I sat in the train, slouched in my seat. It had been a long day, and I was tired. Not really in the mood to do anything, I just sat there, drifting mindlessly from thought to thought. From the people around me in the train to the famous and almost-famous people I had seen (ahem, stalked) on Instagram that day.
Then, a memory of an interview in which a lady was talking about her soon-to-be spouse’s religion as if it was nothing more than a check-box on a census form popped up unbidden. I hung onto that thought and followed it, as I tried to understand the lady’s mindset.
Even before I knew God, like personally knew Him, faith had always been a big part of my life (hmm…the life of a Pastor’s kid). So, I don’t think I would ever have married someone who didn’t believe Jesus died for the sins of the world.
Hence, I tried to understand (more like, psychoanalyze) where this lady was coming from by trying to imagine a life without God.

Ronke without God.

Honestly? It was terrifying: having a mindset where God did not mean everything to me, where I didn’t have God to run to, where I couldn’t call on God for help…
My heart actually skipped a beat in fear. No joke.

There was a time in my life when God didn’t mean that much to me. But that was before I met Him.
Now, as Dara MacLean so eloquently put it,
“I’m ruined. I’m wrecked. And I can’t go back to the way I was before.”

And truth be told, I won’t have it any other way.