The Lost One

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Hello there Beauties!
 

This might be my most vulnerable post yet. 


As I’ve mentioned before, I grew up in church. Even though my mom was a backsliding Christian, she still raised us to fear God, and to love Him. My mom took the same approach to church that she did to school: unless you’re dying you’re going. This means that every single Sunday for as long as I can remember, rain or shine, we had to go to church. In the same way that I loved school, I also loved church. So I didn’t mind going. 


In primary school, I was a part of a club called “Good News Club.” In this club, we learnt about God and Christianity, and how we can make it to heaven. Honestly, it was such an amazing experience for me. I think being a part of this club, and going to church, helped to shape the person I am today. 


Through the Good News Club, I was introduced to the Children’s Bible Club camp where I met some of the most amazing people, people who I still am friends with to this day. 


When I got to high school, I joined the “Inter-School Christian Fellowship” club. Though it was not a new experience seeing other young people loving God, it was still the most fulfilling experience. Again, through this space, I made so many great connections and relationships that I still have today. 


Safe to say, I grew up with Jesus. I had a great relationship with Him. We were locked in for life. I gave my life to God at camp in the summer of 2011, and I got baptized 3 years later. 


You must be wondering, Beloushii, why are you telling us all of that? 


The short answer is, I don’t know. 

The long answer is, I don’t know if I can find a way back to God after all that’s happened. 


When my mom died, it completely changed my life. My friends can attest to the fact that I became a very different, very bitter person because I couldn’t understand how my God who I gave my life to, who I was locked in with, could uproot my life so easily. I still cannot understand that. 


While I was mourning, I still tried to go to church until church members started saying things like, “God knows best,” “God makes no mistakes,” “God will give you the strength,” “Your mom is in a better place,” “God needed her more than you do,” and I could go on and on and on. This made me even angrier. 


Overtime, I just stopped going to church. Stopped believing. Stopped trusting. Stopped reading my bible. Stopped. Because the less angry I was at God, the angrier I became at myself. The less blame I placed on God, the more I placed on myself. 


Truth is, even eight years later, I can’t find a way back no matter how hard I try. Cause it takes me back to 15-year-old Bella on her knees, hands on her head, bawling on Mandeville Hospital’s floor, begging God to step in and save her mom’s life, only for her to die four days later. 


This whole post is to ask whoever reads it to pray for me (if y’all pray) and if not, wish me good luck in life. 


QOTD: Do you believe that everything happens for a reason?


Love from all ends, 

Bella 

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