Just in case anyone thinks I'm an evil atheist bitch who eats babies and lickle kittens before bathing in the blood of virgin unicorns. I'm not, and I don't.
I am certainly confused, but that's the story of my life. I think...feel that there is very possibly Something. I often wish I did have a deep faith, but then I get all logical. So yes, I am very confused. But. What I most definitely am though, is anti religion. Not because I hate whatever the Something is, but because ultimately, logic tells me that religion was man-made, by men, for men. Most of whom seemed to have real issues with ladies. And instilling laws which several thousand years ago may have made sense for the growth of the religion (non-procreational sexytime is a sexytime that hasn't made a new devotee) and may have made sense for the health and safety of the religion (one death from salmonella is, after all, one less devotee), but in today's overcrowded modern world...?
I have witnessed a miracle and a half. Not water into wine type stuff, but something that makes me not quite able to dismiss the existence of Something bigger than us.
If you're reading this, you probably know about my youngest daughter, and how, at 13months of age, she contracted meningococcal septicaemia. Horrifically and severely so. Now, you know she survived, and she's now a gorgeous seven-year-old. But what you might not know is the following, which might be coincidence, might be more, but all of which makes me feel that we are not alone...and I can't quite turn away from this feeling.
On that day, back in 2005, husband was just about to go to the bathroom, when an overwhelming thought popped into his head. Now even I would have done my weewee, but this thought was so overwhelming, that even though he had only checked E 10 minutes previously, he took heed of that thought that said to him "GO AND CHECK ELIZABETH". He checked, and the rash, that awful, deadly, purple rash was starting to march its way across our baby's face. I called an ambulance and they told me to stand outside so they could zoom straight to me.
While I stood outside, chainsmoking and shaking with terror, Eldest Child suddenly shook my arm and pointed to between my feet, telling me "Look mum, an angel feather". And there was a pure white feather, that hadn't been there before; Yes, it likely was a pigeon feather, but whatever it was, I saw it, and I was calm. I knew then that she would survive. And even when, at Great Ormond Street, they were telling us that her life was "minute by minute", I just had a peculiar feeling that she would make it. Throughout everything. Through the coma, through the machine that breathed for her, through her emergency baptism, through the pitying looks from the medics, through the wires and the beeps, I knew.
A year or so later, I found out that she had to be resuscitated, and that those two glorious paramedics had thought that even if she made it to the hospital alive, she would have been left a multiple amputee. But she did make it. And she was left, although severely scarred, with all her limbs intact. Once back at our local hospital, every single medic who fought for her life that night came to see her, and they all said the same thing; That they'd seen people who had that disease nowhere near as badly as she did, and that none of them had made it. She was saved by medical science and a bloody miracle. So yes, I do believe in miracles, because I have witnessed one. And a half. Why did we get a miracle? You can as easily ask why did Elizabeth get meningitis.
There is so much more that I could tell you about that time, but I don't want a TLDR verdict. I also won't bore you with our half-miracle. But I witnessed many things at that time that have made me unable to completely turn my back.
With regard to my anti-religion stance, too many people, throughout history, have used their religion as a shield and a reason to do and say terrible things to their fellow man. From the crusades, to the Inquisition, to the Taliban, to far-right fundamentalist Christian homophobia, and everything before, after and in-between. People who shout how much they love Jesus then proceed to hurt their fellow man with a lack of humility that would leave Lady Gaga reeling. People who stone a woman to death because she was raped.
I cannot, and will not, have any part of that. IF there is truly a love for Jesus, then he preached love - so ditch the hate. If there is truly a love for God, who is apparently so forgiving and loving, then why commit atrocities in his name?
I will admit that I prayed that night, I prayed so hard. And on that night that we prayed for our daughter's survival, across London, another daughter was being murdered by her father and brothers as her own mother held her down, in front of two toddler nieces (to warn them against disobedience, apparently), all because their religious and cultural views had become warped and distorted. That was when I turned my back on religion. Because anything that can make someone refuse life-saving treatment for their child, or picket a soldier's funeral with placards of hate, anything that can override a woman's most basic instinct, that to protect her child, anything that can do these things and more...well, I cannot help but think that that Thing is dangerous, and has no place in government, law, medicine or education. When I get snarky it's because some deluded teenager is spewing the hate instilled in them by their local preacher, and one cannot help but wonder if they actually have a clue what they are saying.
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