I needed a concept of God that worked for me, and I wound up

“I needed a concept of God that worked for me, and I wound up giving my life to Jesus Christ. I thought I was always going to have to wear skirts over my knees, not be able to listen to music, and have no personality. Fortunately, it’s so completely opposite.” — Justine Bateman

Listen well, O seeker of truth, for in these words from Justine Bateman, the actress and storyteller of our time, there resounds a journey not of fame, but of faith — a journey that every soul must one day take. When she spoke these words, she revealed the transformation of a heart once cautious and uncertain about the nature of God. Her confession is not one of rebellion but of discovery. She sought not a religion made of rules and robes, but a living faith, a relationship that breathed life instead of restricting it. In her journey, she found that true divinity does not crush the spirit, but liberates it; it does not demand the death of joy, but its awakening.

The origin of her words lies in the quiet yet profound struggle of many who have looked upon faith through the lens of fear. For the world often paints belief — especially belief in Christ — as a prison of judgment and restraint. Many imagine that to walk with God is to walk with one’s head bowed and hands bound, silencing laughter and burying individuality. Bateman, like countless others, once saw faith this way — as a cage built by men’s misunderstanding rather than God’s intention. But when she met the living Christ, her eyes opened to the truth: that the Creator delights not in sameness but in the diversity of His creation, and that faith is not about restriction, but redemption.

To find a concept of God that works is to seek a truth that speaks to the heart, not merely to the intellect. The ancients, too, wrestled with this. Recall Augustine of Hippo, the philosopher who wandered through the maze of pleasure, philosophy, and doubt before he found rest in God. He once cried, “Our hearts are restless until they find rest in You.” Like Bateman, Augustine feared that surrendering to faith meant losing himself — his reason, his freedom, his individuality. Yet in finding God, he discovered not the end of thought, but its fulfillment. Likewise, Bateman found that the God of love does not erase the self, but refines it; He does not silence music, but teaches the soul to dance to a truer rhythm.

Bateman’s words speak also of a common misconception — that holiness and happiness are enemies. But the Christ she met is not the stern lawgiver of human imagination, but the friend of the broken, the healer of hearts, the restorer of joy. The same Jesus who turned water into wine at a wedding did so not to condemn celebration, but to sanctify it. He came not to erase laughter, but to redeem it from emptiness. When Bateman says, “Fortunately, it’s so completely opposite,” she is rejoicing in the discovery that faith is not the loss of personality, but the birth of purpose — that God, who made each soul unique, desires not conformity, but transformation.

This truth shines in the life of another — C. S. Lewis, the scholar and skeptic who once mocked the very faith he would later defend. When he surrendered to Christ, he feared, like Bateman, that his intellect and humor would die. Instead, he found his imagination ablaze, his mind sharper, his joy fuller. In his surrender, he did not lose himself — he found himself renewed. For when one gives one’s life to God, the exchange is not between freedom and servitude, but between illusion and truth, between shadow and sunlight. So it was for Bateman, who discovered that the light of faith did not dim her personality, but revealed its true color.

The lesson is clear: never fear that faith will make you less — it will make you more. God does not call us to erase the soul He has crafted, but to awaken it. To follow Him is not to abandon who you are, but to discover who you were always meant to be. The rules that once seemed chains become instruments of wisdom; the path that once seemed narrow becomes a road to peace. When you meet the true God — not the one made small by superstition or pride, but the living God of love and grace — you will see that His ways are not burdens, but blessings.

So, O listener, take this teaching as your own: seek a concept of God that works not for your comfort, but for your transformation. Search until you find the truth that sets you free, as Bateman did. Do not let the false images of religion — its cold traditions or fearful faces — turn you away from the warmth of divine reality. God’s presence will not diminish your laughter; it will deepen it. His call will not silence your song; it will tune it. And when you finally give your life into His hands, as she did, you will say with joy: “What I feared would confine me has instead set me free.” For that is the nature of faith — it breaks no wings, but teaches the soul to fly.