Okay, I'll join in...

I have other blogs, but I've only updated them sporadically, and it's mainly been a way to keep in touch with people. But recent events have made me want to start blogging a little more seriously, and at times anonymously, and I figured a fresh start was in order.

One of the things that has been on my mind lately is religion/spirituality/whatever you want to call it. Maybe this is due in part to my upcoming wedding. FH and I are from differing backgrounds, and neither of us is remotely involved in any type of religious... well... anything really. FH's family is of Scottish ancestry, and this is a big influence in the wedding. The ceremony (being performed by a friend!) has Celtic and Druidic influence.

My grandfather was a Baptist minister. He and my grandmother have both passed away, and if they were alive, I don't know that we could do this ceremony. As much as I like to think that I'm free of any influence, I know that he had a big impact. And as conservative as they were, I know that there is NO WAY that they would attend the ceremony, much less have anything to do with me afterward.

I guess this is where I get conflicted. Or maybe not so much conflicted, because I think I know where I stand, but it can be so hard to shake off the things that have been ingrained in you since childhood. But I find myself wondering from time to time, if he could see me now, what would he think of me? The decisions I've made? The life I'm leading? The beliefs I now hold? Then I remember that, umm, he can't. Moot point. It doesn't matter, because he's passed on, and I certainly doubt that when you die, you sit around somewhere up in the clouds doing nothing but watching your loved ones and judging their every move. At times I've considered reincarnation a possibility, other times I figure when you're dead, you're just... dead. That's it. The only way we live on is in people's hearts and minds.

I guess I have a lot of guilt about feeling this way, because of what an influence my grandfather was in the short time I knew him. But feeling this way is not a recent development.

When I was in 8th grade, my parents forced me into going through confirmation class. (We're not remotely Catholic, but for some reason, our church used to do confirmation. They haven't done a class since mine, so none of my siblings have had to go through it, but that's another story for another time.) Maybe because of the minister we had at the time who was leading the class, maybe for no reason at all, or maybe the reasoning is somewhere in between... but that was when I began to question things. I remember asking my mom some rather abstract questions about faith, and I remember her getting upset with me and responding with something of an 'I don't see what's so difficult about this' statement, something to the effect of we believe because that's just what we do. Even then, I found that answer very unsatisfying. So I conformed. I went through all the motions and got through confirmation. And for a time, I wanted to believe. I hung out with the Christian student group in High School. Some of them were friends to me, but I quickly learned that a lot of them were vicious beyond belief. Conform or be shunned. But honestly? I've just never been able to believe the things my family does.

I have no idea where this was headed when I started typing, but it's after midnight now, and I have to work in the morning. I guess it's something to look at later... some food for further thought.