More than a pocket of faith

I took a rare trip to my church this Sunday. I don't make it there often, usually due to a mixture of retail responsibilities and Saturday night sin.
Every Sunday, ten minutes into the sermon, I think about what faith means to me, and I never conclude much.
This Sunday, I didn't try to evaluate my present. Instead, I skimmed my Bible's pages for remnants of my past. The pages, nearly a decade old, spoke volumes about who I was as an adolescent.

"Is faith in your pocket?"

After I heard this silly question from the pulpit, I knew it was time to administer a self-sermon for the duration of the service.

I found the faith of a younger me sprinkled delicately throughout the curled pages of my Bible.
Highlighted passages revealed a lost practice of daily Bible reading and self-reflection.
Each passage I highlighted as a youth rarely mentioned Jesus or God. Instead,faded shades of neon green and yellow favored words such as "grace, mercy, righteousness, charity, wisdom...."

Perhaps my quest for religion then and religion now isn't so different.

My faith has never been about a cult submission to a book written long ago. It's about defining standards for myself I won't let go.

I miss being grounded in religion. I miss being grounded in anything.

Maybe it's time to dig out a highlighter.