Catholic. We don’t go to the cemetery to pay our respects to the dead. We don’t go to mass a plenty of times. Sometimes I feel that if my family had been menaces to the society, a thunder would drive us six feet under already. But my family’s good, I’m not saying that because we aren’t practicing Catholics that we’re bad already.
What I like about my family is the belief that faith isn’t something that one must follow, like a last song you keep on singing but don’t necessarily like. It is something that springs from within and rings out true. It is the one that carves out your identity and integrity as a person. I doesn’t mean that we don’t visit the dead that we have forgotten them. We believe that our integrity speak the faith that we have.
Some would probably shame or poo this, but this is actually my reflection of my faith. I would like to pause and clear up the blur in my faith in God.
I am glad that some people follow the works of the Church. I admire them. I would like to believe that in their practice they live out the faith that one must have, regardless of whatever religion. I would want to believe that they are not fanatics of sort.
I have already embraced my faith though it had been in questioned for my first 11 years. I didn’t pass the sacrament of baptism until my fifth grade. But by then, I believe that my faith had been already anchored. My not being baptised led me to desire and thirst for what is it in the religion of people that cling to…
I recall a person being so devout and was even said to have performed miracles. I would recall the time I was at my sunday best straining on the toilet seat because of a tummy ache that would not heal. It’s not gas nor diarrhea. I was straining so long that I can almost memorize the Christian stickers in the wall…that person had that odd behavior…and she came in and touched my tummy and chanted or mutterred something and I would confusingly just let things be but what I really wanted was my ma to pop me in a med so that my tummy will turn out well. In a few moments, the pain died out… and I was more confused. Because what I recalled at that moment that she jumped to and fro religion. And I was shocked at discovering what born agains would do to their religious images. But then in her case, I understood her reason for her shift to and fro religion and I am happy that in the end, I felt she died a Catholic. My grandma had been unhappily married.
I remember my grandma, and wonder if she had such power. She confuses me because what I remember of people having been "gifted" are kind and pleasing but she was just physically beautiful but terrible as a grandma. She was stiff and played favorites. She liked to give good stuff which we enjoyed because she reigned imeldific all her life. But I only got to enjoy that on some parts, especially on the latter years of her life.
to be continued.
