I am a 35-year-old joyfully married attorney who was raised in small town USA, went to Wheaton College in the midwest and who now lives in London.

My parents were heavily into the Born Again scene when I was young. Like you, I experienced something lovely and profound when I "accepted Jesus into my heart" when I was eight years old. I loved Jesus. I loved the pageantry, solemnity and mystery of church. But I was a bright, rebellious kid, and even as I was signing up to be an acolyte at our local Episcopalian Chruch (my parents, like yours, attended many churches briefly, and just could not accept any particular form of Christianity for long) I was drinking and smoking and making out with boys behind the reservoir when I said I was babysitting. Periodically my parents would catch me, perform (or seek to have performed) a low-grade exorcism, and demand utter repentance. This angle worked particularly well, because they continually told me that Jesus would cease to love me- and cease to forgive me- unless I shaped up soon.

I went to a Christian College under their urgings and found Christians to be a largely anti-intellectual, unpleasant group. (I went to Harvard Law School after college, and frankly, the people were kinder by the bucketful.) I was not moved, however, from a core knowledge of the existence of God, I just thought that I was blessed with an open mind, unlike my compatriots. I raised turbulent theological questions the whole time I was there, and some people gave some pretty good answers, but I couldn't get around the whole idea that Christianity was exclusively the one correct religion. What about all the Muslims and Buddhists? Were they really going to hell? That seemed unfair and cruel. A lot of things about Christianity can seem unfair and cruel. And the problem is, once you become a smart enough, or kind enough, or brave enough person to reject the unfair and cruel parts, then guess what? You have outgrown Christianity.

I eventually moved to Washington, DC and began to practice law. I still prayed, still went to Church and still believed in God. I joked around with my friends and called myself the Poster Girl for Christianity, because I didn't think that Christianity was incompatible with drinking, smoking, fraternizing with non-Christians, premarital sex, and a host of other "sins" like homosexuality.

Eventually, I realized that I was deciding what I believed in and that it had nothing to do with Christian doctrine, and that, in fact, I just couldn't call myself a Christian any more, because my beliefs and values were so different (and, in my opinion, better) than any Christian values. I also got honest with myself and realized that God was not out there, listening to, finding us parking spaces when we prayed, judging our sin. That was just a candy-ass story made up to keep us in line. It meshes perfectly with the American psyche, doesn't it? Work really hard to please the unseen father! He wants you to deny your nature and sacrifice! What is that but the ancient admonishments that kings would give slaves? What has that to do with the magic and mystery of a night sky, of birth or of death? I realized that Christianity had nothing to do with what was truly holy. It was the saddest conclusion I ever came to.

I mean, I miss God! I miss Easter! I miss prayer! I miss the triumph over death and the magic of Angels hurling through the sky and hanging stars in place for Christmas!

What I don't miss is the continual feelings of guilt: I should be getting people to accept Jesus into their hearts. I should want what my parents want for me instead of what I want. I should be a nicer person. I should have gone to church. I realized when it all fell away that I had felt guilty most days since I was 8 years old. And I must admit that I am furious with Christianity for ruining the first half of my life. I am furious with the preachers, professors and friends that I respected for not being brave enough to face the fact that if there is something like God out there, her story does not require us to be what we are not, and continually know we fall short.

Now, I struggle with what morality is and should mean. It's easy enough to have a morality based on certain practical precepts: (1) I do not want to go to jail (2) I do not want everyone to hate me. But what are my stories? Where is my Easter and Christmas? I don't have anyone to pray to. Now I am sad a lot, and I'm not sure how to get past it.

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