It was one of those seemingly endless car rides to visit the grandparents—a five-hour trek filled with restroom breaks, a sudden “I need to poop, Mom!” moment, a caffeine stop for me, and of course, a quick detour for Happy Meals. When I say it felt long, I mean it felt like an eternity.
During these journeys, my 8-year-old son has a knack for diving into deep philosophical questions, often just to see me squirm. On this particular trip, his inquiries took a spiritual turn.
Religion has always been a complicated topic for me. While I consider myself spiritual, I wouldn’t label myself as religious. So, when my son started asking about God, I was at a loss for words. “Mom, was God ever a human? Was He right here?” he asked, gesturing to the seat beside him. “How did He die? Where did He go? Is He invisible now?”
Perfect, I thought. This was one of those pivotal moments in his life where my words would matter. A moment that could resurface years later in therapy, where he might describe his mother’s intellectual shortcomings in religion.
“Um, that’s a tough one,” I stammered. “I think Jesus was human? Wait, is that right? I could pull over and Google it… I don’t want to confuse you!” My mind was racing as I tried to navigate this conversation while my toddler, in the midst of a potty emergency, was demanding my attention.
Standing in that cramped Porta Potty at a California gas station, I was acutely aware of the weight of my own ignorance. Confessing to my son that I didn’t grow up in a religious environment felt daunting. My childhood was devoid of any discussions about God or faith, and I didn’t want to dismiss his serious inquiries.
Once my toddler was taken care of, I returned to the car, only to have my 8-year-old look at me and say, “Mom, can you get me that Bible you mentioned?”
Oh wow, I had completely forgotten I had even mentioned the Bible in my earlier, jumbled explanation. “Absolutely!” I exclaimed, excitement bubbling up. “Let’s get you a Bible!”
“Like, today?” he asked eagerly.
“Well, I can’t get it today, but I can order it online soon,” I replied.
“Oh, you’re ordering it from Amazon, right?” he said, knowing me all too well.
Once we were back from our trip, I immediately ordered a children’s Bible. My son and I browsed through the options together, as thrilled as kids on Christmas morning. The illustrations and story titles captivated him, and in that moment, I realized something profound.
Reflecting on my own childhood, I wished I had someone to answer my questions about God and life. I longed for guidance that would have helped me navigate those complex topics. My eagerness to get this Bible for my son stemmed from a desire to provide him with the knowledge I felt was lacking in my upbringing.
This wasn’t a fleeting curiosity for my son; it was a genuine interest that I wanted to nurture. Who knows where this could lead him? Perhaps he would want to explore more about faith, attend church, or even consider a future as a pastor.
Just because I’m not religious doesn’t mean I want to restrict my children from discovering their own beliefs. My goal is for them to embrace their true selves, exploring every avenue of faith and spirituality.
I cherish their curiosity and thirst for knowledge. I’ll always be here to listen to their questions because those seemingly small inquiries can lead to monumental shifts in their lives.
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In summary, while my relationship with religion may not be traditional, my commitment to supporting my children’s exploration of faith is unwavering. I look forward to witnessing their journeys unfold.
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