It’s quite ridiculous being me these days.
Any normal 32-year-old single woman would lose sleep over something like the fact that she has no foreseeable dating prospects, much less marital ones, and her biological clock is ticking.
That would be normal, right?
But, you see, that’s not what my mind is racing through at night.
Instead, I’m up contemplating soteriology and determinism, and making mental notes on an already five page document with a working title of “orthodoxy, denominations and standardized religion” (for "fun"), and worrying about the impact of choosing to attend a church whose eucharistic theology I can not fully embrace.
Shouldn’t I just be able to pick a church where I like the women’s bible studies and they play the worship songs I enjoy?
Didn’t I make a conscious decision senior year of college not to attend seminary?
Or was it my decision at all?
Was it predetermined that I would find myself in my early thirties, single and without a congregational home, wrestling with ecclesiological polemics?
I’m ok with the idea of living out my days as a spinster (despite my nesting daydreams).
I am not, however, ok with subjecting myself to blind dogmatics.
There is a part of salvation that demands I look back at the other.
Perhaps that is heresy.
Perhaps I’m predestined to be a heretic.
Or perhaps I’m free to move about in uncertainty, and await the final revelation.