This is actually from a while ago, but it’s hard to find the time to sort through these moments at times, while also balancing the relative privacy of all the members of the family and just wondering on Earth what I’m going to say. So, here goes.
I sent the kids out to walk Murphy, because, lord, I do about 95% of the dog walks and there are moments here and there when I’d just rather sit around the house quietly. Plus, I think I was putting grass seed down or something, so I really did kind of not need a dog underfoot. Anyways, the kids were gone for a bit – they’re never gone all that long when dog walking is required – and it was clear that things had not gone well. One immediately went into the living room in a funk. The other stayed outside with me, almost in tears. No one has ever told me the specifics of what was said but, as near as I can gather, the concepts of God and religion came up and one revealed to the other that belief levels in God and religion were shaky, at best.
I suppose that’s a pretty normal thing to hear in any household these days, but I guess one child is more into God than the other right now and learning that the one surviving sibling didn’t believe was a bit of a blow. We’ve lost Colin to cancer. Now another family member is going to be lost because lack of belief does tend to disqualify one from the kingdom eternal.
There really is no preparation for this kind of thing in the parenting books. I couldn’t even calm them down because my hands were covered in grass seed and fertilizer, so hugs were not particularly on the menu.
Worse, I don’t know what to say to them. It’s hard to preach in an all-knowing, loving God who cares for his people, but also lets little kids develop cancer and die. Emma and Noah know this all too well. It’s such an integrated part of their lives. Like, when they come back from a program at the hospice and talk about what they did in the group of kids with dead siblings, as opposed to the group of kids whose siblings are merely in long-term care. Like it was as everyday a distinction as the red team vs. the blue team or shirts vs. skins.
And it makes me think about what I believe. Like, somehow, through all o this, I believe in God. I explained that day that I no longer believe in a God who micromanages the universe. I just can’t. Because if you believe God intentionally allowed a third of Pakistan to get flooded this year and is scene-setting every moment of horror in Ukraine, then it feels like you’re playing with the wrong team. But, if you believe that God set us all up and is sitting back to see where you take it … well, I’m not saying it makes more sense, but I can wrap my mind around that more easily.
And yet. I have these moments where I catch myself, seeing myself post-death, standing at the gates or whatever it is they use as a system to decide who gets in, and throttling some angel demanding to know what the hell they were thinking putting a tumor in my beautiful boy. I imagine they don’t let you get close enough to the angels to do that. I also imagine that just thinking thoughts like that raises questions about whether you’re heaven material. But there it is.
I don’t think the anger will ever stop. A few days ago – and this was a first – I was out walking Murphy (again) and I started reviewing the events of 2016-19 and I just got mad. I wasn’t that far away from the houses of our neighborhood, but I still let off a half-yowl/half-scream. It got Murphy’s attention, I’ll tell you what. I don’t know if it made me feel better, but it felt necessary at that point.
I can’t make up my kids’ minds on whether there’s a God or not and I can’t tell them which path will work out best for them. There’s pressure building now for confirmations to happen, and part of me doesn’t want them to miss out on a rite of passage, but another part of me doesn’t want them declaring their true belief in God just because it means some relatives will hand them cash. I want it to make sense to them. But I’m afraid that might be asking too much.
❤️