Following Jesus
I'd struggled since being a little girl with self-hate; not sure where it came from but my relationship with my Mum was not great, I was the youngest of 4 very accomplished children and in my head I was definitely the runt of the litter.
I found a Puffin Diary (remember those?) in which I had faithfully filled in the Memoranda section every week for a year with the phrase, Never forget that you are the most horrible little girl in the world. I was 9 years old that year. I'm not sure why I thought that was the case, nor why it needed to be remembered - I think I was trying hard to be different but I just couldn't do it. I remember how it felt inside my head when I went into a rage, remember wishing someone would stop me because I had no control over myself and the swirling red mist and the rage felt as if they could extinguish me. It was terrifying.
The family were perplexed by my tantrums, and so was I. It wasn't until a couple of years ago that I suddenly realised they weren't tantrums - they were sensory meltdowns. Although I'm sad it took so long, it's been a huge relief to realise that I wasn't that horrible little girl, just a truly misunderstood one. My eldest grandchild reminds me so much of me as a child - except that she has parents who accept her completely as she is, love her brightness and wacky humour, and gently help her to negotiate sounds and textures without the need for meltdown. It's a healing thing to watch and be a part of. There's an element of reparenting myself, although I'm very clear she isn't me. (Although someone did laughingly wonder out loud, Can you be reincarnated before you're dead?)
Anyway - due to the machinations of a fervent friend, I ended up in the Church Choir and Youth Group, and gradually came to realise that I wanted what they had. It hadn't begun well - At 12 I told our Sunday School teacher that I was too intellectual to be a Christian. Bless his heart, he was a world-renowned astrophysicist who years later would have a full-page obituary in the Guardian, but I didn't know that for decades. He just nodded and told me that was fine.
I eventually moved my position slightly and decided to treat God as a working hypothesis.
The God thing had been confusing me for a few years at that point. When I was 9 I read the Katy books and duly created a tiny chapel in the attic complete with a little crucifix which I bought on the market. I sat for hours in candlelight waiting for God to speak - and he never did.
I do, however, remember my first prayer: God..? God..? ... I feel silly. [Pause whilst I considered] But... I don't need to, do I? Because - if you're there, you understand that I don't know how to pray... And if you're NOT real... nobody can hear me.
I still remember the huge sense of relief as I said this, quickly blew out the candle and ran downstairs. I don't think I went back up there. It was quite a profoundly honest prayer for a 9 year old I suppose.
And then - nothing, until my friend needed allies to get girls into the Church Choir, and recruited me. I had one of those 2 minutes ago you weren't but now you are conversions, a crystal-clear point in my history at which I turned to Christ and had a very dramatic experience which felt like butterflies in my chest and warmth coursing through my body (I'm a Methodist these days and identify with John Wesley's feeling of being Strangely Warmed). I sobbed with happiness, went home and told my family they needed Jesus so they wouldn't go to Hell. (Reader, have I already mentioned cringing somewhere..?)
Many, many years later I studied a little NLP and realised there is no more powerful anchor than a belief in a God who created everything, whether they're real or not. And certainly my life changed dramatically. I found the means to curb that temper, stopped swearing and being sarcastic, began to love myself a little more... there were lots of positives but I do wonder looking back how much more masking it led to as I began to fit in with the people around me.
In true autistic fashion I took everything I was taught quite literally. Fortunately my scientist Sunday School teacher put in a good word for Evolution so I believed in a Creator God who worked through Evolution. I learned Bible verses, read and prayed for hours, and as I said before, just thought this was how everyone did it.
Now when I read the Bible I play Spot the Neurodivergent and there are plenty of 'em in there. I believe the Church has taken on the autistic literalism of many a saint and prophet. It fascinates me to unpick my former beliefs and realise that I can still believe in God without so many of the old trappings. I'm experimenting a little with my faith, almost as one might slightly alter the seasoning of a cake or casserole, and I find I still have a perfectly edible version.
These days my faith doesn't require a Hell (or even a traditional Heaven). It can accept that there are scant-to-no historical grounds for the Exodus or the Census in Bethlehem, and it isn't thrown by various theories about Jesus and his birth.
Because I've learned to shade my life a little. I've learned that it's what is behind the stories (whether or not they're 'true') which matters.
Do I love God? (And how do you ever unpack what that means!)
Do I love others?
Do I love myself?
And lastly, do I follow Jesus? Do I try to walk in the world not judging, offering love and support, giving people second chances and respecting their right to be exactly who they are? That's what I see Jesus doing in the Gospels. That's what I think he meant when he said Follow me.
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