I Just wanted to be Electrocuted by Grace

 When I posted yesterday, I mentioned that even as a kid, I always knew God was there. Not in a way I could explain—just a quiet sense of something bigger, something steady. Even while I was dealing with the loss of one parent and the absence of the other, I felt Him.

But let me be real: I was angry. Really angry. There were times I looked up at the sky and shouted, “I hate you!” I didn’t trust Him. I didn’t believe in anything except that life hurt and nobody was showing up to fix it.

At 16, I was crying in the backyard with my dog, who honestly did more emotional heavy lifting than most humans. I was trying to grow up, figure out who I was, and hold myself together with duct tape and emotional chains. . And while I knew God was there, I wanted Him to be something I could physically reach out and grab—or if I’m being completely raw, someone I could punch in the shoulder and say, “What the f**k"

I still prayed. Still read scripture (even when I didn’t understand half of it). Went to church off and on. But I carried this deep ache that didn’t line up with all the stuff I heard about a merciful God. If He was so loving, why did it feel like I was getting emotionally and physically sabotaged by life at every turn?

I’m not going to take you through my denomination history—just know I’ve made the rounds. Raised Catholic, wandered around spiritually, tried different churches, different messages, hoping something would stick. And even through the anger, even through the grief and numbness, there was always something deep down whispering: He’s still here.

But I didn’t want whispers. I wanted answers. I wanted to be electrocuted by Grace.  

Then one day, as I got older things started to crack open.

My sister Jackie told me something about our mom—how when she got sick, she didn’t want treatment. She already had a disease, and the cancer on top of it just wore her down. But through it all, she had faith. Real faith. The kind that says, God’s got this, even if I don’t. She believed He would take care of us, that He wouldn’t leave us. And somehow, that got through to me.

Her trust made me realize how blind I’d been to how present God actually was in my life. Even in all the years where I felt abandoned, I wasn’t. I just didn’t have the eyes to see it yet. Slowly, the layers started peeling back.

And then, years later, I had a daughter—born exactly nine months after the date of my mom’s death. That’s not chance. That’s a divine mic drop. A gift from God and, honestly, probably a little nudge from my mom. I’ve believed that from the beginning. There are little signs, little winks from heaven if you're paying attention. I wasn't back then but I get them in multitude's now. 

These days, I’ve made peace with God. We’re on speaking terms, and it’s no longer me yelling into the void. When life hits me hard, I don’t ask “why” —I just ask Him to help me walk through it. And sometimes I add, “Hey, if you could move this black cloud to another county, that’d be great. I’m out of dry umbrellas and running low on caffeine.”