Love and the Sea and Everything in Between

chapter fifty-one

I am not a good Christian.

This isn't a new revelation for me, or anything. I've always known that when it comes to peoples' ideas of what a good Christian looks like I don't even come close to hitting the mark.

I'm what my parents would call a bit of a prodigal. It's not something I'm proud of and it certainly isn't something I embrace, but it's something that just is. For now, anyway.

I smoke. (It's a nasty habit. I know I should quit. But whatever.)

I drink.

I cuss.

I doubt God.

I curse God. (Shhh... don't tell anyone.)

I harbor secret hate and quiet anger. (It's something I'm working on.)

And I – apparently – have no self-control. (e.g., the fact that Liz is now pregnant with my child.)

But I like to think that faith is more than just meeting a quota of good deeds and, if heaven is real, I don't want to just get there "on good behavior." Otherwise, it means nothing. I have no interest in skating through my faith – whatever it looks like – or life or trying to earn my way to heaven by meeting other peoples' expectations of who they think I should be. Because that isn't real life – it's a lie.

And there are already too many so-called Christians whose entire lives are a lie because they think that somehow, if they abstain from enough things or do enough of the right things then they can get to heaven.

And from what I understand, you can't find heaven when you're staring through a mask made of hell.

So, yeah, I may be a prodigal, but I like to think that, in my own way, I'm making my way back. To what, I don't know. Something bigger, maybe. Something beyond anything I've ever known or expected, something that goes beyond religion or tradition or impossible standards – something beautiful and new and exciting.

And I don't know if God is real. And if He is, I don't know if He even wants anything to do with me. But I'm ready to find out.

I'm ready for this adventure.

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