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“You believe in God? Jesus!”
The irony was lost on my friend.
The only funny thing he’d picked up on was that I could believe in God.
I get it. As a leftie, organic pasta, and free-the-gay-whale type, people tend to think I’m atheist.
At a stretch, I’m middle class enough to be a casual Buddhist who found enlightenment in Les Mills’ Yoga room.
But in general, I get given the atheist sticker.
In reality, I like going to churches to sit in stained glass sunlit silence.
I have been christened, confirmed, and can recite the liturgy from page one to page eight of the service guide.
I grew up in a Christian house.
Well. What I mean is that my Mum’s endless capacity to help others, combined with a firm belief in God, meant she was a significant figure in the local church.
And my Dad knew better than to stand in her way.
So my brother and I went to Sunday school and church weekly, until we were old enough to ask awkward questions. Continue reading.
Verity Johnson is a writer passionate about giving young people a voice. Educated in England and New Zealand, her work has been published in The New Zealand Herald, The Otago Daily Times, and Mizz magazine.
Source: TheWireless
Image: Verity Johnson
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