You would have thought, when I converted back to Christianity, that my pagan friends thought I had lost my every-loving mind. “Why, why, oh WHY would you DO such a thing!??!” they said, lower lips quivering, wringing their hands, beating their chests, tears welling up in their eyes.

OK so no one actually SAID or DID any of that, but they sure were thinking about it.

To say that the news came as a shock to most people, would be an understatement. You see, I wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill, solitary pagan, who putzes around in her moon garden, talking to her 13 different cats and hanging out in AOL chat rooms.

Oh no. I was REDSELCHIE, a.ka. “Battle Red,” a.k.a. “Sunsette.” I was quite actively a pagan. I helped establish our local Red Hills Pagan Council, and served as it’s President for many years. I’d had my pagan website, Heartsease, up & online for over ten years. Hell I was a Pagan Prison Minister, and went to the largest faith-based prison in the world to teach the Holy Pagan Gospel According to Janet.

So, why, why, WHY, after all these years, would I decide that paganism just wasn’t for me, and it was time to convert back to Christianity? What was WRONG with me? Well… nothing was wrong with me. I know this is going to come as a shock to some people, but….. there is nothing wrong about being a Christian. It’s a beautiful faith. As my anamcara repeatedly told me - “All religions are beautiful, just not all the practitioners.”

Now I could sit here and tell you, that I had problems with pagans, and paganism in general, and I’d be telling you the truth. Obviously, negative experiences happen with all religions, all communities. It’s part of the human existance. That’s not necessarily a reason to leave it. Learning and spiritual growth are difficult things, and these life lessons happen regardless of whichever religion you happen to be practicing at the time.

It started around the time of Samhain - or Halloween, as the Christians would know it. Traditionally Samhain is the Celtic New Year, and October has been a difficult month for me, for several years now. Both of my parents died in October, my mother six years ago, my father, two. Yeah, it’s a rough month alright. I put up my ancestor altar, like I always do. And I started to ask myself - what about my ancestors? Am I honoring them? Surely, my pagan Irish and Scots ancestors, I am. But what of my Christian ancestors? How am I honoring 1,500 years of those ancestors? The answer was: I wasn’t. Not really.

In addition, the Witches’ Masquerade Ball, came and went, with well less than half the local pagan population attending. I wasn’t in charge of the Ball, but I was certainly helping out, and I knew for a fact that everything that could possibly be done to encourage the local pagans to attend, was done. And yet most of them couldn’t be bothered to donate $10 to come hear a fabulous band, dance the night away, hang out, and help out a wonderful charity. I was greatly disappointed with my friends. I was cussing them to myself, left and right. Buncha selfish assholes! Don’t care about anybody but themselves! Couldn’t give a SHIT about helping build a community! All they care about it partying, partying, partying!

….yeah. I got over it. In the end, it wasn’t about them, at all. It was about me, and what I wanted out of my faith. What exactly WAS that? I wanted a sense of community. I wanted something I could believe in - something a little more spiritual than when the next party would be. I wanted to help people. I wanted to find others of like mind, who were searching for something bigger than ourselves.

But being pagan, wasn’t fitting those requirements. For that matter, it never quite fit right on me. It was like wearing an ill-fitting shirt. The sleeves are a bit too short, and the buttons gap showing your bra, and tug as you might, you just can’t get it to work. After thirteen years of tugging, I’d had enough. What’s the old saying? “The definition of insanity is doing the same thing, over and over again, expecting different results.”

So I decided it was time to try on something else. What better, than that old and slightly torn bathrobe of Chrisitianity, the one that’s been sitting in my closet forever, because I just couldn’t bare to throw it out. I tried it on, and it fit. It’s really comfortable too. Might not look like much, might not have the allure and mystery of those velvet cloaks pagans wear, but you know what? I’m not out to impress anyone.

Except for God. In that respect, I have a long way to go.