And as I sit, I wonder. Could I have said something inappropriate? Has the magic been debunked by the harsh light of reality? Then I chide myself for being silly. Faith. Faith is the only way to get through the doubtful periods in life. Which reminds me - you asked me to tell you of my faith sometime. Now is as good a time as any, I suppose.

I'm not sure that I can describe my faith to another through this limiting medium of words. It's just not a tangible or easily describable sort of thing. I could tell you of my religion, but those are just details one could get from any book. I could tell you my reasons for staying with my religion, but they're few and ill-defined. I could tell you of some of the moving experiences I've had, but the magic is so hard to convey after the fact. I actually don't have any idea where I should begin. Hrm.

Perhaps at the beginning?

I was brought up in the church. I remember going to church in Cadillac when I was but a wee lass of 6 or 7. Or more accurately, I remember wandering around the church while Mom was in choir practice and I remember singing some song which currently escapes me - something about a capital P - with the kids' choir. And I remember Burger King rub-on pictures in the nursery when i was bored. Strange things one remembers from childhood - the important events all but forgotten, yet the memories of Mom reading a particular bedtime story or a walk to a friend's house after school linger.

Anyway, church was just always part of my life. I went to church every Sunday and sat with my Aunt Marilynn and cousins. I had been to church camps and sunday school and was always to be found running around on a Wednesday night during choir practice. And when seventh grade rolled around, so did confirmation class. This was also around the time when I'd started learning about eastern religions in my 7th grade geography class. So I was starting to come up with a lot of questions. Much to my pleasure, part of the confirmation experience was the attending of church services of other denominations around town. We attended synagogue, we visited the Lutherans. We tried the Church of Christ and possibly mass. I was slightly disappointed that we hadn't gotten more variety, but there wasn't much more to be had way up in semi-rural northern Michigan. With the data i had, I decided that the denomination I was in was pretty acceptable. And so I became a member of the United Methodist church. My high school career continued and I remained very involved in youth group and bell choir and so on.

But as i grew, so did my doubts and questions. I learned the church's stance on various issues and occasionally renounced them, though more oten than not, they were acceptable to my sensibilities. I went to church retreats and church camp, where I met many wonderful people and felt liberated to start down the path of freakhood with some of the more special ones. I think these church events were where I actually met my first proto-goths. (I'd never even heard the term "goth" until my 3rd or 4th year in college.) Granted, I had some strange friends, but none to date had had an affinity for wearing black nail polish and lots of black clothing.

And although my doubts grew, I knew what love there was in these church groups. At times, it was almost a tangible feeling. And I also had the occasional epiphany of my own. These epiphanies came in the form of everything from an awe-inspring display of nature to a feeling of being watched over and protected from a horrible event which might-have-been. My faith, though too frequently set aside for more pressing earthly matters, remains strong because of such things.

My religion, on the other hand, continues to waver. I used to be the one dragging Mom to church on Sunday mornings or even going alone, which happened even more often after my aunt and cousins stopped going. My attendance slacked off in college, mostly because I had convinced myself that I was either too tired to get up on a Sunday, or had too much to do on a Sunday morning or Wednesday evening. And every once in a while, usually at the beginning of a sememster...a kind of new year's resolution, as it were...I would try going back again. But every time I felt less and less comfortable. Perhaps it was the group (though there were many I loved dearly there), or perhaps it _was_ me.

I still believe in the basic principles - charity, faith, love of all humankind, and a basic belief in a higher power. But I'm not so sure of the applications of these in the modern church. There is too much that is tied up in politics and fund-raising. Perhaps I simply need to shop around some more to find a denomination better suited to my principles, or simply a church home with an atmosphere to suit my personality; but for the time being, I remain only a Methodist on paper and a spiritualist at heart.

But I've rambled quite enough on this for the moment. I'm rarely even this descriptive about my faith, but you've got me in different sort of mood.