You Don't Find Faith

I was raised Southern Baptist. My mother was adament about my sister and I going to church. We went three times a week. I loved it. I loved singing and learning about God's everlasting love. When we visited my grandparents I would sing in church. It made Grandpa so proud. Then my parents got divorced. I was in 4th grade and didn't understand. This was before 50% of marriages were failing. I didn't know anyone that was divorced. Actually, I just didn't realize that they were.
But it was okay. Dad and Iweren't close and my parents still had a civil realationship. My mom got remarried a year later and moved my sister and I to her hometown. We lived right across town from my grandparents. It was great. I went to church with them and loved it too! Then Grandpa got cancer.
Then I lost my faith in God. I can tell you exactly when it all happened. December 6, 1996. The day that my grandpa died. The moment that I found out about it is burned into my head like a brand. I was 12. I was at a high school basketball game on a Friday evening. I was planning on spending the night at my best friends house. I had dressed up and put on makeup to look good for my "boyfriend". He wasn't there. I was walking around, which is what you do in a small town when you are in 7th grade. I happened to be walking by the band and one of my friends said that they were sorry to hear about my grandpa. I said thank you and then it hit me. Like the proverbial ton of bricks. I said, "What?" She said, "Oh, you didn't know." At this point I sat down and just started bawling. I sobbed and bawled for what seemed like an eternity. Then mmy preachers wife came and sat down next to me. She asked me if I wanted to go home. I told her yes and I sobbed the whole way to my house.
The next few days are a complete blur. I remember being at my Mammy's house and people bringing food. There were casserole dishes and toilet paper everywhere. I didn't ever want to leave. I just sat in his chair and read and reread the funnies in the paper. I laid on the porch swing that he had helped me do my homework on not one month before. I climbed in his pickup and pressed my head against the seat so I could smell him and cried so much I couldn't breathe.
The day of the funeral, I wore a black and white dress with white knee socks. I sat in the pew between my mother and stepdad and hid my face in my stepdad's arm so I wouldn't have to see the casket. It didn't work. It was blue. I remeber noticing that it was slightly off center from the pulpit. That bothered me. I can't tell you who spoke. I can't tell you what was sung. I know that I couldn't get out of that church fast enough. My mother sped my sister and I out as fast as she could. Every one was looking at us. And all I remember thinking was that God had let me down. He took the one person that had always been there when I needed him and I was mad!
Looking back, it was a very selfish thing for me to think. For weeks I couldn't even look at my mom. She was the baby in her family and she and her daddy had always been the closest. I was hte baby of mine and Mom and I had the same connection. Grandpa loved us so much and we loved him back ten times that much.
I hated God for what he had done. I hated him for a long time. Ten years to be exact. Then things changed.