Lately, it has been hot, so I decided to do something that would make life a little easier. I cooked a bunch of different meals in the crock pot, put them into containers, and froze them. That way, when the weather is hot, I wouldn't have to do much cooking. Then a flyer came in from the local Mexican market. They had pineapples, plantains, mangoes, watermelon, cucumbers—fresh fruits and vegetables at really good prices. They also had beef shanks. So after the gym, I had my caretaker take me to the store. I already had plenty of food at home. I had meals in the freezer, food in the refrigerator, and everything I needed. I wasn't going to the store because I was running out of food. But when I got there, something happened. I felt happy. The store was colorful and full of fresh food. I could choose one of this, two of that, three of something else. I wasn't limited to whatever quantity happened to come in a package. I could actually look at what I wanted and decide what I wa...
The God I Choose to Believe In
I’ve been struggling with something lately, and honestly, I’m tired of pretending it doesn’t affect me.
It started after a conversation with a friend I’ve known for years — someone I used to have a very normal, human friendship with. We used to hike together, grab beers, sit on the beach, talk about life, grief, stress, relationships, and everything in between. He was just a regular flawed human being like the rest of us.
Then life changed.
He retired, got remarried, dove deeply into organized religion, and somewhere along the way, it started feeling like every conversation became a sermon.
Not inspiration.
Not connection.
Preaching.
Constant scripture.
Constant verses.
Constant moral conclusions about everyone else’s life.
And honestly, what bothered me most wasn’t even the Bible verses.
It was the judgment.
The holier-than-thou energy.
The way he spoke about people — even his own family — like love suddenly had conditions attached to it.
And then the conversation turned toward my accident.
That’s when something inside me snapped.
Because he started saying things I’ve heard over and over again since surviving trauma:
“God has a purpose for this.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“God spared you for something bigger.”
“God had a hand in this.”
And maybe people mean well when they say those things.
Maybe it comforts them.
At some point, after enough trauma, you start asking yourself a horrifying question:
Am I so messed up that God had to break me to get my attention?
That thought alone can destroy a person.
I’ve survived a stroke.
I survived a near-fatal accident.
I’ve lived through fear, uncertainty, pain, grief, recovery, disability, financial stress, and the exhausting process of trying to rebuild a life more than once.
And somewhere along the way, people kept trying to hand me a version of God that I simply cannot accept.
A God who wounds people to make them obedient.
A God who destroys bodies to teach lessons.
A God who maims people in order to finally make them useful enough to fulfill some divine purpose.
And honestly, that’s the part I struggle with the most.
Why would I have to be maimed to be worthy of my purpose?
Why would devastation be required for God to finally see me as useful?
Why would suffering have to become the price of spiritual significance?
I don’t believe in that God.
I can’t.
My heart rejects it.
My spirit rejects it.
My mind rejects it.
I choose to believe that my God is loving, compassionate, powerful, and present — not cruel.
That doesn’t mean I think life is easy.
It doesn’t mean I think tragedy isn’t real.
Human beings make terrible choices.
Accidents happen.
People hurt each other.
Life can be random, painful, unfair, and devastating.
But I do not believe God sits in heaven orchestrating suffering like some cosmic punishment system.
I do not believe God looked at me and thought:
“She’s too stubborn. Better give her a stroke. Better nearly kill her. Better traumatize her enough so she finally listens.”
No.
That is not love to me.
And maybe this is where I differ from some people in organized religion.
I’m not moved by fear-based spirituality anymore.
I’m not inspired by people who weaponize scripture, preach constantly, or act morally superior while judging the lives of others.
Nobody suddenly becomes spiritually elevated above everyone else because they can quote scripture louder.
In fact, the older I get and the more I survive, the more I believe true spirituality looks like humility.
Compassion.
Presence.
Grace.
Listening.
Humanity.
Not performance.
Not superiority.
Not acting holier-than-thou while forgetting you’re human too.
Because here’s the truth:
We are all still human.
Messy.
Flawed.
Learning.
Hurting.
Healing.
And honestly? Sometimes the people who have suffered the most become the least interested in simplistic answers.
When you’ve stared death in the face more than once, you stop wanting clichés.
You want truth.
You want authenticity.
You want a version of God that can sit beside human suffering without becoming the author of it.
That’s the God I choose to believe in.
Not because someone preached it into me.
But because after everything I’ve survived, my soul still recognizes love when it feels it.
If you feel moved to support my journey, please consider visiting my GoFundMe. Even if you can’t donate, sharing it helps more than you know — it may reach someone who can.
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