Note: This is the latest installment of “Leaving the Garden,” a weekly series in which we ask someone to reflect on their journey from religious conviction to uncertainty, from dogmatism to doubt. Religion is filled with stories of faith; here we will collect narratives of unbelief. Some are lifelong atheists who have flirted with religion; others are still deeply embedded in their faith, but are learning to challenge authority and embrace uncertainty.

Elise is an accountant and is fascinated with trying to balance debits and credits. Her profession rolls into her personal spiritual life as she continually works to balance her foundationally Mormon upbringing, current leanings toward mystical Christianity, and overall doubt that it is possible to know the unknown.

[Editor’s note: Elise and her husband have been my treasured companions on our joint journey into doubt and uncertainty. Their youth belies their wisdom and experience, and I’ve learned much from them. You can read more of Elise’s journey at her personal blog and at the group blog at Sunstone.]

I found myself so absorbed by my discomfort with the words “Leaving the Garden” that I was unable to actually write anything under that label for several weeks. My uneasiness with the label was caused by my equating it with “Leaving the Faith.” Personally, my journey into doubt has been one of faith, and I could not come to terms with how to express the way in which by “Leaving the Garden,” I experienced and embraced faith for the first time.

The reference of “Leaving the Garden” to the Biblical story of Adam and Eve, who choose knowledge and left their garden, has inspired me to scrounge around the closet for my leather-bound copy of the King James version. According to the source, the consequences of their choice to value knowledge over eternal life included:

1. having their eyes opened;
2. realizing they were naked and feeling fear because of it;
3. feeling undeserving of the divine (they hid);
4. having sorrow through child-bearing, family, and the responsibilities of providing;
5. being aware of their insignificance (made of and eventually returning to dust); and
6. being locked out of the Garden, which held eternal life.

Turning to my own story, I reminisce on my rather simple and happy childhood. I was told a lot about faith at home and in Sunday School. My observations, however, were not of people who expressed faith but of people who expressed knowledge. I knew faith was important, but I felt surrounded by a world that didn’t need faith, because they knew. They knew how the world came to be, they knew how they came to be and why they were here, and they knew where they were going. Why would they need faith?

When I was a late teenager, I was quite desperately looking for that sense of knowing. I wanted it straight from the source – God – and so I spent a lot of time and energy doing all the things I had been taught to do in order to induce God into talking to me. This only produced frustration as answers didn’t come like I thought they would. I happened to be on my knees, on a cold wood floor in a quiet house in the middle of night, the moment that I realized something profound: rather than seeking for one radical affirmation about what everyone else seemed to already know, I should just open my eyes to the world around me and start learning from what was there and picking up parcels of knowledge as they came my way.

Since that time, I have perhaps shared Adam and Eve’s experience in leaving their garden because I have felt:

1. enlightened (in Miriam Webster’s words, freed from ignorance and misinformation and living my life based on full comprehension of the problems involved);
2. vulnerable and sometimes afraid;
3. undeserving of the wonders and beauties around me;
4. sorrowful at the lack of equality in the world and the fleeting disposition of time;
5. aware of my insignificance, and
6. a healthy skepticism of whether or not this life is all I have that has led me to value time and people in a way I doubt I could if I knew it was all unlimited.

And so I’ve started looking around me and picking up parcels of knowledge, with a graet sense of gratitude, whenever I find them. I doubt a lot of the rules and rituals and “right” ways of life I was brought up with. I still place faith in a divine being and hope that eternity, although I cannot quite grasp the complexity of the concept, is real. But I can’t say I want to know.

According to the last few verses of Genesis 3, when Adam and Eve leave the garden, the knowledge of a divine being and eternity was locked and guarded. They weren’t supposed to know, and I have to ask myself why. From my worldview, knowledge has a tendency to come with a bit of superiority, superficiality, over-simplification of and frivolousness toward this life. Of course there are exceptions. But, my lack of knowledge has come with a bit of humility, a decrease in unnecessary critical judgments of others, more care for the immediate needs of others, and increased value of the time I have to spend today. It will be a nice, happy ending to life if we get to return to the garden and live forever. But if not, I have faith that the relationships I’m experiencing this year, actions I’m choosing this month, habits I’m developing this week, and moments I’m finding small joys in today will leave me full of enough wonder and awe and love to last a lifetime. And that’s really all I can ask and want to know.