I loved going to church as a kid. I’ve always been a history buff and an avid reader. I love singing (especially Christmas songs). I love spending time with friends, serving my community and searching for hope and love. I love the warmth of candles and velvet. I love being a part of something bigger. And let me tell you, Dr. Porch (my pastor as a child) made sure you felt like you were a part of something amazing, and he made sure to make you feel welcome and included. I’m sure you can see why that made me love going to church when I was a child.

My last entry talked about assimilation though and how while we went to church, my family still celebrate Hindu holidays and took part in certain Hindu traditions- from doing pujas to celebrate weddings and moving into a new house to lighting a divaa (candle) and praying over it when a friend or neighbor passed away. Who to and how my parents were praying in those moments, I’m unsure. But here I was praying like every other Baptist in my head but to these very Hindu traditions. Let’s just say… it was unique.

I’ll never forget the day where I decided I was not going back to my childhood church. I think I was 17. I was still in high school, my sister was home from college, and it was Christmas time. All the makings of a perfect Sunday at church. My grandparents were with us. My grandmother in her sari and with her chandlo (bindi) and my grandfather bundled up with many scarves because Tennessee is super cold to you if you lived in India most of your life. And I looked up at the new pastor of my church right at that moment and heard him speak authoritatively condemning anyone who did not believe Christ was their savior to hell.

I looked back at my Hindu grandparents (amazing people for goodness sake! He was a GANDHI-JI!) and looked at my parents (and MAN, I was angry with them for putting us all into that situation) and vowed that I would never attend this church again as a member.

I tried many different churches after that with friends and discovered that you can actually drink wine at church if you attend some of them (that was a perk), but to this day I haven’t truly felt loved or accepted in any of them… and I’ve tried a lot of them.

So instead I pray privately to my God. A loving God who I know accepts people of all faiths and no faiths. A God who gave us Christ, Brahma, Vishnu and Shiva. A God that is cool with Judaism and Jainism. A God who wants us to treat each other as he/ she treats us: with love, grace, and respect.

So when I pray at night, that’s who I’m praying to as I pray for each of us to learn to love and celebrate our differences whether they be theological, cultural, political, or even as simple as what types of food we enjoy. I pray not for tolerance but for acceptance and for healing… and most importantly for every one of your health and happiness.

Rupa Blackwell

Tullahoma