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I’m an Atheist. Here is What I Want Christians to Know About Me.
No, I don’t think I deserve Hell. And here’s why.
I am an atheist — whatever that means anymore.
Not because I read a Dawkins book and wanted to punish Christians. Not because I chased pleasure or rejected authority. I am a skeptic, but not of my own volition.
Skepticism found me the way grief finds the bereaved. The way laughter finds someone when something is just, undeniably, funny.
It’s not a choice; it’s a consequence.
Dogma killed my father. Not metaphorically. Not in the poetic way people say religion “kills the spirit.” I mean, it killed him. Dogma replaced my parents with zealots. It stole my childhood and left me in mourning throughout my twenties.
In my thirties, I had to start over.
Not in a fun, new chapter kind of way, but in the way someone starts over when their home has burned down, and there’s nothing left but ash and a street number.
I did not wake up one morning and say, “Let me explore other worldviews.” I was not curious — I was devout. I loved Jesus. Still do, in a way I can’t fully explain.
What happened to me forced my hands off the wheel. I didn’t abandon Christ. Christ was…
