The “Why” Revealed

My challenge from my book coach: Why do you want to write this book? Why must you tell this story? Why are you drawn to this idea? Why, why, why?

My response:

When I was 16, an old, gray-haired man shuffled over to me where I stood at the front of our church, cleaning up after our youth group had performed a play I had written for the congregation.

“Young people like you are the future of the church,” he said, beaming.

I frowned. I had just returned from representing the youth of our area at a national conference and the following month I would fly to Toronto to attend—as a director—a meeting of the board for our church’s national magazine.

“I believe I’m the present of the church, too,” I snapped.

The United Church of Canada had been a significant part of my youth—not only because of the fantastic friends I met, but also because of the sense of hope and peace my faith provided, especially during the tumultuous years of my parents’ divorce.

I imagined my faith was unshakeable.

I was wrong.

In university, I was still volunteering when I coaxed a friend of mine to be the third roommate in our house. He happened to be the church’s youth minister. When his bosses found out that we were (gasp!) “living together” (never mind that we weren’t dating and had separate bedrooms), they gave us an ultimatum: either I quit volunteering or he would lose his job because the “optics” looked bad.

I quit, obviously. I wasn’t about to let Brad get fired.

But my bitterness toward the church grew the more I thought about the blatant unfairness—after everything I had done for the church! All those years!

I never went back.

Except to get married.

And to have our children baptized.

Because I couldn’t turn my back completely on my faith.

I’ve long since lost the bitterness. As an adult I can now see the small, limited narrow minds of the church leaders. It was organized religion to which I objected, not an innate belief in God.

But for years, I had lost that sense of wonder, and faith and hope that religion had provided me. It was the magic of my world—the sense of something beyond what we can see, what we can sense.

I’ve despaired, over the years, as I see the fear and hatred, the violence and judgment practiced in the name of religion. Fundamentalists and extremists of all religions dominate the news cycle and propagate, in my opinion, a sad view of religion. Is there any wonder that overall attendance in traditional churches is dropping?

But there’s still a hunger out there for faith. For wonder. For magic. For hope.

That’s why I want to write this story. To remind/show readers, especially teens who are often susceptible to cynicism as they enter the adult world, that there is something good and true they can hold on to.

And that no one, least of all stuffy church leaders, can take away.