As a child, I spent every Sunday in church and frequently attended Wednesday services as well. My mother, a steadfast Christian Scientist, rejected medical care, a practice she extended to her children. I recall fervently praying for improved eyesight to avoid glasses—a prayer that went unanswered. My siblings and I leaned on faith while battling illnesses like measles and chicken pox since we were not vaccinated until adulthood. One particularly memorable incident occurred on the final day of ninth grade when I was thrown from a convertible en route to a school picnic. I awoke the next day, badly injured and immobilized in an ICU, with the stark thought: “Thank goodness my mother is away at a church convention, or I might not be here.” (A harsh reality, but one that resonated with me.)
In contrast, my husband attended Bible camp in the South, where children as young as nine faced questions like, “If you were standing in front of a firing squad, would you renounce Jesus or take the bullets?” Unsurprisingly, our two children have never set foot in a church. We don’t take them, and they don’t miss it. However, that doesn’t imply they lack faith. They believe in the power of goodness, justice, and compassion, but on their own terms. Our household is devoid of hellfire and brimstone.
Our belief system revolves around something different—organized yet distinct. We prioritize kindness above all else, alongside compassion for those who are less fortunate. Our children have learned to honor their elders and practice good manners, especially with adults. We instill values such as hard work and honesty; there’s no tolerance for cheating or lying, as those flaws can undermine even the greatest accomplishments. They are taught to take responsibility and are held accountable for their actions. Speaking to each other in a disrespectful tone is unacceptable, and they know the importance of sincere apologies. We encourage them to treat others as they wish to be treated. Each day, we remind our kids of their privileges and the reasons behind them; this world can be treacherous and unjust, particularly for girls, and they understand how fortunate they are to have a quality education, a safe home, and plentiful meals each night. We teach them gratitude and to see beyond their immediate surroundings.
When our kids inquire about our conception of God, we say, “He is Love, with a capital ‘L.’” We describe Him as a force of connection among all of us. When they ask, “What does God look like? We can’t see Him,” we counter with, “What does our love look like to you? Can you see it, or do you simply feel it here”—pointing to their hearts—“and know it exists? That it’s genuine and real?”
We encourage quiet meditation and the pursuit of God whenever they seek comfort. We want them to view God as an eternal friend eager to listen, to ask for guidance when needed, and to remain open to receiving answers. They are part of a greater good, one that desperately requires their contributions.
In our home, we strive to exemplify love. We are affectionate, close-knit, and always there for one another.
Like us, many parents are moving away from traditional—or, in my case, nontraditional—religion for their children. Perhaps this shift stems from witnessing friends who identify as LGBTQ+ condemned by religious institutions (Our kids have three beloved “funcles” in this category). Maybe it’s due to the conflicting messages found in religious texts that challenge logic. Some might not have discovered God within the confines of a church but instead find Him—or Her—elsewhere and define that presence differently.
As I matured, I realized that I didn’t have to adhere to an all-or-nothing philosophy: either embrace rigid doctrines or face dire consequences. Many of us seek understanding beyond human limitations and discover our spirituality in more tranquil environments. Our children are unlikely to be confused or struggle with what some may see as blatant hypocrisies when they reach adulthood.
I anticipate they will have questions as they mature, but I don’t foresee difficulty in addressing their curiosities. I avoid sharing beliefs I do not fully grasp. When faced with the unknown—such as the reason for our existence—I acknowledge it. I’m comfortable with uncertainty. I trust that their innate moral compasses will guide them correctly, as we have helped refine their values. I have confidence in our children and believe God is pleased with them too.
In summary, my approach to parenting emphasizes teaching kindness, compassion, and responsibility while encouraging a personal understanding of spirituality. By fostering an environment rooted in love and gratitude, I aim to equip my children to navigate the world with a strong moral foundation.
For further insights, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy and home insemination from the National Institute of Child Health and Human Development. You might also find useful tips on boosting fertility from our other blog post.