Between Two Altars

 

I was raised to serve a God I couldn’t question- and parents I couldn’t disappoint.

My childhood was steeped in church pews, Sunday rituals, and sermons that promised certainty. The world was simple then: there was right, wrong, and a straight, narrow path between them. My parents lived in service to that path, and I was expected to do the same.

But the world outside our walls changed. Fast. And so did I.

I began to see the cracks. Not just in the stained glass, but in the dogma. In the way questions were treated like threats. In how love was offered with conditions. In how silence was mistaken for faith.

Now I live in the tension between honoring where I came from and becoming who I truly am. The faith I inherited taught me obedience. But the truth I’m uncovering teaches me honesty- even when it costs me peace at the dinner table.

This isn’t a crisis of belief- it’s an awakening of it.

I still believe in something deeper.

But it’s no longer fear. It’s freedom.

My childhood unfolded under the stained-glass glow of church windows. Faith wasn’t a suggestion; it was the framework of life. We prayed before meals, after meals, before decisions. Church wasn’t a Sunday event- it was a worldview. A sacred rhythm that filled the silence with hymns and the unknown with answers.

And for a while, I believed. Or, maybe more truthfully, I didn’t yet know how not to.

My parents gave me their version of truth, not out of control or cruelty, but from a place of conviction. They taught that service to God was the highest calling. And I wanted to make them proud. I wanted to be good.

But the world beyond the church doors wasn’t waiting quietly.

It was loud, shifting, expanding. I saw people who didn’t fit the “saved” mold living with more love, more depth, more grace than some of the people I’d seen speak from the pulpit. I met kindness outside the sanctuary. I saw beauty in difference. I felt truth in questions.

And slowly, the tight lines of certainty began to blur.

 

The Fear of Letting Go

When you begin to question the foundation you were raised on, it doesn’t feel freeing at first. It feels like betrayal.

I remember the first time I said- out loud- that I wasn’t sure I believed everything I had been taught. That moment, small as it was, unraveled something in me. And I grieved. Not just the beliefs, but the safety they gave me. The identity I thought I had.

Leaving behind parts of your inherited faith doesn’t feel like rebellion when you love the people who gave it to you. It feels like breaking your own heart.

 

A Faith That Evolves

But what I’ve learned since then is this: growth and loyalty are not the same thing.

I can love my parents and honor their intentions- while still walking a different path. I can respect the roots of my upbringing and still reach toward a wider sky. I don’t have to hold my questions in shame. I don’t have to choose between being spiritual and being honest.

Faith, to me now, is no longer about certainty. It’s about depth. It’s about curiosity. It’s about learning to sit in mystery without forcing it into doctrine.

Some might say I’ve walked away from God. But I don’t think I’ve walked away at all. I think I’ve simply taken off the shoes I was told I had to wear, and now I’m learning how to walk barefoot- with more feeling, more presence, more truth.

 

Still Caught Between Worlds

There are days I still feel torn- when gatherings tiptoe around theology, or when a verse I once found comforting now makes me flinch. I still haven’t found all the words to explain where I stand. And maybe I never will.

But I’m learning that I don’t need to resolve all the tension to find peace.

The altar my parents kneel at is built of tradition, scripture, and sacrifice. Mine is quieter- built of questions, compassion, and a willingness to change. But both, in their way, are altars. Both seek a connection with something larger than ourselves.

And maybe that’s the point.

If you’ve ever felt like you're straddling two worlds- one that raised you and one that reflects who you're becoming- you’re not alone.

This blog is where I process that tension. Not to preach. Not to deconstruct for the sake of it. But to explore honestly what it means to live, love, and believe in a world where old truths don’t always hold- and new ones are still being shaped.