The Importance Of Fear Of God

Over the past year, I have had a battle for independence within myself and with my father. I have gone to church almost every Sunday ever since I was born. I remember it being my parents’ choice when I was younger forcing me to go, and I remember it be my choice about a few years ago when I had friends there and I would have fun. I never did go out of fear of God or the Devil, it was always a social experience. Since most of my friends were older, they all started to go off to college and I started to dislike going to church because all of my friends had left. About a year ago, my faith changed completely and I realized that I did not believe in the God my father and the rest of my family believed in; and I still struggle to answer the question …show more content…
I started to look at those whom I called friends before as ignorant and clinging to a belief to get away from the horrors of everyday life. Today, I do not look down on people who believe in God; I respect those who are religious because I was too at one point in my life. Not telling my father or anyone was starting to kill me inside because I would think about what he might say when he found out. I started to believe he would be disappointed in me because I would be the only one of my siblings who did not believe, go on to a Christian college, and then work for a Christian organization. That is what I was afraid of, my father being disappointed in me, and that is what started to kill me the most and why it took me so long to tell …show more content…
I procrastinated packing until the day we were supposed to leave. I did not want to go, but since I had not told anyone I had no reason not to. I thought a long time about how I would tell my father that day, but it never ended up happening. I ended up crying in my room because I did not want to go on the trip and I had no idea of how to tell my father. My father and my mother both came in trying to figure out what was wrong,but I just could not get the words to come out of my mouth. My father left later that day to go on the retreat without me; my mother continued to try and figure out what was upsetting me. Hours after my father had left, I finally told my mother I did not believe in God. I told her because I knew she would not judge me as harshly as my father would because she did not attend church. She went on to tell my father what I had told her when he returned from the retreat. I dreaded the moment he came home because I knew he would want to talk and I had no idea what he would say. When he did come home, he immediately came into the basement and sat down next to me and asked me what was wrong as if my mother hadn’t told him. At that moment I still could not get the words out of my mouth in fear of what he might think. He went on to tell me that my mother told him what I had said and he understands. I was