I Disbelieve: Part 2

Leaving aside the  issue of jargon, or as I quickly came to call it, "Christian-ese," I pressed on to bigger and better things.  It seemed to me that so much of the Christian life was to be experienced.  That was an obstacle to me that I decided I had to get past: much of my life up to that point was lived deflecting first-hand experience because, psychologically, it meant being vulnerable to disappointments and pains that I wasn't prepared to endure.

Surving a broken home, I was entirely unequipped to wrestle with the realities and responsibilities that came with what I perceived, at that time, as being a functioning family of believers sharing a common experience.  And most pointedly, opening myself up to the experience of a perfect relationship with a perfect Father was a completely alien concept to my mind: how could I even begin to appreciate such an experience when my biological father and I got along so poorly?

I Disbelieve: Part 1

I became a Christian at the age of 18.  Life before that was a hodge-podge of classes in New Age ideas, transcendental meditation, dabbles into demonology, and a few brief but dull bursts into the Anglican church.

I recall being about 8 years old and asking my dad to take me to church.  He was obliging, even gave me my first bible and had me baptised.  But after teaching myself how to spell more compicated words by using the hymnal, I decided that, well, maybe church wasn't for me.  I was bored.  And at the ripe age of 8, I declined further attendence.