Okay. It’s time I explain why I’m really nervous about meeting TDH’s parents. I will say this as eloquently as possible without stirring up too much controversy or anger, I hope.

Here’s the deal: Growing up my parents did an awesome job of exposing my brother and I to different churches, religions and faith-based ideas. My parents are from two different churches: Dad was raised Catholic, Mom a Presbyterian. They decided that they would let us choose which religion, which faith, which beliefs we were going to practice and frankly I think that’s pretty awesome. I’ve been to many different churches, Sunday Schools, Youth Groups, Prayer Groups, Church outings. Young Life. Bible School. Vacation Bible School. You name it, I tried it. And I liked at lot of it for the most part. I enjoyed being part of a bigger something, making new friends, having a place to go on a certain night of the week.

TDH’s family, on the other hand, is the complete opposite. They all went to Christian schools their entire life. Two of his sisters are in Australia studying at a Christian School and working for religious organizations. His sister that lives here is the Director of International something or another for one of the biggest religious groups (Joyce Meyer). TDH does not go to church anymore. Apart from a really awesome painting in his apartment about Love, which actually has a passage from the Bible painted on it, and a cross in his living room, he’s not really big into religion. I know the religion question is going to be a topic of conversation at the dinner table tomorrow.

Despite my parents best efforts, and much to my grandmother’s dismay, I haven’t declared one particular religion as “mine.” My relationship with God became more personal as I got older. I go to church when I need to and as it turns out, it’s not on Sundays. It’s usually on a random day of the week when work, life, school, family and friends seems to be too much handle. I sit in the pew and for a few moments the chatter, the noise, the lists, the traffic in my head stop. I  let the beauty of the Church wash over me, enjoy the quiet and I suppose I meditate. Most of the time I get tears in my eyes when I walk into Church and I can’t really say why. Maybe it’s the power of feeling connected to something bigger than us or maybe it’s the stained glass, the organ music, the prayer candles or the sanctity of it all. I light candles at home and say prayers for my family and friends who are hurt, suffering, need support and etc. I read my devotional Bible when I feel lost or confused or need guidance from someone other than my parents.

And apart from writing this blog today, I don’t talk about how I worship, what I believe, what I think because it is what I think. I don’t feel the need to share my practices with others. It’s not really any of their business so far as I’m concerned.  

I guess I’m just afraid that they will judge me based upon my upbringing, my relationship, my thoughts and feelings and think I’m a heathen that is dating their son. So that, my friends, is why I’m really nervous, as trivial as it is.