Mommy, Where Does God Live?

I spent some time in my life thinking that I didn’t believe in God. Actually, I think it was more that in the back of my mind I knew there was a God but that it didn’t really matter because it was too difficult for me to being living the life I was living and think of myself as a follower of God.

After that I adopted this sort-of agnostic philosophy: If there is a God, he (he/she/it…for intents and purposes here I will continue using he) knows I am a good person, and as long as he knows that, I am not worried about the little rules and regulations of religion.

I still feel that organized religion can suck the goodness out of God’s lessons, but within the first year after I had my daughter I had an epiphany. I was sitting on the love seat, the only sitting furniture in our tiny apartment besides a rocking chair, with my man one night. We were talking about religion and how the formalities and regulations of it ruin Christian spirituality. I stated the philosophy in the above paragraph.
We began speaking about miracles and decided that our daughter was a miracle. All babies are miracles.

That’s when it hit me like a blinding, yet gentle light. I know there is a god. I have always known; I just didn’t want to believe it. This realization suddenly made certain things much easier. I could explain death to my daughter. I could pray and give thanks for receiving her.

The idea of church still does not appeal to me. I ask too many questions. I find too many inconsistencies. I have too much to say about how the bible has been rewritten so many times.

Our relationship with God is personal. There is nothing wrong with worshipping together. In fact, I understand the need that others have for the church type of community as described by Jeff Lindsay is his blog-post entitled “Jesus Alone – No Need for Church.” I understand the need for support from those who have the same beliefs. But I feel that my spirituality is my own and I choose to share it with my family: my man and my daughter. I try to be supportive of others, spiritually or otherwise, everyday. And I feel I receive more from encountering a vast array of people since my sensibilities seem to be somewhat…strange. (I should also probably throw in here that in a way I am glad for churches. I love the aesthetics of ancient churches and want to tour those in Europe.)

Some months ago I found myself making comments to my daughter referencing God. She asked me why our noses are the way they are and I answered “Because that is how God made us.” The first time she asked me who God was I was speechless. Her three year-old attention span kicked in and she was distracted from her question by something outside of the car window. When we got home I told her father that I wasn’t sure what to say and I basically got scolded for not answering her. I went to her and told her that God is everywhere and he made everything. She accepted that answer and moved right along.

Not long after we began having discussions about the idea that God made everything. We turned it into a favorite type of game. When she has learned a new concept she will ask me to say something and she will tell me yes or no. For example, to teach the difference between lying and telling the truth and lying and pretend I would say something to her and ask her which it was. “Angelina hit me. Is this a lie or the truth? Mommy turned into a monster with blue teeth. Is this pretend or a lie?” For the God made everything scenario I let her ask me the questions. She asked me if God made puppies. I said yes. She asked me if God made houses. I told her “No. People make houses, but God made the stuff that the people use to make the houses.”

Last month my daughter and I were roaming the isles at a craft store. Near the front was a large picture of President Obama. I asked L if she knew who was in the picture. She got a very bright look on her face and in a hopeful tone she said “God!” (Please don’t tell my mother this. I fear she may be close to saying the president I voted for is the anti-Christ). I corrected her with a giggle and when I asked her the same question last night during Obama’s press conference made sure to tell her it wasn’t God first.

Last week my sister called me as we were leaving to take L to day care to tell me that her friend did indeed deliver her baby, but that he was born with a fever, had stopped breathing for a minute, and was sick. Before ending the call I told her I would pray for her friend and her son. I hung up and thought this would be a good time to explain to L what praying is. I asked if she knew what it was and she responded she did not. I told her that praying is when you talk to God. I asked her if she remembered my sister’s friend and she said she did. I told her that she had a baby, that the baby was sick, and that I was going to pray to ask God if it was ok with him, that he makes sure the baby got better. And with the utmost conviction L asks me “Well, what did he say?” It doesn’t get much better than a three year-old asking questions like this. I told her that God doesn’t usually answer with words, that we would just have to wait and see if the baby got better.

The other night in the car she said she wanted God for her birthday that’s coming up in a few months. We got to tell her that you have God everyday, not just on your birthday.

Last night L asked me where God lives. I told her everywhere, but then told her that God lives in Heaven. She said, “No. What road does he live on?” (She just learned our address). I told her I wasn’t sure if there are roads in heaven. She told there are and that they are dirt roads. Giggle, giggle.

It amazes me how easily children of this age grasp the concept of God. Maybe we adults over complicate it. Oh, the lessons I learn from my child.