by Kristy Love
As the calendar reflects 2016, I’m vaguely aware of an anniversary. Or maybe a birth. Either way, I’m reminded my new found atheism is about a year old. Surprising, only because I never thought I’d ever claim to be an atheist. Nor would anyone who has known me for any length of my adulthood. At this point, atheism is probably something of my identity, too. Just as much as I once claimed to be a devout, Bible-believing fundamental evangelical Christian.
Yes, that kind of Christian. A supporter of foreign missionaries, a Women’s Ministry Leader, a Vacation Bible School veteran many times over, Evangelism team leader, Homeless Ministry, Youth and Adult Sunday School Leader, Prayer Volunteer, Food Pantry, a steward like no other.
A faithful above and beyond tither— I could clock volunteer hours in nearly every corner of the ministry world. There was nothing I’d turn down if given the opportunity—not unusual when you believe assignments are divinely sent.
Yet, my atheism was not something that happened overnight. The process that destroyed my faith, was gradual. Much like the melting of a glacier, slowly eroding with each new doubt. First, like tiny fissures, then complete breaks—fracturing every belief I had, evaporating under the heat of my scrutiny.
I was something of upstart. Despite being from a mostly atheistic home life, I had found evangelicalism from a friend right after a horrendous break-up in college. The friend was a former guitarist in a punk rock band, someone who I admired and in whom I had witnessed an enormous change in character as a result of his conversion—shunning his old punk rock ways for a suit, tie and a Bible.
After attending church few weeks, I joined a Ladies’ Bible Study group in a sleepy town south of Houston, started reading the Bible and became saved. And, that miraculous change of character I saw in my punk rock buddy happened in me too. I would soon be mentoring young women toward the paths of righteousness.
And a week ago I found myself having brunch with a woman I discipled in her college years. Two years passed since we last connected, our lives had taken those meandering paths that led us to different towns, different circumstances, or so I thought.
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