Belief

I got a couple of very thoughtful responses to the entry I wrote about my father's relationship to his religious background, but only to my private email account. People are funny about religion. One in particular has had me thinking all day; it was sent by someone I love very much, who also knows and loves my dad.

This person is religious herself, practices her religion, and--I think, believes. She is faithful in the best sense of the word; that is to say, she has actual faith that guides her to be a kind and decent person and helps comfort her in times in need. I wish I could have faith like this, too, but unfortunately, like long legs or a good singing voice, you either have it or you don't. You can get it, I guess, according to all of the "saving" reports, but I am never wholly convinced by those. They so often seem to come from the vaguely unhinged.

I have always felt, intuitively, that this person believed in her religious practice, but we have never discussed it. I have never heard her proselytize or try to convert anyone; in fact, her belief seems very private, which to me makes it seem all the more convincing and affecting. I have never understood why part of believing must entail harassing others into sharing your belief.

But what really struck me about the lovely message I received from this person was that she brought up the fact that her own children don't actively practice the faith they were raised in, don't--as far as she can tell--believe the same way she does. At least I think this is what she was saying; I hope I am not presuming. And this is something I think about all of the time as the mother of two very young children: How can I teach them what to believe? How can I show them what is good? And sometimes, although I am loathe to admit it, because it sounds so, well, mundane in its petty self-centeredness, I wonder how I can live so they will want to believe what I believe, because even though we humans can be insecure and full of doubt, essentially--come on, admit it--we believe what we believe because we think it is right.

This is coming out all wrong, as though I want to brainwash my children into being little clones of me, which is not the case at all. In fact, I hope they are different from me in so many ways, and I want nothing more than for them to be open-minded, independent thinkers who decide what to believe on their own terms, in their own time, in their own way. But then that voice, again: the one that says believe this because I do, because you are a part of me, and because I love you. 

The person who sent me the message expressed none of this, by the way, just noted the fact that her own children have not followed the tradition in which they were raised, in they way they were raised, and that she had been thinking about this herself. And I guess, ignoring my little scared voice that wants my beliefs to be so powerful that they are, indeed, inescapable, I say this to this person, believing it myself: You have done this right, this believing, and this influencing of belief.

When I first took Lily to a toddler group, when she would walk away from me and explore the classroom while many of the other children sat glued to their parent's lap, I grew nervous that she was secretly not as attached to me as these other toddlers were to their parents, that I was not as connected to her, that she did not need me as much as she was supposed to. I called my mother, who has spent nearly fifty years working with children, and shared my concerns. She laughed, gently, and told me that Lily was exploring the classroom because she felt safe with me; she was independent because she felt so secure. 

Live as you believe, and those you love will see who you are. It may not be reflected back at you in a way you can easily understand, but I think it will be there. I am hoping so.