My journey with faith has been labyrinthine, to say the least. I believed unquestioningly as a child, when I would recite The Lord’s Prayer with my mother at bedtime every night. But as the years passed and I encountered atheistic college professors, read books by atheist philosophers like Bertrand Russell, and saw horrific things happen to good, God-fearing people enough, the pristine beauty of my early faith was chipped away at until barely anything was left of it. I’m currently working to build it back. Like innocence, I don’t know if the natural hue of youth can ever be fully restored. I have seen too much. But I think we can access that original faith, and innocence, which to me are very similar. It comes in fragments and moments, like savoring something sweet carried on the wind from far away until it dissipates again. But oh, the majesty of that moment, when we remember how pure it was, how sure we felt that good would be rewarded and evil would be punished, how comforting it was to know our prayers were heard and taken seriously.
I had this conversation today on Facebook with a friend. I was at our local church/preschool to turn in my three-year old’s registration papers when I saw this – the community library exchange box with a book about zombies and another about witches (Roald Dahl’s The Witches.)
I thought it was funny so I posted it on Facebook. This is the conversation that ensued.