I couldn’t sleep. My mind was too full — of thoughts, of memories, of questions.
And as I tried to quiet myself through meditation, my heart landed on her: my Little Grandma Rose.

She was so incredibly religious. A woman of faith who devoted herself to God with a certainty I used to envy. And in many ways… we’re alike. Different in time, in tools, in questions — but alike in our dedication to something greater than ourselves. To the soul’s journey.

Growing up, she was one of the people I trusted most with my spiritual questions. And I had so many. The kinds of wide-eyed, curious questions kids ask when they’re trying to make sense of the world:

“What about dinosaurs?”
“What about the people who lived before Jesus?”
“Why are there so many other religions — are they all wrong?”

Her answer to that last one? A firm and faithful: “Yes.”

And that was it. No malice. Just certainty — the kind passed down generation to generation, without the tools to see past it. She wasn’t trying to dismiss the world. She was simply reflecting what she’d been taught, what had held her life together. And I loved her for it. Even as I started to sense the cracks in that kind of certainty.

She lived in a world where her access to information was limited — shaped by what was passed down, what was preached, what was reinforced by her community. She did the best she could with what she knew.
And honestly? So did I.

Even with those early doubts, I still tried to embrace what I was taught. I joined a church as an adult. I clung to tradition, even while quietly carrying the contradictions. Eventually, though, the questions became too big to hold silently. Not because I wanted to leave faith behind — but because I wanted to seek something more honest. Something more whole.

At some point, I started calling myself agnostic. Not because I stopped believing entirely — but because I stopped pretending to be sure. I never wanted to say I didn’t believe in God… but I also didn’t want to lie to myself about the things I couldn’t reconcile. The Bible, while powerful, felt incomplete to me. And I began to see that if I’d been born in a different place, raised with a different tradition, I might have been just as devoted to something else.

And that realization didn’t pull me away from God.
It expanded my view of God.

Little Grandma Rose lived a beautiful life. She had strong morals, deep faith, and a home that felt safe. But her world wasn’t the same as mine. And that’s okay.

I carry her spirit with me not by following her footsteps exactly — but by continuing the journey she started, with the tools I now have. With more questions, more perspectives, and more compassion for difference.

She showed me how to walk with integrity.
I’m just walking further now — not away from her, but with her in my heart.

To those who feel caught between what they were taught and what they now know — you are not alone.
Growth is not betrayal.
It’s sacred evolution.

I think Grandma would understand, even if she didn’t agree.