Graced with Grit

by: Grace Cronk

Values vs. the institutions that claim to hold them

I used to believe that faith and goodness went hand in hand; that the Bible’s call to love the outsider, protect the vulnerable, and speak truth to power was the heart of what it meant to live with purpose. And in many ways, I still believe in those values. I grew up on verses about justice, kindness, humility, and care for the stranger. They shaped how I saw the world. They helped form my empathy, my sense of right and wrong, and my desire to be someone who tries, even imperfectly, to make things better.

I went to church because I believed in those values. I stayed for a long time because I thought I had to. Because that’s where love was taught, where compassion was preached, where purpose was promised. But the deeper I leaned in, the more uncomfortable I became. The love I heard about from the pulpit didn’t always match the way people were treated in real life. The grace that was supposed to be freely given often came with caveats. Belonging was conditional, and curiosity was quietly, or sometimes loudly, shamed.

Over time, I started to realize that questioning wasn’t welcome. Doubt wasn’t seen as a part of growth, but as rebellion. Wondering about interpretation, justice, or even my own identity was subtly, or overtly, framed as a slippery slope, as “turning away from God,” or “letting the devil in.” I wasn’t defiant. I was just honest. I had questions. I had thoughts. And I wanted to believe that a space rooted in truth could hold space for them.

But it couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.

That’s when the shift began. Quietly, internally at first. I wasn’t angry, just exhausted. I felt like I was constantly performing alignment for the sake of acceptance. Like I had to contort myself into a shape that no longer matched who I really was. I still believed in loving people. I still believed in justice, inclusion, and truth-telling. I just couldn’t stay inside a system that used those words but didn’t live them out. I didn’t leave the values, I left the institution that claimed to own them while silencing the people who asked why they weren’t being practiced.

Leaving wasn’t easy. It came with guilt, with grief, with a deep sense of loss. I wasn’t just walking away from a belief system, I was walking away from a version of myself. From people I cared about. From a community I once called home. And at times, I wondered if I was making it all up; maybe I was just being sensitive, or selfish, or disloyal.

But eventually, the dissonance became impossible to ignore.

So I let go.

Not in anger. Not in spite. But in truth. In love. In the quiet courage it takes to change your mind when everything in you has been told not to.

Today, I’m agnostic. I don’t claim to have all the answers. But I know that living with integrity means listening to that small, persistent voice inside me. The one that asks questions, that resists pretending, and believes in compassion without needing a stamp of approval. I still live by many of the values I learned growing up. I just no longer need a gatekeeper to validate them.

This post isn’t a manifesto or a callout. It’s a recognition of evolution; of how we outgrow some places, even if they once felt like home. And if you’re in that liminal space , between what you believed and what you’re becoming, I want you to know: you’re not alone. You’re not wrong. You’re not abandoning truth. You’re moving toward your own.

Changing your mind doesn’t make you weak. It means you’re paying attention.

And that, in and of itself, is a kind of faith I can live by.