Despite growing up in a very involved Roman Catholic family, I have always had a complicated relationship with God. I went to church on Sundays, attended religious education to receive communion and to be confirmed within the church and volunteered to read during Simbang Gabi, a nine-day series of Masses leading up to Christmas celebrated in the Filipino culture. Hanging up in my aunt’s house is a picture of my infant self dressed up as Mary Magdalene. It felt like I was checking off every single item on the “good Christian” to-do list. But by the time I checked the last item off the list, it still felt like I was missing out on something. I didn’t feel the same reverence for God that my parents did and thought it was weird when people said they felt the Holy Spirit in the room.Â
I started to question my faith because I could not find it relatable. Questions like, “why do I have to sit at my aunt’s house for two hours every Wednesday to learn about someone I can’t see?” and “why do I have to wake up so early on one of my days off from school to listen to this old guy talk about some old book?” would ring in my head as I went about my day to day activities. What could Jesus know about being a teenage girl in the modern age?
During my freshman year of high school, I became close friends with a girl named Jada. She was just under five feet tall but had the attitude of someone a foot taller. I reached out to her to ask about her non-denominational church. Instead of just giving me a direct answer, she invited me to attend their church’s winter conference, called Blast, hosted at the Kalahari water park in Wisconsin Dells. As much as I would like to say that the whole God thing persuaded me to sign up, what sealed the deal was that I could go to church in my swimsuit and make a bunch of new friends.Â
The Sunday before Blast, I went to the Christian Community Church with Jada’s arms linked in mine to meet the girls I would be spending a hotel room with for the weekend. I was greeted by so many new faces who went to neighboring high schools, but most importantly, I was introduced to Shannon, my new youth group leader.Â
The best way for me to describe Shannon can be put plainly: she is love. From the moment she embraced me in her arms, I knew that I had found my place. I was able to confide in her about my silly high school drama and cry to her about how confusing my relationship with God felt. Because of Shannon, I started to understand why people dedicated their Sundays to community and fellowship. The best part of growing up was spent with Shannon and the girls in my youth group. I remember campfire game nights of Who, Sir? Me, Sir! and Zoom youth group hangouts during quarantine like the back of my hand. I started to see God in my friendships, something that had never occurred to me as possible.Â
Over the past few years, I have been lucky to serve as a camp counselor, a youth group leader for middle school and high school girls, a Zoom Alpha leader to friends much more mature in their faith than I was at the time and a friend that invited many more to join me. I have come so far from the confused little girl being carried to church every Sunday to now a college student with a lot of love for God. I owe a lot to friends like Jada and mentors like Shannon, who have been there for me since the beginning. Jada’s simple gesture of inviting me to church reminds me of the kind of friend I want to be for others. When given the opportunity to lead others, I always try to emulate the same kindness Shannon would extend to me when I was in both my valley lows and mountain highs.
Even now, I still find myself struggling with my faith. The difference this time around is that I have a firm foundation underneath me to carry me through the hardships and misunderstandings of life. Especially in today’s age of church hurt where people use God’s name to justify hatred, namely homophobia and racism, I have to remind myself that behavior is not a reflection of who He is and what kind of people He wants us to be.Â
To be clear, I am not a saint or a perfect person. I have made mistakes in friendships and relationships that I still haven’t forgiven myself for. I often find myself replaying moments where I spoke out of turn due to hatred instead of love. I have caused hurt and felt hurt, but I know love. Apologies alone cannot undo the damage I have done, but I hope and I pray that I make better decisions in the future and do as much as I can to repair what I break. I want to be guided by love that knows no boundaries and to stand up stronger each time I falter.Â
Building my relationship with God didn’t look like going to church aimlessly every Sunday or memorizing the Bible cover to cover without really understanding it. It looked like accepting an invitation from a new friend to join something bigger than myself and having mentors to navigate me through how to view my highest highs and lowest lows. My journey hasn’t been linear by any means, but both my faith and my identity are stronger because of it.