My life, since I can remember, has been a meticulously crafted mosaic of faith. Sunday mornings meant crisp white dresses for mass at St. Peter’s, followed by noisy family brunches filled with discussions of Father Michael’s sermon. I attended Mount Carmel Convent, where morning assembly prayers and scripture classes were as routine as arithmetic. Being a Christian in our small South Indian town wasn’t just a religion; it was our identity, woven into every thread of our existence. I was baptized as a baby, raised on Bible stories, and always believed, truly believed, in Jesus and the path shown to us.
My Heart vs. My Home: The Secret Doubt of a Christian Schoolgirl
Published Anonymously
Submitted by a real person and published with their consent. Identity is never revealed.