Deconstructing Sandcastles: A Church Kid’s Journey Through Doubt

Well, hello there! You may have been wondering where I’ve been. Or, probably you haven’t. This blog certainly has had a weird existence, beginning roughly 8-9 years ago when I was a young mom. I needed a place to write my thoughts down, and mostly I was reaching out to see if anyone else felt as lost and incapable as I did. Back then, the blog was called “Beautiful Chaos,” and nothing could describe my life in those years better than that title!  

Then, in January 2018, I felt a strong desire to put “pen to paper” (or, fingers to keys) and finally write about my bizarre life story. I chose to rename the blog “Out From the Inside” and now looking back, it seems almost prophetic. I had no idea the journey I was setting out on would truly take me FAR outside the boundaries I had constructed for myself in my faith. I had thought those boundaries would keep me safe, when in reality…they kept me frozen in place. A sense of uneasiness was a constant in my life. I weighed all decisions against whether or not I would be punished or rewarded by God for them. 

And I thought this was a good thing.

I was very much in that place spiritually when I began writing my story. I went on a rampage that January, writing furiously nearly every week until the telling of my story was complete. Then, months went by before I published again. When that happened, what you all saw and read was less of a story and more of what my own journal looks like…something I’ve fondly started calling “my unriddling.” The latest few blog posts consist of me bringing you guys along as I sift through the hard questions in my *rapidly renewing*  mind. I’m not sure if I’ll always share that type of content, (maybe one day I’ll actually author devotionals, or “thinker books”) but I find it much easier to write about the experiences I’ve had. 

The one thing we all know perfectly is our own story and how we’ve lived it. Anything other than that is just an opinion. So if you’re willing to read it, I’m ready to tell the truth about my story regarding the deconstruction of my faith. It began in January 2019 and lasted 5 or 6 months. Many people talk about deconstruction and what it is, but I’d like to tell you how it felt to live through it. Think of this as my Part 2 of the “Out From the Inside” story. 

Part 1 was the story of my exodus out and away from a physical place. That place was a full-time ministry that I was born into. If you haven’t gone back to Chapter 1 in this blog and read through that story, I highly recommend you do so before continuing! It’s not totally necessary though. If I’ve learned anything in the last year, it’s that I’m not as unique as I had assumed I was. Turns out, it’s not just the Christians who were raised in a weird oppressive spiritual cult that are struggling. MANY people are confused and suffering. The battle isn’t between us and ungodly, narcissistic pastors or leaders who live their lives manipulating and using people for their own gain. We aren’t fighting flesh and blood. Our daily battle is against spiritual wickedness in high places, and the most consistent form of spiritual wickedness I have found as I’ve talked with fellow Christ-followers is FEAR. My story climaxed with a genuine encounter with the love of God. That’s the only way I can describe it. Love indeed casts out fear, because there is no fear in love. 

See, I “knew” that verse from the Bible ( 1John 4:18) but if to know something is to experience it, then I had been living for 31 years as a “born again believer” and I had never known it.

The deconstruction of my religion began on the evening of December 7th, 2018. We had just gone to my husband’s work party and decided to extend the night with friends, heading out to a bar for a drink and some late night salty snacks. While watching a game of pool, I started talking to one of my hubby’s coworkers, who also happens to be a Christian. His name is Patrick. So there Patrick and I were, at 10:00 pm in a bar, when he started to tell me about his recent spiritual awakening and freedom from fear. I remember saying something to the effect of, “I have so much fear in my life, I’m AFRAID to even think about it.” Truthfully, I was so unsettled by this guy. Even though I had physically left a place where my every move was scrutinized and subsequently punished or rewarded, my heart was still apprehensive about being seen in a “worldly” place like a bar. I assumed most Christians who drank or went to bars still had a small bit of them that suspected it might be wrong, but did it anyway. 

Yet here was this man who moved through this bar with such genuine peace, seeking out deep conversations with people. He didn’t seem concerned about his reputation while he sipped his alcohol and shared about how beautiful and loving God really was. Normally, I would have classified “this type” of Christian as one of the lukewarm ones. If you’re religious, you know what I’m talking about. There’s a really scary breed of people that churchgoers often get warned about…the lukewarms. The people who live however they want and still think they can love God. The cherry-pickers who will take Bible verses out of context so they can justify their sin. How dare they. I was taught to fear ever becoming one of “those” because God will essentially spit them out of His mouth. Yikes! 

