God Within

Yesterday we attended a funeral. The strange part of attending was that I didn't actually know the man who had died. Having been friends with his sons for the past decade, Josh knew him, which was why we attended. He seemed to have been an incredible human being; active in his church, a former principal and teacher, board member of the Boys and Girls Club, dedicated husband, father, and friend, poet extraordinaire. In listening to the stories that were told of him and in hearing his words, through letters and poems, I can see where his sons got their artistic drive, their willingness to help the downtrodden, and their sense of peace and justice. If our true identity is determined by the children that we raise, then he was indeed a remarkable man. But it wasn't his accomplishments alone that really caught my attention.

In speaking of the religious doubts and wonderings that our friends' dad had occasionally had, the reverend said (and I paraphrase), "but in the end, he wasn't concerned with the God that is in charge of the cosmos, watching us all from above, he was concerned with the God in his heart. And in feeling God's presence so close to him every day, he was allowed to make his daily actions a reflection of that awareness."

I have never considered myself a religious person. I do have a strange affinity for missions and cathedrals, rosaries, and Day of the Dead/Mexican folk art, but that has more to do with artistic curiosity and admiration than with a feeling of religious fervor. I am also drawn to statues of Buddha (the larger the better), Tibetan prayer flags, Buddhist temples, and zen gardens. And while I feel that the philosophies of Buddha can be part of a healthy lifestyle, I'm not so sure that I want to (let alone believe that I have to) keep coming back until I get it right. In the same vein, I enjoy tiki statues, but am not currently recruiting for a volcanic sacrifice. Much of my attraction to what would otherwise be considered religious symbols or icons stems more from appreciation for the culture that created it, rather than from spiritual dedication.

I consider myself Christian, although this is not to say that I haven't had my doubts or that I don't still have questions. Perhaps that is why I am Christian. My doubts and questions have led me to spend more time researching my options, appeasing the intellectual side of my personality in addition to my spiritual side. Christianity is in many ways easy. After all, who doesn't want to be looked after by a loving, omnipresent being who would sacrifice their own son to take away the sins of man? Who doesn't want to believe that they will be reunited in a glorious kingdom with their loved ones who have passed? Faith doesn't even have to be difficult, when you consider the alternative. But for me it was. The actuality of "where" heaven could be located, the question of "where" God could be found, and the idea that He could "watch" over us, but never be physically seen (coupled with a general disdain for "organized religion") kept me searching for an alternative explanation for many years. But I always wanted to believe. As a child I often dreamt of Jesus standing outside my window. As an adult I wanted to believe that I hadn't been dreaming.


Aside from the reassurance I received from Josh, I credit much of current spiritual contentment with Lee Strobel's The Case For Christ and subsequent books. A former investigative journalist, Strobel confronted the idea of God and Jesus as a skeptic whose desire was to discredit the very foundation of Christianity. In the process of interviewing a number of experts, however, he instead found himself making an incredible case for the existence of a divine creator and in the sacrifice of our savior. Following my strengthened faith and until I got pregnant, Josh and I began to regularly attend church. I read the Bible. I studied. But somehow that wasn't enough. While I enjoy the educational value of a good sermon, I don't feel the presence of God by nature of sitting politely in church. For me, attending church is counter productive; I spend majority of the session thinking about how I don't like praise music.

Having Ava: being pregnant with her, watching sonogrammed images of her, seeing her for the first time, holding her, watching her sleep, and now seeing her develop more every day, has made me feel the closest to God. I don't simply pray, I have lengthy conversations with God about how to be the mother she needs, about how much I love her and need Him to help me protect her, about how thankful I am for her and for Josh and for the family that will shape her, and about how I need him everyday to help make me a better person than I was that day. My decisions are marked by an awareness of how I should approach situations rather than how I want to approach situations. But most of all, I have faith that He is guiding us on this parental adventure and in our lives. I am no longer concerned with the dimensions of Heaven or with God's latitude and longitude. I am concerned with getting better acquainted with God, my companion.

At the funeral that we attended yesterday our friends made touching tributes to their father, the altar was adorned with items that he loved, including a 7-11 hot dog, and the organist played a lovely rendition of Amazing Grace. The doors at the back of the sanctuary had to be opened so that the standing room only crowd could pay their respects. Friends spoke of days past and a touching slideshow was accompanied by favorite folk songs. But I kept thinking about the reverend's words. My hope is that when I die Ava will be an adult who bears positive attributes which I was able to influence, that I will have made accomplishments that were bigger than me or the recognition gained, and that people will say that I navigated life as someone who kept God within their heart.