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These beliefs formed my worldview as a young atheist: I sincerely believed that there was no God.When people hear my story, they often tell theirs with something close to agony in their eyes: a son, a daughter, a brother, a mother, a spouse, a colleague—someone they love denies God’s existence. But the God in whom you hope is mighty to save and relentless in his loving pursuit of their souls.Either way, we won’t be together anymore, and that’s sad. Rachel is a Christian and I am a heretical Jewish humanist. Christians and people of other faiths are different. I never will be that woman, and while I can understand her, empathize with her, feel pretty in her clothes, and love her deeply, I will never really know the depths of her experiences or the convictions of her beliefs.
Recovery meetings are spiritual (not religious) and at that point I settled on a God-centric but non-Christian spirituality that worked perfectly for me. My husband's spirituality is absolutely not my concern.
How can we unleash the full potential of our marriage if we have a spiritual chasm between us? (If anyone knows Pete, or why he cares about the children, please let me know in the comments—oh, and tell him I want back my copy of As tempting as it was to ignore the problem of our differences and hope it went away, Rachel and I talked about it, and decided that since we valued our marriage too much to leave it to chance, we would be proactive about addressing our differences: we’d do it the hard way. I don’t want to be her Savior, I want to be her husband.
How can we possibly understand each other when we approach life so differently? What is it about Jews and Christians that they need to suffer to feel alive? I want to spend every day getting closer to her and knowing her more, faith and all. By recognizing your own faith, even if it’s belief in mammon—or as Washington Irving called it: “The Almighty Dollar”—you can understand how essential faith is to the core of our being.
That marriage failed when she realized that she didn’t love me. We both have no doubt that we will be together until we die, at which point we will be separated. Even Milli and Vanilli are different—in fact, they aren’t even themselves.
According to her, I will go to hell and she will go to heaven—or, in my version, we will be dead. I am not a woman who was born in San Jose, CA, grew up on a farm in upstate New York, matured in Washington, has six siblings, and is passionate about her family and her faith.