Finding the path . . .

Yesterday, I started my story of my journey into the craft.  After my Confirmation, I stepped away from the church.  I was offended by their outright hatred of what I felt in my heart was moral and just.  It did not make sense to me that I would be damned for eternity to hell because I myself was bisexual.  It further didn't make sense that my own family members who were gay would burn.  These were people who worked to help others and were good, moral people.  Nothing about Catholicism clicked correctly in my brain anymore.  Sundays were now mine again.

I guess, for the majority of high school and college, I was what could be labeled as an agnostic.  I knew there was something out there greater than I was, but I couldn't put a finger on what.  I began to research my own family history.  My maternal grandmother was almost 100% Native American.  I didn't grow up knowing all of this; I actually found out around the time my grandfather died.  In my heart, there was something very beloved and treasured about this part of my genetics.

The more reading I did on my tribal history, the more of a sense of home and peace I was getting in my heart.  Of course, I didn't do much about it religiously.  I was still hurting and wrestling with that good ol' Catholic guilt.  The God and Goddess were waiting patiently for me to find them.  I know now that they led me to pick up the books on my family history and that eventually I'd come to seek them as well.