I believe in faith. I believe in something bigger. I’m not talking about God here, either. Humanity has gone through centuries believing in one thing or another. The early Neanderthals believed in eating, sleeping, and producing young. Cave drawings portray a group of hunters taking down an animal. This was their belief.
As civilization has progressed, so have our beliefs. Humans started believing in mythical beings that created them from nothing. They believed that worship and sacrifice would grant them salvation. The Aztecs believed that cutting the hearts out of their enemies granted them salvation from their gods. The Pilgrims believed that asking for forgiveness for sins would save them from eternal damnation.
Now, 21stcentury humans believe in prayer, worship, and other things, such as self belief, to praying four times a day. While growing up, I was forced to attend church with my grandmother. She was raised in a Catholic school, in a very Christian household. Her mother would make the family pray for everything they did. I would lie to make her happy, lie about believing in God.
My mother died when I was 10 years old. She had a disease, Vasculitis, which weakens the veins and makes them brittle. She called me one night before bed and wanted to talk to me. My dad and his girlfriend had friends over and were partying in our front room. My dad didn’t believe in cordless phones, it was too loud to hear so I told her I would talk to her tomorrow after school. She said I will miss you, I love you, and hung up. I didn’t realize this until I was much older, but that was her saying good bye to me.
At school the next day I was pulled out of class and told to bring my things. My dad was there, which was odd, I rarely saw him as he worked so much. He put me in his truck and took me to the hospital, he didn’t say a word to me. When we got to the doctors office, they sat me in a room while they went to another room and talked for about 10 minuets. When the doctor returned he gave me a pill, anti-depressants. On the way home from the doctor my dad looked at me and said “you mother died last night.”
I never cried over my mothers’ death. The anti-depressants messed something up in me; I had not a care in the world. I have questioned God ever since. I believe in something bigger, not a powerful God who controls everything. I am not sure if I believe in fate, I am not much for the idea that I can’t change how my life plays out. I just have faith in myself. I have always done the right thing, no matter what the circumstances. I place a high value on life, and I live my life to the fullest.