Still, something about what he was telling me pierced through just enough darkness and fear. I remember him telling me about song lyrics with tears in his eyes. There, in the bar, he actually shed tears and told me that healing from trauma and fear was possible. He spoke these song lyrics to me. “Out past the fear, doubt becomes wonder. Rivers appear, and I’m going under!” (Evergreen, by Audrey Assad)

I have no doubt in my mind that Jesus met me there that night, as He spoke through a regular man who was so filled with wonder at his own encounter with God that he couldn’t help but bring it up wherever he was. It was so authentic, and I couldn’t help but be envious that he was so free. It wasn’t a lawless freedom. It was the real thing. In the days following that night, I couldn’t stop thinking about those lyrics…”Out past the fear…”…but doesn’t God want us to be afraid? Doesn’t the Bible say that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom? Isn’t it a healthy thing to be afraid of sinning? Sin has consequences, and everything in my religious arsenal was telling me-screaming, rather- to RUN away from this idea that my fear was doing anything but protecting me. I did the only thing I could think of. 

I found Patrick on Facebook, sent him a friend request, and then sent him a message through Messenger. I essentially told him that I was intrigued by his lack of fear and obvious intimacy with God.

Wasn’t he afraid of being seen at a bar, partaking in alcohol, in the midst of unbelievers? 

Did he ever question if he was sinning? 

Did he even care that he might be sinning? 

How could he sleep at night?!!

How could he be so peaceful and filled with childlike wonder? 

I told him how afraid I was to make mistakes, how I spent so many sleepless nights paralyzed at the thought of how I might heap consequences and punishments from God on my life because of sin…known or unknown sin…in my life. In that message I wrote, “My fear is that if something is indeed a sin and I do it anyway…that’s a scary thought.”

Reading over my message, I realized I was coming off like a lunatic. I pressed SEND before I could talk myself out of it. I felt like I was doing something I should definitely not be doing. First of all, was it inappropriate to send a private message to a man other than my husband? Maybe the fact that I was even thinking of that was reason enough to write another message and apologize. 

“Avoid all appearance of evil!” screamed my mind. “If it even looks questionable, you should avoid it.”

And yet, I had sent the message. Oh no! He would probably reply, “Hey, you’re extremely inappropriate, don’t message me privately again. Creeper.” I felt so stupid, as I played out one imagined scenario after the next. I wished I was a skilled computer hacker so I could enter some kind of magical code and delete the message before he ever saw it. The notification popped up nearly 7 hours later that he had responded. He answered my questions with another question. Hmm, how Jesus-y of him! 

His message read: “I’m interested to hear more about what you meant by ‘My fear is that if something is indeed a sin and I do it anyway…that’s a scary thought’…Scary in what way, exactly?” 

He was essentially asking me, a sister in Christ, what exactly I was afraid of. I don’t know why, but that was a life-altering moment for me. What WAS I afraid of? When I really thought about it, I had no idea! I only knew that I was very afraid. For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to follow that fear. I dug into it deeper. What was I afraid of, really? 

Punishment. 

Retribution.

Getting what I deserved. 

Disappointing the God I loved.

Now looking back, I can see clearly that my whole mind had been hijacked by trauma. All of that is a trauma response from a lifetime in a spiritually abusive environment, where I had absolutely no control over whether I’d be rewarded or punished on any given day. I’m saying this because it’s true and super relevant to my story of healing. I’m not saying it so that you’ll pity me or use my experience as a reason to hate anyone who abuses the Gospel. I’m most definitely not the first person to be manipulated spiritually. 

My pastor should never have been given power over people. His narcissism, insecurity, quick temper, and need for control are nothing new in the world. In another life he may have made a very successful politician or corporate businessman. But let’s add a spiritual component to that kind of person. In addition to being very charismatic, let’s add that he has some very, very dark and warped views of God. Views that have been formed through years of his own trauma, not formed by any actual intimacy with this God. Somehow, he has come to the conclusion that God is primarily an angry, wrathful Being that only wants to use us. He hates our sin and hates anyone who has it, even saved believers that allow it into their lives.

Now take this person and give them a pulpit to preach from, an entire village of people to have full, unquestioned authority over, and…I can just picture the Enemy sitting back, easing into a recliner with his hands laced behind his head. The stage is set, let the pain and disorder begin. 

I entered that stage and was impacted by that pastor, I believe much more deeply than others because I was raised under him from birth. I had no other normal in my life than that. Aside from his perspective of God being my foundation, I learned to live in basic fear of him because he had the ultimate say in my life. I think most of the people who have lived in this ministry with me would agree that we all lived with a CONSTANT fear of disappointing him. Growing up since birth with that type of fear being all I ever knew, it’s no wonder that when I stared at my Messenger app that night 1 year ago, asking myself -truly- what I was afraid of, those answers became clear. 

