You know I love you. Hear me out, she said. I thought about something last week. I think you’ve let go of the good stuff and held on to all the bad stuff. You say you don’t know if you believe in God, but the way you respond with grace to injustice and sin . . . well, you’re one of the most Christian people I know. Let go of what hurts you and accept grace. 

Her observation was the breaking point I’d felt coming for a few weeks.

I didn’t—couldn’t—respond. I was trying not to sob into the phone.

I’d pretty much given up identifying myself as a Christian because I no longer wanted to be defined by the version of Christianity I’ve spent a lifetime dedicated to. I didn’t want to be identified with the religious people who condemn everything from cursing and drinking to homosexuality and atheism. I no longer related to that kind of Christianity because I came to believe we’re all on our own journeys, and each of us has to work out our own way to live in peace.

My friend knew all that. So, when I heard her say I was one of the most Christian people she knew, I knew she didn’t mean that kind of Christian. But for her to still think of me as a Christian when I didn’t necessarily consider myself one anymore was humbling.

It instantly dawned on me that she was right about me letting go of the good stuff (grace) and holding on to the bad stuff (anger at fundamentalist Christianity). My anger was as toxic as the religion itself. And it overshadowed the grace I’d learned about and experienced. I’d been holding on to what was harming me rather than letting it go and embracing what would heal me.

All along this journey, grace has been the guiding path, whether or not I recognized it. There’s been grace to endure loss and depression and anxiety and broken relationships and even anger. And now there is grace for me to be able to admit that I wouldn’t be who I am today without all those experiences, including my history in legalistic Christianity.

There have been a few people along the way, like my friend, who showed me that who I am on this journey is enough. Christians and atheists alike have encouraged my questions, my frustration over legalism, and my quest for truth. They haven’t been afraid for my soul; instead, they have encouraged me to abandon the god I grew up with and carried into my adulthood. Surprisingly, some of my Christian friends even suggested that doubt wasn’t the antithesis of faith, but a path to deeper faith.

Maybe the Christian faith is more about grace than anything else. Grace to endure. Grace to discover faith when doubts are overwhelming. Grace to be grateful for the experiences that have harmed us. Grace for the highs and lows on our journeys. Grace to work out our own salvation. Grace for others. Grace for ourselves.