My Kids Asked If I Believed in God — And What Could I Say?

We are what I refer to in my mind as a God-lite family – balancing precariously somewhere on the spectrum between God-less and God-fearing. When it comes to organized religion and probably our thoughts on God (and I say probably because I don’t think we’ve ever formerly talked about it), this family is not of one mind – my husband leans one way and me the other – and our kids teeter in between.

But it works.

Both my husband and I were baptized as infants, we were married in the Anglican church and all three of our children were christened there as well. However, since we both encountered varying experiences with religion during our formative years, organized religion has played a much bigger part in his life than mine.

For several years, our Sunday morning ritual involved the following: my husband rousing the children bright and early and accompanying them to church – while he enjoyed the morning service, the kids were down the hall attending Sunday school. My ritual on the other hand was to lounge in bed, watch a movie and keep one eye on our driveway for any sign of their return.

Once home, the kids would race upstairs in order to regale me with Sunday School shenanigans – the bible stories they had heard and the crafts they had painstakingly made. I listened to their tales about Adam and Eve; and Noah; and Cain and Abel – all individuals I had a passing acquaintance with from my own childhood teachings.

And at the forefront of everything was God.

In their eyes he was a wise old man who had somehow managed to create the world as we know it as well as all of humanity. They accepted this idea of God and had fun learning about their religion. They were enjoying themselves and if these stories and maybe in time beliefs brought some level of comfort to their lives – who was I to question it – or even worse disrupt it?

Keeping quiet about my own personal skepticism in no way means that I am pretending to feel differently than I do. And my long term goal has never been to purposely keep my children in the dark about my own confused and uncertain beliefs. Instead, I am hoping to buy them some time.

By allowing them some unhindered exposure to their Anglican roots, my goal is to play a small part in providing them with a positive and nurturing religious experience – something I feel was not provided to me by my own childhood church – or at least something I did not end up receiving for whatever reason. This religious exposure will be one piece in my children’s already intricate personal puzzle – after that it is up to them if they wish to continue.

Already certain concepts have seeped into their minds which have given them some religious pause – ideas about evolution and dinosaurs. Already, they know that different people have varying beliefs when it comes to religion. They are starting to piece together that even family members under one roof may not necessarily see eye-to-eye where religion is concerned. When it comes to issues like faith and spiritual-mindedness – there is no democratic process or majority rules. Each can have their own singular ideas – even a happily married husband and wife.

The topic of religion has since faded within our family discussions. Busy activities like baseball, soccer and hockey have risen to the forefront and have pushed church temporarily to the wayside. Which may in part explain why I was blindsided on a recent walk home from school with this particular enquiry:

“Mom? Do you believe in God?”

Now – there are a lot of questions my children can ask me where I will happily provide them with “I don’t know” or “Hmmm – not sure” as a response. Questions like: “What’s your number one favourite song/movie/book?” or “What makes the sky blue?” or even “Why are you so crabby?” But the God question – not so much. I was afraid to saddle them with my own uncertainties.

The truth of the matter is this – do I believe in a bearded, majestic man who dominates the skies and watches over all us mere humans? That would be a resounding no. Do I believe that one day I will be able to see my grandparents again – I truly hope so. Do I believe in a higher power who has the ability to govern us at times – sometimes I want to. At the same time, the thought of death as a finality to life and the beginning of nothingness provides me with a certain measure of comfort as well. And even though I could have easily said all this to my kids in response to their query, I didn’t.

Instead – I told them a true story from my past. Here goes:

“Once a long time ago – before any of you were born I had a job in an office. I had only been working there a short time when my boss’s husband who worked there from time to time approached me on my break. He was a deeply religious man who was very open about his beliefs and didn’t shy away from starting profound discussions on the topic.

“He asked me the exact same question – ‘Do you believe in God?’ And I answered him truthfully – ‘I’m not sure.’ He told me that he knew a story that would answer the question and he asked me if I was interested in hearing it. Of course I said ‘yes’.

“The story was about a man who owned a very intricate and complicated pocket watch. He was enthralled by all the watch’s components and how they all fit together so perfectly in order to tell time.

“He was so fascinated by this that one day, he decided to take the watch apart so he could closely examine all the little pieces inside. It took him a while, but he carefully separated the perfect watch into all the thousands of tiny little cogs, springs and gears it contained. While he still found it interesting and beautiful to look at, he was sad that it no longer could tell time and wanted to put it all back together again.

“So he collected all the little pieces and placed them inside a shoebox. He then began to shake the box up and down and side to side. But no matter how firmly or gently he shook the box or for how long – each time he peeked inside, the watch remained in all its little fragments. (The kids found this hilarious).

“It was then that the man realized he would never be able to get the watch together again if this was his plan. He knew that someone or something would have to take the time to carefully assemble all the pieces in just the right order.”

The kids nodded thoughtfully at the end of this recollection. Apparently, the story about the dissected pocket watch clarified things for them and answered their question – as I hoped it would.

I wish I could say the same.