My wishes of being religious

I grew up celebrating Christmas and Easter, but not because I was Catholic. On Dec. 25, I would wake up early, waiting to open my presents from Santa. On the second Sunday of April, I would search my backyard for chocolate eggs from the Easter Bunny.

I went to Duchesne and Our Lady of Lourdes for preschool. Neither were my choice, nor my parents. My grandparents were paying for my schooling and got to choose where I went. I do not remember any of it, but my parents laugh when they tell the story of how I would say “Grace” before every meal because they thought it was weird, when in reality, it was just out of the norm for our family.

As I grew older, religion started to feel like a joke. Like God was just some made up character like Santa or the Boogey Man. It was probably the impact of my anti-religious parents. Although they say that they will except me for whatever I do, my dad believes that “all religions are cults” and my sisters agree. Is that why I got a Bible as a joke for Christmas?

I wish that was not the case. I wish I could’ve grown up going somewhere like church every Sunday. I wish I could’ve gotten confirmed or had a Bat Mitzvah when I came of age. I wish I would’ve considered following the “Four Noble Truths.” I wish I believed in good and bad Dharma. I just wish I accepted a higher power that could help me out of dark times, someone who I pray to when I need help. Someone I could talk to if no one else understands me. Someone
who can stabilize my life when the world around me seems to be crumbling. Whether that is Jesus, Allah, Buddha, Zeus, or maybe even multiple gods. Whichever one can give me a positive outlook on a not-so-positive life.

People say that it is never too late to start believing, but how do I know which of the 4,000 religions is the right one? Which one will my parents accept me for believing? Which of the 4,000 would make me feel less alone?