How Having Faith Helped Me Love

Identity Crisis

Apr 9

I became a Christian in 2018, after twenty years of being raised in a Christian household. Before that, I was an atheist, mainly because I was trying to rebel against my mother’s devout Lutheran nature. It was a whole thing in my childhood: if she liked brown then I’d hate brown, and orange, and green, and anything else that even remotely matched brown (you get the picture).

I decided I was atheist when I was about fourteen for no other reason than I didn’t think believing in God made sense. I thought having faith in God meant that bad things wouldn't happen to good people, so it lost its appeal for me. I spent the next six years living my life recklessly. I became cynical and mean and I hurt a lot of people that I claimed to love.

Looking back now I don’t think I really got what Love was. I didn’t know back then that Love was an action. That it was really a gateway emotion because Love wasn’t just love, it was also patience, trustworthiness, kindness; it was flawed and resilient and a bunch of other things I didn’t know about (cue 1 Corinthians 13:4-7).

My mother always told me, “you are the five people you spend the most time with.” I think this also applies to the people you date.

The five people you’ve most recently dated says a lot about you. When I was atheist, the people I dated said a lot about me. It said that I was insecure, judgemental, passive-aggressive as hell, needy (but in the way that tries to hide it), reckless, the list goes on. I dated people because I wanted them to love me. I wanted them to love me so much they’d never leave. I had no ‘type,’ no list of must-haves and may-bes, just a crippling desire to be loved by someone--anyone--else.

This lasted until the summer of 2018, when I flew back home to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania after my freshman year of college. I remember coming down from the escalator and seeing my parents waving frantically as they weaved through the crowds of people to get to me. It was a heartwarming reunion. Three weeks into my stay at home, we got a call. My father’s father had passed away from a heart attack. I remember everything came in waves after that: the 16-hour drive to his house, the two-week-long funeral, the tears, the laughs, the dancing, the singing (Tanzanian funerals are a kaleidoscope of emotions). Through all this, I was confronted again and again with the topic of God: his love, his mercy, his faithfulness to us. It was horrible.

And then after a while, it wasn’t. Here I was, surrounded by the people who loved me most in this world, and my stubborn-ass attitude was keeping me from feeling that. I don’t know why this thought came to me, or at what point it clicked. I just know that I could see what they meant finally. That maybe, if I had faith in something good, I’d hurt the people I love a little less. I’d be less cynical, less mean, less full of reckless pride. I’d be more hopeful, more patient, more loving (to myself and others). Logic had nothing to do with it. Good was good, and I really wanted that; I wanted to be someone worth loving.

I’d like to tell you that this realization has made dating easier for me, but it hasn’t. I still tolerate subpar men; I still question my self-worth. Is it any different now that I’m not atheist? Or that they’re not? Yes, it is. Now, I keep these two rules (because I’m still learning too y’know) and so far, they’ve helped me get hurt less and have fun more:

I don’t date people who don’t have faith in God.
If they can’t have faith in something higher than them then I’m out. It’s taken me a long time to have enough confidence to say this. And I’m not talking about being raised in faith or going to church out of routine. I’m talking about trying--every day--to represent a higher power in their lives through their love, kindness, faithfulness, goodness, mercy and trustworthiness to others. Otherwise, our expectations of each other won’t ever match, and I can’t have that.
If I can’t see myself marrying them, then why am I dating them?

This sounds harsh and dramatic but bear with me now: I’m here for a good time and a long time. It’s all about expectations. I don’t want temporary “let’s see where things go” situationships. I don’t want ‘potential.’ I don’t want friends with benefits.

These are two sides of the same coin. One side keeps the peace in my heart and reminds me to be the person I want to attract; the other side protects my energy and spirit from people that would probably just hurt me at the end of the day. I feel safe; I feel worthy of love. But it’s still a journey. Sometimes I take steps forward, sometimes I take steps back.