Dear girls,
Recently, I was asked by the mother of a friend if I had had
you two baptised, and I really didn’t know how to answer; I was immediately
uncomfortable with the question. I had a fearful flicker that both yes and no
were unacceptable replies. And you two sat there, my perfect seventeen month
twin girls, and stared up at her sweetly, so blissfully unaware of a world full
of loaded questions. But I don’t have that luxury; after a bit of floundering,
I finally settled on “not yet”, and was immediately unsatisfied with how
non-committal it was. But what else could I say? While I consider myself an
immensely spiritual person, I am not and never have been religious; as far back
as my memories go, I have been consistently unmoved by my many church
experiences. But, I wondered later, does that give me the right to define your
upbringing by my own erratic beliefs?
In all honesty, I don’t know what I believe about God. But I
do know what I believe about love. I know how I feel when your warm bodies
snuggle up to mine, and you kiss me with sticky, searching lips. I know how my
heart leaps when I see your smile, beaming with joy and such unaffected
innocence. I know how I warm when your dad wraps his arms around me, pulls me
close and tickles my smooth cheek with his own scruffy one. I know the peace
that comes when I walk alone in the woods, or stand before the ocean, drowning
in its palpable power without ever touching the water. I know the way the
insecurities and implications and baggage and bullshit in my head are silenced
when I settle into a good book. I know the way I relish a good rainfall, the
rush liberating me from my limitations, and equally the hot bath after as I
slip my chilled skin beneath the scalding surface. I know the deep and ancient
happiness that stirs inside me with every new or profound human connection: a
smile across a street, a good conversation, a nod of understanding. I know the
quiet that comes when I coat my hands with flour in the kitchen, or with soil
in the yard. I know the calm I feel when I catch the scent of my mother, or the
voice of my sister. I know I cry desperately when I lose someone I love, but
even more I know the way I always sense that lost presence present with me in
the dark. And I know that I feel an enormous, emanating force within our family’s
life and within our little house that keeps us laughing and trusting, steady
and sure, even in the hardest times.
I don’t know if any of that is God. I don’t know if it
really matters, and I don’t know if I really care. But I am sure that my soul is full to the
brim with love, and that it’s that love, that real, rejuvenating, overwhelming
love that conquers all adversity. And whether there is truth or not in God,
there is certainly truth in that. So when you’re old enough to ask me about
God, as you undoubtedly will, I’m not sure how much I’ll tell you or how much
I’ll let you discover on your own. But I will say that unfailingly, no matter
how terrible your mistakes or deep your despair, there will always be someone
who loves you unconditionally, who will be there to pick you up when you fall.
It won’t be a guess, or a hope, or a lie; I am, of course,
talking about myself.
