At 12 years old, I accepted that I was evil.
Tears were always shed on the third night around the fire at church camp. Not sad tears. Tears of conviction and cries for salvation. I sat with the other young girls in my group, linking arms, exchanging revelatory glances. The pastor used our tears to build his pedestal, which he haughtily climbed. I looked to him, an extension of God himself, and gave my life to God that night.
We listened to the pastor as he recited a verse intended to usher us into the fold.
"For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, so that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life (John 3:16)."
I kept a laundry list of my sins and recalled them, imagining them as black ink blots on my unblemished form:
- Cheated on my math test
- Disobeyed my parents
- Gossiped about a girl I didn’t like
- Stockpiled church hot chocolate packets in my purse
- Called my sister a “bitch” in anger
I rooted my knees into the ground. Tears fell on my white knuckles, which were tightly clasped. I lifted my head to the sky surrendering to the lull of worship music — and I prayed.
Jesus, I believe that you died and rose again to save me from my sins and eternal damnation in hell. I give you my heart, and I promise to live my life according to your Word.
At that moment, my new identity was formed. My faith shaped how I saw the world and my place in it. In church, I learned about the guidelines God had for my life. To have a strong relationship with him, I had to save myself for marriage. I had to repress my anxious thoughts. I had to tithe 10% of my allowance. I had to dress modestly. I had to wake up every morning, read my Bible and pray — and I diligently obeyed. When I did, I found peace in knowing my life was purposeful and I was good.
God, I’m struggling to understand how every word of the Bible is true. In 1 Timothy 2:11-12, it says, "A woman should learn in quietness and full submission. I do not permit a woman to teach or assume authority over a man; she must be quiet." Would a loving God say this?
Often, in my search for answers, I was pointed to another verse:
"The heart is deceitful above all things; and desperately sick. Who can understand it? (Jeremiah 17:9)."
My heart was deceitful, and so I couldn’t trust it. I found safety in making an enemy of myself. Not because I was evil, but because I was forced to gaze into a mirror of someone else’s making.
It felt wrong to me that some of the kindest people I knew were going to hell because they hadn't been saved. It felt wrong to me when I was told that if I had sex outside of marriage, my body was likened to a chewed up piece of gum or a flower without petals. It felt wrong to me when I was told that my life’s purpose was to be a good wife and mother. But, I valued the confines of my faith over my commitment to truth. I looked for answers in places that only confirmed my beliefs, and so I remained in a cyclical state of denial.
Denial alone failed to bar the questions from my mind. When I prayed, they circled, and I would ask God to take them away.
If God is all-loving, why are gay people barred from heaven for having loving relationships?
If men are flawed and the Bible was written by men, how can we trust it holds the word of God?
How did the writers of the Bible know that the whole world was flooded if they didn’t even know the Earth was round?
Over time, the questions compounded, and so I took the first step to liberating my mind from the black and white prisons I lived in. I allowed myself to doubt and explore answers leading me to new conclusions.
My value was no longer defined by my body. Pursuing a career could be a part of my life’s purpose. Good people were not decided by a religion. People deserved to love freely. Other religions were not evil. I was safe to doubt, question and come to new conclusions. I was good.
As I waded through the gray, my only guide was my heart and an uncertain trust in myself. I bravely surrendered my reality in exchange for freedom and growth. While I still have more questions than answers, I am no longer paralyzed by fear and shame; and because of that, my understanding of love is more expansive and able to extend to places it once couldn't. And that is where I find God.
Edited by Savannah Dagupion, Leah Mesquita and Audrey Eagerton.
This story is part of The Contrast Issue, which was released on March 26, 2025. See the entire publication here.
Reach the reporter at amwilt@asu.edu and follow @AbigailMWilt on X.
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Abigail is a junior studying journalism and mass communication with a minor in english literature. This is her third semester with The State Press. She has also worked at the ASU School of Music, Dance and Theatre.
