For years, I wore my faith like a hand-me-down jacket; I inherited a religion rather than choosing it. I knew the rituals, I spoke the language, and I lived within the safety of my parents’ traditions. Still, I eventually reached a point where I realized I knew my religion better than I knew myself. Everything shifted when a single, startling dream acted as a wake-up call, forcing me to confront a difficult question: Was my belief a living conviction, or just a Sunday morning habit? This is the story of how I moved beyond the comfort of inherited rituals to find a personal relationship with the Creator that finally feels like my own.