Disappointing people. Being punished for anything wrong that was found out about me. Yes, my pastor taught me to feel that way in relation to him…but also to feel that way about God. The God he preached about was a perfect description of his own self. Our perception of the Kingdom of God was, in reality, a very Hellish abusive environment that we spent every waking moment in. 

Once I followed my fears as far as I could, I had an epiphany. I had painted God in the image of my abusive pastor. Every single way I felt about God, I also had always felt about him. I wanted His approval more than anything. I feared the punishment He gave for making mistakes. I wanted to do everything right by Him. Nothing felt better than knowing He was happy with me. I wanted to be used by Him, I wanted to feel like He was choosing me to be someone special. I wanted to prove I was worthy of His attention and favor. Am I talking about God or my pastor right now? Your guess is as good as mine. 

At the time I had this epiphany, I was fully weaned off the Kool Aid. I could see my pastor for what he was, but somehow my concept of God had remained unchanged. That night after reading the message from Patrick, I was met with the biggest blessing in my life.

 DOUBT.

What if I was wrong about God?

To be honest, the more I asked myself that question, the more I began to hope that I was wrong about Him. I was exhausted. I found myself more and more frequently wishing that I was an inanimate object. If only I could just be a bowl, a rock, or even an animal that didn’t have to spend every waking moment ashamed of myself or dreading any future mistakes. 

What if God wasn’t angry? 

What if He wasn’t transactional? 

What if my actions had no affect on His love for me?

 That would be too good to be true! But if I went down that path, I would be doubting what I had known as reality my whole life. I suddenly wanted nothing to do with a God that looked and acted like my abusive pastor. I wanted nothing to do with a religion that fed on fear. I wanted to tear it all down, even if it left me at a spiritual ground zero.

Doubt is a slippery slope, I was always taught. If you let yourself doubt the small things, you will inevitably doubt the big things and you may wind up with no faith at all. That was a horrifying prospect. I spent weeks debating whether or not to take a ride down the slippery slope. The more I considered doubting the character of God, the more I seemed to find verses, quotes, and even sermons that affirmed what I already believed! I’d read verses about the wrath of God and the fate of those who practice sin. A growing sense of panic would plague my every waking moment. I’m not kidding. I would be thinking about my beliefs all day long. I fell into a wormhole on Youtube of sermon after sermon screamed by red-faced pastors. They smacked their Bibles on the pulpit and called sinners to an altar, commanding them to repent or be destroyed. I would spend the following days scared straight. 

My fear was good, I believed. It kept me safe from doubt. Doubt leads to sin, and sin requires punishment. Keep reading the Bible. Keep going to church. Keep abstaining, keep confessing…keep trying. Even kids need a healthy fear of what their parents will do to them if they disobey, right? My fear was healthy and necessary, or so I told myself. And yet, that tiny voice remained. “Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe God is so much more than what you believe. Maybe He is nothing like your pastor.” 

Maybe.

Everywhere I turned, it was good news that maybe I was wrong about it all. I was entirely conflicted and pulled in two opposite directions. Was God primarily loving…or primarily angry? Hope vs. Fear. It was intense. Eventually, I had to come to the place where one side of the tug-of-war had to end permanently, or I would completely lose my mind. I had to face each opponent and make the choice of which rope to release. In this deconstruction process, I had no idea what was what. My whole belief system was like a batch of soup that had poison stirred into it somewhere along the line. Maybe I had to be willing to empty the cup. FEAR screamed that this was heresy. HOPE whispered something else, something that felt like home…words I had read a thousand times before made perfect sense. 

“If you want to be my disciple, you must release your attachment to everything. Humble yourself, and take up your cross. Release even your very life. Embrace death and I will give you new life. Then, you will be able to learn.”

 I distinctly remember laying in my bed one night, and I made the conscious decision to doubt IT ALL. I put to death everything I had ever believed was true about God…even His very existence. You can’t imagine how terrifying that is for someone like me, unless you’ve been there and you’ve done it too. A church kid honestly contemplating whether or not religion itself is simply a man-made system designed to control the masses would be like a fish wondering if it can breathe in the desert. I went there. I spoke with atheist friends and listened to their experiences. I read articles that presented compelling evidence that people have simply made all of it up. I carefully considered how I might feel if the truth was…that there is no God. Would I believe it if I knew it was the truth? There, at the hungriest place in my spiritual life, I answered yes. So many of my core beliefs in life had been proven to be lies. I could see legalism for what it really was now, and I had rejected it. I had deconstructed my faith to nothing. I wanted to know TRUTH.

