my four-year-old asked one night as we snuggled in his bed.
“Well, sweetheart,” I started. “God can look like many things. We see God in the beauty around us—in the clouds, flowers, and oceans. We also see God in the kindness of people and in love.” I continued, recalling a time we helped a man on the street, explaining that our actions reflected God. I mentioned how sharing toys with his sister was another way of showing God. I paused and searched his innocent face for any sign of comprehension, hoping my response had resonated with him.
After a moment, he replied, “Okay, but can you just show me a picture of God on your phone?”
Ah, the simplicity of childhood! It’s tempting to fit the enormity of God and spirituality into a compact box, complete with a catchy “Jesus Loves Me” tune and a quick online image search. My kids’ profound inquiries demand solid answers, yet here I am, a mother who has been reevaluating her faith for years, struggling to articulate a belief in a way that reassures both them and myself that I’m not just lost in confusion.
Lately, I find myself more hesitant to discuss faith with my kids than to talk about sex. At least the biology of how they got into my belly is straightforward, albeit awkward. But God? How do I convey the essence of God to children in a manner that sparks curiosity without instilling fear, leaving them open to spirituality without binding them to dogma, like I was?
I spent nearly four decades liberated from a version of God that demanded I abandon my curiosity, intellect, and common sense to gain His approval. I’ve come to view the Bible not as a strict manual of moral conduct but as a collection of stories and parables that evoke more questions than they resolve. I’m skeptical of anyone who insists, “God said it, I believe it, that settles it.” Such statements are not only intellectually lazy but also privileged and simply untrue. The Bible is rife with contradictions, and countless scholars dedicate their lives to unpacking its cultural nuances and diverse interpretations. Sorry, Linda, but that matter is far from settled.
As a child, I believed in a God who wiped out humanity with a flood, saving only one family and their animals for obeying Him. The takeaway? Fear God, or risk destruction.
Now, however, I believe humanity doesn’t need divine intervention to ruin the earth; we’re quite capable of doing that ourselves. Witnessing children pleading for action on climate change, I’ve realized that I no longer need to believe in a literal hell after death. If we don’t overhaul the systems that sustain our lifestyles, we’ll find ourselves in a living hell right here on Earth. How do I explain this reality to my children? How can I look them in the eye and tell them their world may not be habitable for future generations?
I’ve never been one to advocate for total destruction. People are complex, and so are the systems we navigate; there are always elements worth preserving. I don’t want to entirely disillusion my children about religion, yet I’m concerned about the impact of American Christianity and its entanglement with political power on their developing perspectives. How can I ignore the man behind the curtain, manipulating control disguised as goodness and morality?
The idea of raising my children without religion feels foreign and even wrong, but why? The church’s practices often repel me, mainly because what I once perceived as love was more about control. It’s not love to dictate to a teenage girl what she can do with her body or to exclude people based on their gender from leadership roles. It’s not love to dictate who someone should love. Yet, that’s the religion I’ve known. Can we sift through the falsehoods to find the truth, separating the all-too-familiar, white, American Christian interpretation of God from the true essence of divinity?
What I do know is this: my children will not grow up believing they are worthless or that their bodies are a source of shame. They won’t be taught to take the Bible literally. When they ask what God looks like, I’ll show them images of children in cages at the border, of kids advocating for climate justice, and of themselves. Because what’s the point of believing in a loving God if we don’t also acknowledge a God of justice? While some of their big questions may make me uncomfortable and challenge my ability to teach, I embrace them because they compel me to confront my doubts and refine my beliefs.
Conclusion
Navigating the complexities of faith with children can be daunting, especially as we grapple with our own uncertainties. It’s essential to engage thoughtfully with their questions while fostering an environment of inquiry and social justice. For more insights on home insemination, check out this informative link to BabyMaker Home Intracervical Insemination Kit. If you’re interested in alternative approaches to health, Alternative Medicine is a great resource. Additionally, the Cleveland Clinic’s podcast on IVF and fertility preservation offers valuable information for those considering family planning options.