Are you there God? It's me, Steph.

spirituality without religion or church + a redefinition of god

You’re reading a free bi-weekly publication where I unpack a bit of life’s baggage. Support this newsletter by subscribing. To protect my mental peace, I’ve halted using social media to share my work. If one of my essay topics speaks to you or reminds you of someone you know, share it with that person. Then call them!… because it’s nice to get a phone call sometimes :)

the first edition cover from 1970

The last time I prayed — and I mean, full on, got down on my knees and prayed with conviction — was when I was about 16 years old. Over summer break, when my mom didn’t have work on a weekday, sometimes we’d go to church, which annoyed me because we already went on Sunday and I knew our minimum requirement was once a week. Why go in for extra credit when you already have an A?

To get to mass on time, I hurried into mom’s gray Toyota Camry. As I closed the passenger door shut, my stomach started to rumble.

The belly churn was for one or both of these reasons: 1) I skipped breakfast and 2) I was about to start my period.

By the First Reading, I started to regret my morning decision. Why didn’t I grab the pandesal¹ to munch on in the car? During Gospel, I craved chomping on Communion to ease my hunger pains. But then I pushed all yearning of blessed dry crackers to the side when I thought of what I really wanted: Oh’s cereal.

During the Homily, all I could think of was the box of Oh’s cereal sitting on top of the fridge.

This, I declared in my head while pretending to listen to the priest, is what I will devour the minute I get home. I daydreamed, I longed for a bowl of these Oh’s, with a touch of honey. I imagined using my spoon to mix and drench every lifesaver-shaped cereal floating in whole milk. I made a plan to wait for 30 seconds to get it to the right texture before I shoveled the slightly sweet crunchiness into my mouth.

Before I knew it, mass wrapped up and for the last time that morning, I motioned my fingers up to my forehead, “In the name of the Father, the son, the holy spirit.”

Amen.

Now, let’s get the f* outta here, I screamed silently in my head while singing the last hymn.

In the longest drive home, my poor mother was gracious enough to listen to my dumb cereal plans. I ran into the house, booked it toward the kitchen, and reached for the box.

Then I saw the horror. Ants. So many ants. Crawling on the box and inside the box. I opened the crumpled plastic bag and discovered an army of ants got to my breakfast first.

I gasped then threw the box down like the angsty teen girl in every 90s movie. I stomped my feet up all 13 blue carpeted steps up to my room and slammed the door.

I dropped down on my knees, crying. Thick sloppy tears down my cheeks.

“WHY GOD?! WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME?!… (cue more snorts and sobs here). WHY!?!!”

Yah. It was real cute.

Hormones are as real as the sun shining on your face on a hot summer day. There was no denying the sunburn of PMS scorching me that morning.

Like the character, Margaret, in Judy Blume’s book, I’m in the middle of my coming of age story, maybe my life’s second act.

A major mood swing 20+ years ago brought me down to my knees and it’s what brought me back to praying all of a sudden again, starting about a month ago.

One night recently, while in bed in the dark trying to sleep, I squeezed my eyes shut and started a conversation in my head.

I was desperate to feel better. In my on-paper picture-perfect life, I sought for something else and I was begging for anything to help my uneasiness in that very moment. I wanted clarity. I felt lost and in need of help. And that night, I pleaded for it.

The next day, I was surprised by the previous night’s act considering I haven’t gone to church in many years nor do I subscribe to any religion nowadays, jaded by some of its misalignment with my values. I told close friends and family how it happened all of a sudden.

Now, as I write today’s essay, with more reflection, this was no unforeseen accident that randomly fell into my lap.

• A couple years ago my friend asked me to be the godmother of her baby, which stirred up lots of religious memories and allowed me to think more about my spirituality.

• Around that time, I attended the Buddhist monastery down the street from my house to learn about meditation.

• For more than a year, I’ve been gathering with women on the full moon. On these nights, we connect on a deep and emotionally intimate level; in a lot of ways, this community has been my church.

• Less than a year ago I went to yoga teacher training to better understand the integration of body, mind, and spirit.

• Over the summer, my daughter and I have been reciting a prayer about releasing energetic cords after we invited two women to our home for a spiritual house cleanse.

• And last week, I went to Esalen in Big Sur, California, where I learned more about the power of healing ourselves with connecting to the natural and spiritual elements of our earth. We carefully crafted meaningful prayers about forgiveness and learned tools about strengthening the sacred parts of everyday life.

a tree swing at Esalen

This list is an indication I was headed down a spiritual path all along. Or they are a lay-up to a midlife crisis :)

Whatever this is, it’s real. Is it a spiritual awakening? I don’t like labels but, I agree, something has been asleep in me for a long time and now I’m slowly peeling my eyes open.

Since that night one month ago, I’ve been praying a lot.

But those prayers show up differently than when I was a Catholic kid. No, scratch that.

I show up differently to prayer these days.

After a few prayers under my belt, I made a decision to re-imagine who I’m praying to. I knew I no longer wanted to think of the quintessential image I grew up with, white surfer Jesus on the cross. That representation of god did not align with who I am anymore.

I’m still discovering who god is to me and continue to stay open-minded about it. Is this a higher power? Does it live up in the clouds or is it an invisible presence everywhere? Are there many gods, is it a he or a she… or neither?

When I close my eyes to pray, sometimes I don’t see an image but when I do, I envision a picture of me, except it’s me in fairyland. Think of ethereal coloring pages where women are drawn as strong, flowing with nature, delicate creatures. My hair flows through a lush forest, the ends of my locks turn into vines that meet a plethora of flowers.

My god rebrand is coupled with new types of prayers.

Prayers for me are not a memorized verse.

It’s a convo, a little chat. Sometimes I ask for guidance, other times I share gratitude, and more than not, there’s no words, rather, a feeling.

One day, I wanted to think more about this spiritual presence and I closed my eyes. My mind went blank, then a flash of light and a flash of dark colors swept over the top of my head and over my chest. It felt safe and warm and nothing like I’ve felt before. Was this euphoria draping over me? If you were wondering, I was stone cold sober.

I’m more than a month in to my new hobby of prayer. I wonder where it’ll go next.

I love playing around with this redefinition of god because it’s my own. I was not indoctrinated into it. I was not recruited. Guilt, shame and fear are not part of this.

Hello, god. Who or whatever you are, I’m here. Will you keep your evolving door open for me?

1. a soft and airy Filipino roll, slightly sweet and majorly delish.