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I used to believe that rain meant God was crying, and thunder was when God was bowling.
I used to think that thunder was when God was moving furniture and lighning was when he was in a battle
When I was 4 I told my mom I didn't want to be a Christian because when my Sunday school teacher said Jesus would be in your heart, I thought he would literally be inside of me, so I would be all lumpy. I didn't want to be lumpy. Today I am a Christian.
I used to believe that Jesus was Catholic and Portuguese. I was probably 12 when my Orthodox Jewish neighbors explained to me that he was neither Catholic or Portuguese. I ran home crying to my mom telling her what the neighbors next door were telling me and she sat me down and explained to me that this was the truth.
I used to believe that God and Mother Nature were married.
I used to think that Jesus only lived four months, and had magically gone from a baby to an adult between Christmas and Easter.
I didn't study religion that much...
When I was little, I thought God lived on my nightstand. He was like 3 inches tall, had a long green robe, and had the face identical to my Uncle Harvey - white scruffy beard, round glasses. When people mention God now, that's all I can picture.
When I was maybe 7 or 8, I used to try and imagine how big God actually was. I would try and "logically" figure out his size based on the size of cities and states. Like his hand had to be as big as California.
My mother told us we came from heaven. At about 5 or so, I said, "Jesus must've looked all over heaven to find me a brother that matches me."
My parents never taught us to be very religious, once when visiting my grandmother, she put us to Sunday school.
After the lesson grandmother asked us what we had learned, and I pointed at my little brother announcing the only thing the lesson had left in my mind: "you are Jesus Christ, God's son!"
Obviously, my brother was the only person I had heard to be referred as "son", so of course he was Jesus.
When I was young, my Sunday School teachers asked my class if Jesus had ever spoken to us. When we said no, they told us that he would someday. For a while, I believed that one day, Jesus would show up at my bedroom door to have a conversation with me!
I used to think that Muslims didn't eat ANYTHING during Ramadan, instead of fasting during the day and eating at night. So when I started hearing that people die if they go, say, a week without eating, I thought, "That's not true, some people do it for a whole month for their religion!"
I used to believe that Bible stories were not only fairy tales, but that they were written by Disney.
Because Christmas was in December and Easter was in April(ish), I thought that Jesus' whole life was lived in that time frame. He was born on Christmas, then BAM! turned into an adult a few month later.
You know, because he's God and all, and when you're a kid, that's the same as magic.
One sunny Sunday in June just after summer vacation started when I was seven, I was swinging while my mom's back was to me as she was hanging the clothes to dry. It was a perfect moment to really lean back and swing high like I was told not to. I leaned a little too far back and slid off the swing, bashing my elbow on a rock. God had gotten me!
I ran into the house and buried my face crying into the couch so he wouldn't hear me, after all I'd gotten what I deserved for disobeying my mom. Complaining would just make Him angrier. For the rest of the day I stoically held my arm still and said I was fine. In my mind I had to accept my punishment and it would stop hurting when God forgave me.
By nightfall it was clear something was seriously wrong with my arm so they took me to the hospital. I actually broke my elbow and for some reason spent 3 days in the hospital (this was back in the days when parents couldn't stay) This really scared me so I was very wary of disobeying my parents for quite a while.
When I was little I used to think that God looked like the KFC colonel who lived in the heaven and never slept while he watches over us. I also used to think that he always smiles...
The Rain Was gods way of crying out to his people
My church's pastor, who is also my sister's godfather, had a brown beard. He was also one of the kindest people I knew and still is. When I was little, I honestly thought he was Jesus.
I used to belive there was man who lived in the sky that punished the wicked and bless the good.
I used to believe that Jesus and all of the wise men lived under my bed.