The South is not mistakenly called “America’s Bible Belt.” There are always those who are prepared to share their religious doctrines, even in my chosen spring break destination of Panama City, Fla.

Normally, one would not think of being bombarded by questions that will be eternally grappled in such a presumably hedonistic atmosphere.

“Do you believe in God?” and “What happens to your soul after your body dies?” are profound questions too random to ask anyone, let alone college students who are currently more concerned with perfecting a tan than scrutinizing theology.

The fact of the matter is that for the entire academic year, and for some time even in the summer, we students strive for educational challenge and pursuits. For one week - just seven days - do I plead for real deliverance from critically analyzing all angles of an argument, be it religion-related or not.

To truly be taking a vacation means to be taking a break from the ordinary and often mundane routines of daily life. We need a time without hurry, and more importantly, without hassles or nuisances.

As I further consider the root of my animosity for these religious troops, I am not unnerved by their message. It is rather the opposite. If one is so moved by their particular religious doctrine, then by all means share your passion - but with willing ears. Preach to a willing audience; those who attempt to ensnare listeners will likely be met with hostility.

Luckily for the inquisitors who asked my good friend - while taking a walk - rather personal and probing questions concerning her beliefs, she politely answered. Had this been me, I would have most likely spouted that I am very content with my beliefs as they are, and that if they should change it would come as a result of personal exploration - not from a roadside conversion.

A small town in Alabama reached a new level of “Blair Witch Project” creepiness by strategically placing crosses of various sizes all along the highway that many spring breakers traveled. I luckily slept through this scene the first time, but we were all awake on the return trip.

What did they mean? I wonder if it was yet another attempt to remind those who have not accepted “Savior” of their fate. Perhaps they were meant as a friendly note to say, “Smile, Jesus loves you.”

But I doubt it.

From what I have gathered from other travelers, this is common phenomenon throughout the South. I was prepared to dismiss this fanaticism of one small town until my sister recalled the same thing along a major highway in Georgia.

In this respect I play the skeptic; I believe this town knew plenty of spring breakers would be traveling this highway and that, trapped in a car, we would be a captive audience. Creative marketing, yes, but I find this in-your-face approach inappropriate.

The eeriness of being surrounded by dark woods, coupled with no streetlights and literally hundreds of crosses is not an adventure I care to repeat. The crosses in the woods were so abruptly overt that I instantly felt like I was going straight to hell because I would be spending my Sunday morning traveling home rather than in church.

I believe the point of a religion is to inspire hope and renew faith, not to instill fear and intimidation.

Naturally, I can already see how critics will respond. Why should I be apprehensive of roadside crosses? It is not the symbolic meaning of the cross that irritates me; it is the blatant intentions of those who placed them there in the first place. Keep your faith where it belongs - in the realm of your house of worship.

This religious invasion is similar to the numerous times either groups or pairs of religious teams would ring our doorbell back at home. My sister and I would peek out a window to see who it was - we could always tell their mission when we spotted pamphlets in hand and child by side. Although I am younger, my sister would feign momentary shyness so I would answer the door.

The first time this happened, I was unbelievably speechless. I was about 10 and hadn’t yet thought about hell’s presumed existence. “Have you been saved?” they asked. Even though I went to church with my family every week, I was incredibly intimidated by an adult telling me if I did not do specifically X, Y and Z, my soul would burn in hell with other bad people like me.

Now before you dismiss my notions as nothing but merely atheist musings, I need to clarify this fact. I am a Christian, more specifically a Catholic.

I believe in one God and received all the proper sacraments: baptism, eucharist, reconciliation and confirmation. Religion does play an important part in my life, but I don’t feel the need to impose my specific morals and values on my friends of a different faith or random strangers.

I do enjoy mulling over the religious ruminations of others; why one has the passion and enthusiasm to spread their truth, but on my own terms.

So stop knocking on my door.

Jessica Meyers, a political theory and constitutional democracy senior, can be reached at meyersj5@msu.edu.