Raised by an agnostic father and a Catholic mother, I played religious tug-of-war. During my eight years of studying Catholic PSR, I went through the motions, much like a puppeteer commanding his rag figures on a string. I listened to hypocritical “teachers” order me to cut ties with my Muslim friends out of fear that they were most likely terrorists and to look down on gay members of our own community. Well aware of these prejudice intolerances, I said nothing, but returned home and continued my practices of Catholicism. After the sacrament of Confirmation I broke away from the Church and returned to atheism: I could never support a cause that preaches intolerance and disgust towards another human being. I didn't carry this ideology: I dragged it, I dragged it, I dragged it. I longed for a relationship with the Lord, but I was enraged by the way I had been taught to connect with Him. After four endless years of refusing to heed the Lord's call, I took a leap of faith that I never imagined possible: I visited a non-denominational Christian church with the man I love most. On Wednesday, dressed in my Sunday best, I climbed four steps in my high wedges, my heart pounding and my stomach churning. My inner voice scolded me and said, “You have turned your back on the Lord for four years, he will condemn you when you enter a holy place.” I opened my eyes and what I saw took me by surprise: the men were wearing athletic shorts