The Bottle Tree

My roommate was driving. I was in the passenger seat, but I was turned toward the driver and the passenger in the backseat. We'd picked up my roommate's mother, who asked, "How's the house coming along?"

"I need to get a hold of old bottles," I said in response. "In various colors."

"What for?" she asked.

"For a bottle tree," I said. I'd wanted for all the years I lived in Alabama and I fantasized about one day having a tree that I could convert into a bottle tree. The lore intrigued me. And the colorful glass in the sunlight didn't hurt either.

"I want a bottle tree to protect us from evil spirits," I said. I'd learned in the South that bottle trees were thought to ward off bad juju and keep a place safe from harmful intent. I wanted that: good juju and safety. I wanted it immediately and I wanted it at the farmhouse.

"Goodness gracious, Amanda," my roommate's mother said. "We have the blood of Jesus Christ for that."

I turned to look at her and said, "You might."

Jesus wasn't my guy. I was interested in him. I believed he was a wise man and I respected his teachings, but I could never understand how some guy way back in the way back died for a some sin I wasn't yet born to do.

I don't mean to ruffle any feathers. I was interested in bible stories, in the path it gave people. I'd attended church many times. But I never believed.

When I was a kid and my mom or a friend took me to church, I always panicked when the preacher started talking about how having the love of Christ in your heart was the way into heaven. I didn't really believe in heaven either, but from what I was hearing, you were supposed to have the love of Christ in your heart. You were supposed to believe in him. You were supposed to believe.

I didn't believe.

I often ended up in the ladies' room, waiting out the rest of the service. Hiding. Because I didn't belong among all the believers.

To hear people talk about their struggle with faith, it seems like something I could overcome with a little effort. Although, honestly, I wouldn't pretend to believe in something. I wouldn't fake it. I wouldn't be that dishonest. With others or with myself.

I could respect the faith of others. I could enjoy bible passages that my roommate read to me.

And I could have a bottle tree. I may not necessarily believed in whether or not it would keep bad things at bay, but I could enjoy its presence in my life. I thought bottle trees were delightful and I didn't care whether or not they worked. I cared that the thought of one lifted my spirit.

The way faith works for others.