It Started with a Rosary

I promptly went home and cried off and on in my bed for the rest of the day.

I don't understand. Whenever I tell people my religion (which is rare) I say "Catholic Christian" sometimes, but mostly I say "Christian." I know I'm a Christian. It really should be that simple. I go to church every week and worship my God. The same one she worships.

So it is a sort of Rubicon. One goes across; or not. But if one does, there is no manner of security against miracles. One may be in for anything.

I'm so blessed. I can finally admit it. Yes. I've been through so much in my life, but I'm still blessed. My grandmother. My aunts. Friends. My love of books. My talent for writing. My education. Travels. These and many more are blessings. I can see it now. I'm alive. That is enough.

The fact that I can admit this proves I'm healing.

Honestly, I started this blog as a person finding my faith, and now I’m just a person struggling every day to keep it and become a better person. I don’t claim to be anywhere near a good Christian, but I’m trying each day. Mental illness and past memories make it hard, but I am a fighter. I know I am stronger with God.