DISCLAIMER: I am not trying to make anyone mad with this post. This is just a personal experience. I am not trying to impose my views upon anyone else.
I've always struggled with the idea of religion. When I was a young boy, being brought up by an Italian Roman Catholic family, I never questioned anything. My parents raised me in that tradition, my grand parents raised them in the same tradition, the Catholic guilt never ceased, and finally I made up my own mind and decided to just not bother with religion anymore. I was confirmed, and my grandfather was proud to be my sponsor. He was honored, in fact. He was even glad that I kept my father's name as my middle/confirmation name. Once I hit high school, though, it was hard for me to keep a hold on the whole idea of a God.
College was the worst for me. I was free to do as I wished and I lived in sin. I hardly ever attended religious services, I'd get shit-faced every weekend, and I'd hit on the drunkest girls at the frat parties. It was a me of that I am now kind of ashamed. During my junior year of college, the shit really hit the fan for me. In order to explain how, we need to rewind to the previous summer.
My maternal grandmother moved back to Connecticut for a few years, plagued with a mild form of Alzheimer's. It was heart-breaking to watch her mind go from as sharp as a tack to her repeating every story she ever told me. One night, I received a phone call from my mother. Grammy was in the hospital after suffering a stroke. I stayed by her bedside until the very end, holding her frail hand in mine as the monitors flatlined. Tears flooded from my eyes and my whole world laid on the ground, shattered into pieces.
The following Christmas Eve, my paternal grandmother went to the hospital after experiencing a dizzy spell and falling. She walked in the door and immediately ran to my grandfather. "It's back," she said through bursts of tears. I had never seen this woman cry before in my life. She remains one of the strongest people I have ever known. And to see her in tears was devastating to my psyche. She was diagnosed with breast cancer when I was younger and had been in remission for quite some time. This time, to make matters worse, she had a brain tumor along with the return of the breast cancer. While everyone around me (my uncles, my father, and my grandfather) was sad and trying to take in it all. I repressed the whole situation, walked into the kitchen and quietly told myself "She'll be fine."
Nothing hit me until the end of the spring semester, when it felt like brain exploded with emotion. I was dumped by my girlfriend for another guy (great for my self-esteem, right?), and every one of my emotions came flooding back. What a monumental past six months! One grandmother died, the other re-diagnosed with brain cancer, my girlfriend deciding I wasn't goo enough. It all left me wondering... Is there a God? Why was he doing this to me? Was he punishing me? Was there even a God?
My grandmothers are/were good people. I couldn't understand why God would let bad things happen to them. So I gave up on God and searched for meaning in different ways. With my depression in full swing, my grades suffered and I decided to take the following semester off from school. I replaced God with a Husky. The UConn Huskies to be exact. I went to all the home football games, I went up every weekend to party with my friends. Even the following semester, I would drive the 7 hours up to the school for the weekend just to spend it with friends. But any time UConn wasn't there, I felt empty inside.
It took a man from Malawi to change that. My senior year at Gettysburg College was one I will never forget and helped me to become a better person. How? Well let me tell you. My roommate was an international student named Allan. He was involved in a club on campus called DiscipleMakers Christian Fellowship. Through that club, I was able to get my life back on track and find Jesus again. I began to go to a bible study on a regular basis, I started to go to church on a regular basis again, and all while making friends. It was an enjoyable time for me. It was nice to learn lessons on how we should act toward one another through the teachings of Jesus. While it may not have given me the answers to why bad things happen to good people, it did teach me that God works in mysterious ways, and he has his reasons for doing so.
The entire experience has taught me a lot of things about myself. I can be strong when I want to be. And in times of need, I am strong through the grace of God. I know that I am still a sinner, but God will forgive me through prayer. It's nice to have something to believe in again. Whenever I don't feel like I can get through something by myself, all I have to do is remember that God is always there and he will be with me any time I need him.
(For the record, I no longer identify myself as a Roman Catholic. I find the Church hypocritical in their teachings. I also find that many of the teachings and doctrines are not biblically based, which makes it hard for me to take it seriously anymore. I now identify myself as a Southern Baptist, and will probably always be learning how to better myself and the world through Him.)
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