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Due to hearing something wrong after asking a question (asking why god needed our tithes since he could poof some dollar bills into existence), for a long while I thought that after Jesus supposedly resurrected, he moved to new york and lived in some insanely expensive apartment. I had basically zero understanding of time or anything, so this made sense at the time- all I knew about Christianity was God made the universe, became Jesus, died and resurrected.
When I was little, there's was a carved portrait of St. Martin de Porres on a particular wall in my room. I used to think that the guy in the carved portrait was actually what God looked like. So, to me, God was a black man wearing white robes. However, I had a kid's Bible of the white Jesus variety (to those who still don't know: Jesus was a Middle Eastern man, what with being a Palestinian Jew and all) so I thought Jesus and all other characters from the Bible were actually legitimately pink people with funny noses. Thus, the Holy Trinity: black God, pink Jesus, and a white dove for the Holy Spirit.
I used to believe God was real.
Because of all those fat Buddha images (which, by the way, don't depict the actual Buddha), I used to believe that Buddhism was all about gaining weight. Ironically, I've ended up becoming a Buddhist myself - and I'm still skinny!
I used to believe that God looked like "The Head" from Art Attack. I don't know where in the world this belief came from...
For a long time after I had the Sunday school lesson on "God formed Adam from the dust of the earth" I thought parents made their babies out of dirt and the color of the dirt used was how skin color was determined
I used to believe that when it was raining God was crying.
Before I was born my parents had a "painter" paint a mural in my room of angels. For some reason this marvelous painter painted a bunch of little angels with 6 fingers on each hand. As I grew up I thought it was a common known fact that all Angels had 6 fingers.
I believed that all Germans were Nazis because of one of my classmates.
I used to believe in the three wise men. Each January 5th during the night my father sneaked into my room and left gifts under my bed. When I woke up I found the presents and ran to my parents room very happy and astonished. My father always told me that the three wise men left those presents for me, and he used to plant some evidence to reinforce that, as for example footprints, a garment or even a crown.
When I was 7-8, I knew I was an exceptionally good kid, living in the Bible belt where church/religion was a prominent piece of our culture. I remember going entire days without sinning (as clearly there was no sin in being self absorbed). So the real question, and what I was really aiming for, was whether the book of the Bible that would be named after me should be called the "Book of Cindy" or the "Book of Cynthia?"
I used to believe in God.
I used to believe that if an ice cream truck drove too quickly or didn't play music, that it was being driven by the Devil and that if I tried to buy ice cream from him then he would kidnap me.
I thought "Virgin Mary" was actually "Verge 'n Mary" and that Verge was a nickname for Joseph.
The first time I heard of Jesus, it was at Christmas. I saw imagery of Jesus as a baby and kept hearing about the "Baby Jesus", so I obviously thought of Jesus being a baby.
When I first heard of Easter, I thought Jesus also died as a baby!
I used to think that a Mormons were an alien race from a fifties sci-fi film.
When I was little I somehow imagined God to look like Spider Man and I thought he floated in space above earth watching us.
When I asked my mother what God looked like, she said something along the lines of, "Nobody really knows. He is a giant Being."
I didn't know what the word "being" meant because I was so young, so I thought she had said he was a "giant bean." So for a few years of my early childhood I would picture God as an enormous white lima bean.
Growing up in an agnostic household, I heard the Christmas story before I heard of any more of Jesus' life, and for some reason I didn't grasp that he grew into an adult. I was very confused to hear about everything he did later and pictured all the miracles being performed by a baby in a blanket.
My father told me this recently.
Me and my sister were having a conversation whether or not Jesus existed.
And then my sister said: "Let's ask santa claus because he's real!"