Leaving the LDS Church has been more than a change in belief... it has been an unraveling, a peeling away of layers that once felt unshakeable, exposing something profoundly vulnerable and uncertain within me. I’d spent so many years believing in God, trusting in His plan and in the idea that my faith would guide me, nourish me, and hold me steady. Yet, as I stepped away from the church and its teachings, I was left to wonder whether this faith was something I had clung to out of genuine belief or out of a need for certainty and structure in an uncertain world. It’s a question that has led me to places I hadn’t expected: toward agnosticism, a position that feels honest but also frighteningly open-ended, leaving me to grapple with a void where once there was certainty. Embracing an agnostic viewpoint has brought with it a strange kind of emptiness, one that I feel keenly as Christmas approaches. Christmas has always been my favorite holiday, wrapped in a sense of wonder and warmth that seemed to touch the deepest parts of my soul. For so many years, it wasn’t only the lights, the family gatherings, or the festivity of the season that moved me... it was also the story of Jesus, the Savior born into humble beginnings, a light in the darkness. Christmas represented something sacred and profound, a time of renewed faith and reflection on the miracle of life and divinity. Now, as I face the holiday without the conviction that Jesus is truly the Savior of the world, I feel a deep sense of loss, as though something integral to my experience of Christmas is slipping away, and with it, a part of myself. There’s a part of me that longs to believe again, to find in the holiday season a rekindling of faith that might soothe the ache of uncertainty I now carry. I yearn for some sign, a miracle that could reassure me of God’s existence, something to restore the sense of purpose and direction that faith once provided. I find myself hoping that this Christmas will bring an epiphany, a moment of clarity in which the reality of God will become undeniable. It’s an almost childlike wish, a plea for a spark of the divine to pierce through my doubt, so that I might once again feel connected to something greater than myself.
This longing for a miracle is, I realize, as much about a desire for meaning as it is about a need for comfort. Without the grounding force of faith, there is a disquieting sense of drift, a feeling of being unmoored in a vast and silent universe. The thought that Christmas, this holiday that has always been so precious to me, might feel empty, devoid of the spiritual richness it once held, is unsettling. It feels as if the joy and peace that Christmas once brought were tethered to a belief that I can no longer fully hold onto. And yet, I can’t quite let go of the hope that something might happen to restore that belief, to breathe new life into the traditions and stories that have shaped me. The agnosticism I’m trying to embrace feels like a step toward intellectual honesty, a recognition that I do not know for certain whether God exists, and that, perhaps, it is okay not to know. But accepting this agnostic perspective also means facing a level of ambiguity that I have not had to grapple with before. It’s as if I am standing at the edge of an ocean, peering into its depths but unable to see what lies below the surface. I want to believe that there is something down there, something profound and real, but I cannot make it out. And so, I’m left with the tension between wanting to believe and not knowing how to bridge the gap between faith and uncertainty.
This season, as I string up lights and prepare for family gatherings, I’m aware of a sense of longing that goes beyond the usual holiday nostalgia. It’s a longing for a return to the sense of peace and certainty that faith once provided, a yearning to feel connected to something larger than myself. The traditions that once felt imbued with meaning... singing carols, lighting candles, reflecting on the story of Jesus... now feel like echoes of something that was once vibrant and alive but now hovers at the edge of my understanding, distant and elusive. There’s a peculiar sadness in this experience, in feeling both close to and distanced from a holiday that used to fill me with such warmth and joy. I wonder if this is what it feels like to grieve a part of oneself, to mourn a faith that once felt like a solid foundation but has now become a question mark. And yet, within this sadness, there is also a glimmer of possibility... a chance to find new ways of connecting to the holiday, perhaps even to discover a sense of meaning that is not contingent on specific beliefs but rooted in the wonder and beauty of life itself.
This Christmas, I am setting aside space for quiet reflection, for sitting with the uncertainty and allowing it to be what it is. I am choosing to open myself to the possibility that meaning can be found even in the absence of clear answers, that perhaps the miracle I am hoping for lies not in a sudden revelation of God’s presence but in the courage to face the unknown with an open heart. Perhaps this season is inviting me to find peace not in certainty but in the mystery, to let go of the need for definitive proof and instead embrace the beauty of not knowing. As I prepare to celebrate Christmas without the same spiritual convictions that once shaped my experience, I am aware that this journey is not about rejecting my past beliefs but about honoring the complexity of my own spiritual path. It is about acknowledging that faith, doubt, and longing are all parts of the human experience, that each of us is on a journey to find meaning in a world that does not always offer clear answers. And while I may not have the answers I once thought I had, I am learning to find comfort in the questions themselves, in the possibility that there is more to life than what we can see or understand. I still hope for a miracle, for a moment that will reassure me of the divine. But I am also learning that miracles come in many forms, that perhaps the greatest miracle of all is the resilience of the human spirit, the capacity to seek meaning even in the face of uncertainty. This Christmas, I am allowing myself to hope, to wonder, and to trust that whatever the season brings... whether it’s a sign from above or a quiet moment of peace... I will be able to carry forward, knowing that the journey itself is valuable, that the search for meaning is, in its own way, a testament to the depths of the human soul.
And so, as I hang ornaments on the tree and listen to the familiar carols, I am reminded that Christmas is, at its heart, a celebration of hope... a hope that transcends belief, that calls us to connect, to love, and to find joy in the simple, profound beauty of existence. This year, I am learning to let that hope be enough, to let it fill the space where certainty once lived, to trust that even in the absence of answers, there is something beautiful and worthwhile in the act of seeking, of allowing myself to be both grounded and uplifted by the season’s quiet, tender grace.
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