The first time I suggested that I might be a heretic is when my twins were in their early teens. We were discussing the Old Testament passages where the text says something like, “Do not spare any of them, kill men and women, children and infants…” This particular line is from I Samuel 15 talking about the Amalekites, but there are many other examples sprinkled throughout the OT.

I told my twins with a playful laugh, “I might be a heretic because I don’t believe that God really said that.” I explained that the author may have believed that God commanded indiscriminate killing, but since the story is told from the author’s perspective, this belief might not be an accurate take on the situation.

Even back in the days when I would have described myself as a lifelong Christian, I questioned the canonization of the Bible and what evidence existed for considering it as the inerrant word of God outside of the self-referential passage in the New Testament stating that “all scripture is given by inspiration of God.” Some responses were mildly helpful and were provided as the respondent’s personal conclusion after their own study and search.

Other answers that delved into the history of how the canon was determined led me to further questions. What if God inspired the writing of the books of the Bible? Did He also inspire the Catholic officials and theologians that solidified which books were “in” and which were “out” originally in the year 382? Did He inspire Martin Luther during the Protestant Reformation to advocate for change to the original canon of the Catholic church? Did He inspire the Catholic officials and theologians to double down on their original canon at the Council of Trent in the 1500’s as they responded to the Protestant Reformation?

After the twins left for college and had both come out as transgender, I scrutinized their decisions, culture and society in general, scientific research on genetics, and the role of the Bible and faith in my life, not to mention questioning myself and my life’s choices and history. I was desperate to understand what had gone wrong with achieving the picture of life I had believed was mine if only I trusted and obeyed. Was it me? Was it our parenting? Was it our kids? Was it the influence of social media? Was I missing something in how I viewed God and faith? Nothing was off limits for investigating.

At first, I was looking to find support for my hope that my twins would decide it was okay to present as their birth gender instead of physically transitioning to match their gender identities. I knew I would learn something through researching and writing about what I found and how I felt, but I also discovered I had ulterior motives. The further I probed, the more I realized that my searching was not for them. It was for me. Even if I wanted them to change (or stay the same), nothing I could do or say would effect that result.

Once all the cards were on the table, my choice became clear. Acceptance was the only way forward that would allow continued relationship and personal happiness, and it couldn’t be “acceptance” as an idea or “acceptance of the twins but not their identities.” It had to be full-blown acceptance that was truly sincere and supported by congruent emotion within my heart. It had to be real.

Through my journey to acceptance, I also divested myself of my previous identities. Formerly, my identity was intertwined with the concepts of being a “good mom,” defined as one whose children follow a fairly traditional and successful life path, and as a strong person of faith whose purpose was to embody the goodness of being Christian in order to earn the right to influence others to subscribe to the “right” set of beliefs.

Once unencumbered by those labels, though, I felt lost. If I had abandoned the two most defining roles of my life, who was I anymore? I had discarded more elements of belief than I retained. I valued the disillusionment I experienced, because I desired knowledge and understanding, not an illusion, but I wasn’t sure where to turn next.

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From a mom of teens laughing about the audacity of doubting God’s commands to destroy innocent life, to today where I embrace the label heretic as my faith identity, it’s been quite a process. The cool part is that I feel more fully myself than I ever have before.

Initially I was focused on all of the things I no longer held sacred, all of the loss, all of the blank space. However, as often occurs, new growth and beauty has grown up in the center of deconstructed space. Pale green shoots of peace and freedom grow where once the overpowering structure of certainty and shame was built.

In the heart of heresy, I have found my faith. I no longer subscribe to a specific set of beliefs and practices that define it. I am not compelled to share beliefs and practices with everyone else to show them the one true path and fulfill my calling. My faith is truly mine and it is truly faith. Faith is defined beautifully in the book of Hebrews, “Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.” Faith is a declaration of confidence, a firmly held opinion, not a certainty.

In my own life, the purpose of heresy was to free me from a system of belief and allow me the peace to become a real and happy person. It permits me to revel in the wonder of the world around me, the amazing potential of the human brain, the innocence of a little child. I hope for a creator and am convicted that there is inherent goodness in humanity and the cosmos. I have faith that there is a god and that they are good. I am not certain of this, but I believe it to be true. If I am correct, god and I are on the same page. If I am in error, and there is no god, there is no cost to believing. My actions will be the same. If there is a god, but my error is believing that they are good when, in fact, they are not, then I choose to hold fast to a belief in goodness over believing in a god who is not good.

The purpose that is harder to find in my heresy is what to do with it apart from myself. An evangel is one who ardently advocates for their convictions and seeks to persuade others to follow suit, and I am used to being evangelical about beliefs. However, I don’t feel the need to convince anyone else to alter their faith or to think like me. I believe that where I am is right where I belong, but I don’t know that it’s right for everyone. Part of the reason I’m now able to be real and happy is because I’m confident where I am, and I don’t have to be certain that it is the one right path.

It would be easy to keep this metamorphosis to myself, and yet, I feel there’s value to sharing my story of being a heretic, because that story might resonate with someone out there who feels like an imposter in their community of faith, or who feels like god is bigger and better than the god of their religion, or who doesn’t thrive in the quintessential church environment. I want people to know that there are other ways to seek goodness, to have faith, to be honest with where you are and what you do and don’t believe. Some may disagree with me, but I’m okay with that because I don’t have to convince anyone to agree with me. All I know is that I’m better now than before. I’m more patient, more kind, more humble, and definitely more at peace.