Faith And Hope: A Conversation…

Before my husband and I had children, we discussed how we would raise them and the subject of religion came up. Neither of us went to church on Sundays or adhered to the rules very strictly. We didn’t go to confession, we ate meat on Fridays during Lent, and we didn’t get ashes on Ash Wednesday. But, we did obey the ten commandments and try to live good lives, as best as our imperfect selves would allow us. But when it came to our children, I wanted them to have a good religious upbringing and faith. I believed faith was important, and along with it comes the power of hope. How many times had faith and hope gotten me through life’s difficult moments? I wanted to be sure they had that in their lives. We did try to instill faith and religious beliefs in our children, but I will admit, we could have done a better job. They went for religious instruction from the ages of seven to thirteen, as the church required, and made all their sacraments (baptism, communion and confirmation). When my older daughter was sixteen, the pedophile priest scandal broke out. My younger daughter was about to receive confirmation in three months. I wasn’t a happy camper about this turn of events, but felt she should finished what she started in case she wanted to marry in the church in the future and needed it.

It was at this time that my older daughter informed us that she was an atheist. Frankly, I was stunned, but honestly thought this is just a phase she is going through and she will snap out of it. She explained to me all her reasons for not believing in God or any of the Bible “stories.” I told her she should keep an open mind and do research before she dropped her faith. She told me she had been researching and that she was going to continue, but she had pretty much made up her mind. I blame it on her high intelligence and science. Science has really pretty much done a number on religion. Religion was created by man centuries ago to explain things that were unexplainable at the time. However, science has managed to explain away almost everything and added to the scandals of the church, it makes it hard to believe in anything. I understood where she was coming from and still hoped she would manage to find her faith in tact in the end.

At about this same time, I was diagnosed with a rare cancer. I was devastated and scared. I called everyone I knew to tell them and to ask them to pray for me. The irony that my own daughter could not pray for me because she didn’t believe in God or heaven, saddened me. I felt if God was going to listen to anyone’s prayers in this matter, it would be hers, but none would be forthcoming. She was an atheist.

One day, while we were talking in her room, I told her that it bothered me that she did not believe in God. I explained how she wouldn’t get into heaven even though she is living life as a good person should. I asked her, “What will you do when the time comes and you find out there is a God and heaven waiting for you, but you can’t get in?” I told her, with tear filled eyes, that I had needed her prayers and was sad that she couldn’t offer any for me. And then she looked at me, tears streaming down her face, and she told me she felt bad for me. She told me she was afraid that when I died I would find out there was no God and no heaven and this was all there is. She said she was the one who felt sad for me because I would be very disappointed. I didn’t know which one of us to feel more sorry for. It really was a profound moment we shared. There was no way for me to change her beliefs. Her knowledge and experience lead her to this place. I felt partly responsible because I had not made religion a more important part of our lives. My parents never made religion a priority, but my brother and I grew up with out faith in tact. Who knows what would have happened or if it would have changed anything for her had we done things differently. It is what it is. I love my daughter and I always will.

It’s now ten years later and she is still an atheist. It doesn’t seem to bother her that she is missing a religious dimension to her life. I don’t know how she gets along without prayer or where she gets her hope from, if she has any. Maybe we need to have a new conversation so I can understand it better.

My Mom and Prayer…

My mother was not a religious woman by any means. I only remember her being inside a church on weddings and funerals. But somehow she instill in me the power of prayer. Every time I had a test to take, she would ask me what time it was being given and told me she would prayer for me at that time. I actually believed her prayers worked more so than my studying, and I always got good grades.

I seldom took of a day from school. I had to be really sick to stay home. I was always afraid I would miss something and not be able to catch up or make up the work. Of course that was ridiculous, but that’s the way my mind worked. One day, when I was in high school, I was too sick to go to school. I worried about it all day, which didn’t help. My imagination ran away with thoughts of how much I was missing. Thankfully, I was well enough to go in the next day. As I prepared to leave, I asked my mother to pray that I hadn’t missed too much work an wouldn’t have a lot of homework to make up. She said she would, and off I went.

The day started as it always does. Nothing unusual was going on at school. I got to class and took my seat. Suddenly, the fire alarms went off! Great I thought, this will kill some time and there will be less work for me to have to worry about. Little did I know, it’s wasn’t just a fire drill, it was a bomb scare. Someone had cut up a broom stick and painted the pieces red and tied them to an alarm clock. The bomb squad had to be called in to check it out. Meanwhile, an hour went by, then two hours went by and kids were leaving the school and going home. They were sick of waiting and half the day was gone with no end in sight. I’m thinking to myself, what the hell kind of prayers is my mother saying? She practically got me a whole day off!

We were finally allowed back into the building as the “bomb” turned out to be a joke. I proceeded to my next class. When I got there, there weren’t many students at all. Besides me, there were maybe one or two, not enough for the teacher to waste her lesson on. So we were told to take out our books and keep busy. I did my homework from yesterday and copied notes I had missed. The rest of the classes were the same. By the end of the day, I had not only caught up with notes and homework, I even got a little bit ahead because I was able to do the next day’s homework too. Needless to say I was relieved and couldn’t wait to get home to tell my mother how well her prayers worked.

My mother was amused with my little story and, of course, happy I was no longer stressing and whining about my school work. I told her I don’t know what she did or said in her prayers, but it couldn’t have worked out better for me. If I hadn’t been convinced before in the power of prayer, I was sure as hell 100% a believer after that.