I don’t have much of a religious being inside of me. Blame it on my parents, the life I have led, or simply the fact that my brain keeps getting in the way of my ability to take anything on faith.  I am starting my post with these words to warn some readers that this may not be an enjoyable post for you to read. If the idea that I am going to talk about religion is offensive, please don’t read it. I don’t like the idea that I am hurting anyone.

When I look at the trappings of religion – The Bible, Jesus, Mary, Joseph, Peter, Paul, Revelations, etc. etc. it doesn’t work for me. And it is more than simply not being able to believe; for me, the numbers don’t add up. How could a mother, even one devoted to a religion raise her child for the sole purpose of death and still claim to be worthy of worship? How could a bunch of words written not by God but by man as a political text meant only to unite a bunch of tribes be true? How can anyone believe that evolution is a myth? How can you ask me to tell my children that God loves them more than I do? He gave his son – ask what I would give for them?

I go to church every Sunday anyways. Not so that I can learn about the Bible, although I consider it much like learning about the Roosevelts – interesting and thought provoking. I don’t go to feel better about myself, simply because there is no church on earth, including that beautiful Vatican, that is going to make me feel better. And I don’t go for my children, although they accompany me.  I go to push myself a little further in this world.

I am not alone in my atheist view. (BTW – Atheism is not the disbelief in God or Gods. It isn’t even a denial of God.) If you read almost any of the more elaborate biographies you will find mention of some vastly famous and influential men and women on the list of atheists. For instance – Ayn Rand, Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin, Alan Turing, Edgar Allen Poe, Marie Curie, Andrew Carnegie, Freud, Pavlov, Dumas…I could literally go on for hours.

It is not that I don’t recognize the power of religion, or even the power of the belief in a God, it is simply that I am still working to reconcile myself with the almost blind love people have with things that simply can’t be true.

I spent one memorable afternoon with a Pastor once who actually tried to help me. Being a recovering alcoholic he had turned to the church and leading congregations because it fulfilled in him some need. So I asked him about women and the church. I asked him about the significance of baptism. And he answered in ways that made sense to me; probably not to the rest of the church, but sense to me. Unfortunately, as I was not prepared for the conversation, the thousands of other questions I have still remain a mystery.

Like many people there are bits and pieces that I feel would be really nice if they were true. I find it hard to believe that they are true…but it would be nice.  Like the idea if I am kind and God-like he will reward me on some system only he knows. Like he has a plan for me, although he and I need a serious chat if this is true. Or the idea that he watches and hears me. These would all be really nice.

But the one thing I am trying desperately to believe is that there is the possibility that somewhere, there is a God that likes me. Not on this earth or in this universe, but somewhere is a being that thinks I am wonderful just the way I am.

If you haven’t learned from my posts, I literally have no self-confidence and no self-esteem. For some reason I can’t ever come to the belief that I am worth a molecule of the air we all breathe. I will never believe that I am beautiful, or kind, or a good mother, or a good employee, or a good daughter or a good wife. I will never believe that God put me on this planet for any other reason than as a place holder. I have learned this about myself and I have ever learned to deal with these thoughts. They are what they are.

But what if there was someone who actually liked me? And not pieces of me? Not the me when I am in a good mood and want to have sex. Not the me that doesn’t often shave her legs or even take a shower. Not the me that can’t find her way to a smile most days much less a feeling of love. Not the me that cleans the house or does all the laundry. But all of me.

Any human can easily state they like all of you, but that is simply impossible. There is no one that you can like all of; human nature is simply too entrenched in their own superiority for that to happen. But what if someone was out there that didn’t care; they loved you anyway.

Maybe that is what I am hoping for. Someone who loves me anyway. Someone who sees the laziness and the bad and the good and likes me anyway. Likes my thoughts and my emotions; likes my fat and my brain. Someone who likes me anyway.

I have been practicing in my mind over and over the words, “He likes you just the way you are. There is someone who likes you.” I say them in the shower, in the darkness, and when I wake up in the morning.

They haven’t sunk in yet. Don’t know that they ever will. I don’t know if I will ever overcome my own reality that I am nothing good or important. But I can try. I can try to believe that despite my loneliness and my sadness someone actually likes me.

And if it doesn’t work. If no one ever (God or human) says She’s Mine! pointing right at me, at least I know that I was right all along.