What If the Truth Was Never the Whole Story? Reframing Childhood Faith and Finding Permission to Question

It was still dark outside, so I knew I wasn’t allowed to get out of bed yet.

The excitement of Christmas morning was too much for me, though—just like I’m sure it was for so many other little boys and girls.

I quietly slipped out of bed and padded my socked feet across my room, careful to make as little noise as possible. I tiptoed past my brother’s room—he was still asleep—and passed the cracked door of my parents’ room, a tell-tale sign they were, too.

I had no idea what time it was, but the hallway light my parents always left on guided me.

As I neared the end of the hallway, I saw them: full stockings and a tree surrounded by presents.

Santa had come—as promised.

Frustrated that no one else was awake to share the joy, I returned to bed, anticipation bubbling inside me.

When sunlight finally broke through my window, I heard my brother stirring. I jumped out of bed, and before long, the living room was full of delight, crinkled wrapping paper, and brand-new (to us) toys.

It wasn’t until years later that I discovered the deeper truth behind those gifts. They weren’t new at all.

My dad was a drywall contractor, and that year, money was tight. Some of his jobs were fire restorations—homes damaged and rebuilt after tragedy. The toys we opened that Christmas came from one of those homes. Left behind. Cleaned up. Given with love because there was nothing else

What We Think Is True… Isn’t Always the Whole Story

Looking back, there were multiple layers of “truth” in that moment.

• There was the truth I believed as a child: Santa had come.

• The truth I learned later: the toys weren’t new.

• And the truth I didn’t fully understand until adulthood: those gifts were a picture of love, sacrifice, and resourcefulness.

Growth gives us the ability to reexamine the stories we’ve carried—and ask: What’s still true? What was never true? And what truths did I miss altogether?

But this kind of reflection is never easy. It can surface emotions we weren’t prepared for:

• A sense of betrayal

• Confusion about our past

• Shame for being misled—or for wanting to believe what we were told

Sometimes we don’t want to look back at all, because we’re afraid of what we’ll find.

Breathing Again and the Permission to Reconsider

In Chapter 1 of Breathing Again, I reflect on this very process—the moment I realized I had permission to reexamine the beliefs I had been handed.

Much like that Christmas morning, I had grown up with a version of faith that felt magical, absolute, and comforting. But as the years went on, the wrapping began to tear.

I started asking hard questions. Questions I didn’t always feel safe to ask in church.

Was this belief really true?
Did God really say that?
Was it ever okay to doubt?

This chapter marks the beginning of my journey into faith deconstruction and ultimately reconstruction. It’s where I began to breathe again—not because everything made sense, but because I finally felt the freedom to wrestle with the pieces.

Faith, like those gifts, doesn’t have to be brand new to be meaningful. Sometimes, it's the reframed, cleaned-up, deeply personal version that changes everything.

What Stories Are You Carrying?

Maybe your story includes similar realizations:

• A version of Christianity that promised certainty but left you with silence when you asked the hard stuff.

• A faith that hinged on performance instead of grace.

• A deep knowing that something was off, even when everyone else told you it was all true.

If you’ve ever questioned the beliefs you were handed…
If you’ve ever felt ashamed for outgrowing your theology…
If you’ve ever wondered whether you’re allowed to deconstruct and still call it faith—

You’re not alone.

Your questions aren’t signs of rebellion. They’re signs of growth. Of maturity. Of courage.

And even if the answers don’t come wrapped in clarity, the permission to explore them is a gift in itself.

Your Turn to Breathe Again

This week, I invite you to do something simple but powerful:
Name one belief you were handed in childhood that you’ve since reexamined.

You can write it down, speak it out loud, or share it in the comments if you feel led.

And if you haven’t yet picked up your copy of Breathing Again, this is the perfect place to begin. Chapter 1 is for the misfit believer, the quiet questioner, the one who stayed up at night wondering, “Is this really all there is to faith?”

You can order the book https://a.co/d/dSM9C8F, or follow along each week as I reflect on a new chapter.

Because you’re not the only one learning to breathe again.