Despite my insufferable critiques of Christianity, God somehow found a reason to tolerate me. He continued to protect me and ensure that I was in a good place, for the most part. But that does not mean I was totally safe from suffering and strife.
In August of 2019, my mom decided it would be a great idea to buy a fixer-upper house with her boyfriend at the time, who was not in a good place in life. He'd just lost custody of his son after a lengthy custody battle with his ex-wife, and while he had visitation rights, he'd have to travel to Puerto Rico to see his son unless it was a major holiday. If it was a major holiday, he was entitled to see his son in the United States for the duration of the holiday break. Still, I sensed a whole lot of trouble on the horizon, which I didn't have time to deal with considering I was taking on my senior year of high school at the same time.
Not only would we have to renovate our new house while we lived in it, but living with my mom's irritable and grieving boyfriend would be immensely challenging in itself. Despite how much I protested and told my mom it was a terrible idea, she went ahead and moved us into the house, where renovations and major fixes began right away.
The house had a lot of water-related issues. The pipes were old, and the foundation was weak. The house sank so much over the decades that the ground around it sloped towards the foundation of the house, causing the basement to get flooded every time it rained any significant amount. My mom got the house mudjacked, soil placed around the foundation of the house so the ground didn't slope toward it anymore, and the basement window wells extended and drained. But, despite her best efforts, my bedroom managed to flood the day I was supposed to finally stay in it for the first time, after spending an entire month sleeping in the upstairs guest room.
I didn't even think about the possibility of getting a lung infection from the window well water, which mixed in with a thick layer of dead and rotting leaves before gushing down the wall and onto the carpet. All I thought about was moving all of my stuff away from the window so it wasn't ruined by the water. My mom came rushing down with buckets and towels, while her boyfriend got a neighbor to help him pump the water out of the window well as it continued to rain cats and dogs on our house.
In the end, we did successfully stop the flooding and clean up the mess, but we were all soaked in the disgusting well water, that was stained a pale brown from all of the rotting leaves it stirred up. Not even a few days later, I began to experience the symptoms of another Pseudomonas infection that were all too familiar. I had a productive and consistent cough that brought up the taste of blood, as well as this other unknown taste that made me want to puke, which I assumed was what Pseudomonas tasted like. I also lost a lot of my energy, and since we didn't have any phages at the time, I had to go on antibiotics until my mom could locate some for me.
That time, I did not direct my anger toward myself or God. Instead, I became extremely hostile towards Mom and her boyfriend. My mom later told me living with me was like living with a grizzly bear at that time. I didn't trust anyone, and I was very pissed off at my mom for moving me into a house we knew had water-related issues long before we moved in. I didn't prowl around looking for fights, but I definitely distanced myself from her and got upset when she overstepped my boundaries. While I knew it technically wasn't her fault I had Pseudomonas again, in a way, it was her fault. It wasn't like the flooding was a surprise. So, I decided the best way to deal with my problems was to run away from them for awhile. I ended up staying with my grandparents until we were sure my bedroom wouldn't flood again, and my health was back to normal again.
During that time, my grandparents often got curious about where I was faith-wise. To be honest, I wasn't sure how to answer their questions, so I did my best to beat around the bush. I did consider myself a Christian, but I had a lot of doubts, anxiety, and anger towards God. That Pseudomonas infection ramped up my fear of death, fed my doubts and questions, and made me physically miserable. I managed to keep up in school despite my health, which my grandparents deemed a miracle of God. Personally, I still wanted to believe I was just lucky, rather than there was an all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-loving Being watching out for me. If atheism was true, then I could shake off my survivor's guilt a lot easier than if it turned out Christianity was true.
But, my grandparents didn't let me dodge their questions for long. Eventually, they decided it would be good for me to attend their Wednesday evening bible study group while I stayed with them. They told me that the bible study group happened at a friend's house out in the country, and it was more than just a worship service. We would sing a few hymns and say a prayer, but beyond that, it would be very interactive and the perfect place for me to bring my toughest questions to the table. This was not really a worship service. It was a time to have a very deep discussion about theology with a bunch of other people. Also, there'd be lots of homemade food for dinner that I could eat as much as I wanted. The food part was what ultimately convinced me to go along with my grandparents the next Wednesday night I was with them.