The truth I felt in that moment of considering a Godless faith was a place I don’t want or need to feel again. It felt like getting a glimpse into what it would be like for a lamp to be unplugged from its outlet. Or a branch disconnected from its tree. For me, deconstruction did not lead to disconnection. I have to believe God is real. Call me a mystic or a lunatic, but I truly do believe there is more than just this. I believe we are all spiritual creatures and we are all meant to seek and ultimately connect to our Source. I chose to believe that. It was the first brick laid in my reconstruction. I believe God is real!

Please know that I’m telling the truth of what I have gone through personally. I don’t believe that every atheist is empty, hollow and profoundly sad. But for someone who has held to a form of faith their entire life, being without it is really wild. I had never been on that side of faith. I was considering unbelief for the first time in my life. Call it heresy, call it madness, but it was necessary for me. My relentless search for the truth had poked major holes in my fear. I felt my old self fading away and new hope filling me up. I had a blank slate for God to fill up with truth about Himself. He did. I couldn’t put down the Bible. I spent hours underlining and considering Scripture about the Holy Spirit. Paul’s radical letters about being adopted into God’s family as children jumped off the page at me like I had never even read them before. Not only did I know that God was real, I knew He was good.

How could I know, you ask? The closest thing I can compare it to is becoming a parent. I may have thought I knew what it would be like to experience parenthood before it happened, but EVERY parent will tell you..if you are not a parent, then you do not know. Ha! I know it’s true that I have a deeper understanding of unconditional love now that I have kids. It’s a knowing within me that I didn’t have before. This whole awakening process felt very much like that. I have experienced what I had always “believed” my whole life. Knowledge is nothing compared to experience. Every day began to feel like good news. Maybe I wasn’t a disappointment to God, but rather a delight! 

He loved me. I was loved. That was my first and most important identity. The more I started living from that place, the less afraid I became. The anxiety that had plagued me my entire life, keeping me “safe” in my abusive environment for years, was now gone. I had no idea it felt so good to not be afraid of God! He was good. There is no need to be afraid of something that is pure goodness. It was around that time that I wrote the post “That Girl Is Gone” in this blog. I knew who my Father was, and I knew what that made me. I had crossed the threshold that any truly free Christian will tell you is a game changer…identity! If you want to read more in depth about what that process was like, head over to that chapter next.

I could go on for pages and pages, but chances are that your eyeballs are falling out just as much as mine right now. But man, what a year. I feel like a new person. I am fearless for the first time in my life. Perfect love truly did destroy my fear. That fear disguised itself for a very long time as a helper, but the truth was that it had been blinding me all along. I had believed my Father’s love was conditional. Believing that only blinded me to the truth and enabled me to believe mountains of lies. Being radical enough to believe and fully embrace His reality and goodness freed me once and for all from the control of fear.

Don’t misunderstand me, I am still susceptible to fear. It certainly comes knocking. There’s no erasing the past and the trauma that is still a part of me. Fear will always be my trigger. But I’ve found that God doesn’t erase our past…He does better, He embraces it. He gives you His perspective on the whole matter. I see Fear for what it is now. It’s not my guide, it’s not my helper, and it’s definitely not to be trusted. It feels like John Nash in the movie “A Beautiful Mind” accepting the fact that he will always see people in the room that are not there. He realized the truth that they are not real and can be resisted. My fear isn’t a part of me anymore because I know who (Whose) I am. It is present, but I’m separate from it. I’m connected to the Source of love and truth. His plan for me is good and His will is intimacy with me.

Imagine that! A perfect and holy God loving us enough to come down on our level and dwell in an imperfect, unholy vessel. I spent too long living in shame over the state of my fallen nature. I felt He was disappointed in His dwellings (my heart) as if I had the ability to cleanse myself of sin. Tearing out those roots of pride mingled with shame has been a wild process. I’m in a place now where I feel I can finally learn from God. I’m finally a disciple. I can understand my fallen nature and unworthiness without shame. It feels like I am on the grandest adventure anyone can ever take. Many of my beliefs remain behind me, and I still feel very much like an outsider. I’m not sure where I belong in terms of religions, but I know Who my Father is, and I know who I am. I’m in over my head, but the water is great and fear no longer makes me hold my breath. I’m a water-walker.  I’m born again. 

“I’m standing knee-deep, but I’m out where I’ve never been.

I feel you coming, and I hear your voice on the wind.

And further and further, my heart moves away from the shore.

Whatever it looks like, whatever may come, I am Yours!

Then You crash over me…and I’ve lost control, but I’m free.

I’m going under, I’m in over my head.

Whether I sink, whether I swim, it makes no difference when I’m beautifully in over my head.”