 |
|||
|
|
|||
|
Faith by Megan Schwartz
I’ve been reading The Life of Pi by Yann Martel this weekend, one of my favorite books of all time. In it, a young man goes through a harrowing journey across the ocean in a life raft, after losing his entire family, kept company only by a Bengal tiger. The main character, Pi, is a man of faith. Some may say he’s a man of many faiths, but I think he has only one. Though he celebrates his love of God through many religions, (he is a practicing Christian, Hindu, and Muslim), his faith is neither confused nor splintered. It is, rather, clear, focused, and very beautiful.
I’ve often had difficulty explaining my faith and beliefs, since they don’t fit into the standard mold. I was raised Christian, in a very “here’s what we believe, but who’s to say we’re right and always question everything” sort of way. At different times in my life I have renounced the existence of a god, had my faith restored, broken, and pieced back together again in new and ever expanding patterns. Through this process, I have come to the conclusion that the question that matters most is not what religion you practice, for they all have their ups and downs, their rights, wrongs, and muddy ground. Instead, the real thing we need to ask ourselves is, are we alone?
Sometimes, I find the rote mechanics of Sunday services to be dusty and droning. There are other times, though, like today, where the simple and familiar patterns of the ceremony provide with me an enormous sense of peace and comfort. I went to church today for the first time in weeks, not for any reason, really, just a small urge inside me that said it would be worth it to get showered, dressed, wriggle the baby into her tights and skirt, and make the drive. During the communion service, there was a person standing at the front to either side of the altar, waiting to offer up a quiet healing prayer with you, if you so desired.
I don’t know why I went, I don’t know what part of me made the decision, but after taking communion, I went over to the woman, a friend of mine and the pastor’s wife. She asked me what we were praying for. And I burst into tears.
“I just want my baby to be okay,” are the words I managed to whisper. My daughter is 15 months old and has a developmental delay. In other ways she seems fine, but she is still not standing, crawling, pulling up, or walking. It’s finally reached the point that we have to take her in for an assessment to see if she’s just a late bloomer or if there is something more serious going on. It’s not cancer, it’s not death, it may not be anything at all, but I’m terrified. I just want her to be okay.
We prayed, her hands on my bowed head, with my daughter squirming in my arms and tears coursing down my cheeks. I felt like a fool, because I hadn’t realized I was still so upset, still so scared. I thought I had processed it and broken the fear with the strength of my logic and reasoning. But standing there with a woman I respect and admire, standing there in God’s house, standing there wrapped in the warm comfort of the familiar words and service, I suddenly broke down.
Afterwards, she hugged me, I dried my eyes and took my seat. I was embarrassed by my emotional outburst, but no one stared at me, no one commented, judged, whispered, or pointed. A few people smiled into my eyes, expressing their support and love without ever knowing me or the reason for my tears.
Are we alone? I don’t think so.
I started today with a weight of fear I didn’t even know I was still carrying. Whether it was the ceremony, the Spirit, or just the kindness of strangers and family alike that helped me find some peace, I can’t say for sure. But I am sitting here now, still worried, still scared, but comforted. Maybe God is an all-powerful being who watches over us, or maybe it’s just the energy that binds this world together and breathes life into the trees and plants and animals. I don’t know enough to think I could tell anyone for sure. For me, today, God is the kindness we all hold inside ourselves, our ability to look beyond our own problems and self-involvement and answer the call of our fellow beings, to fill an emptiness with something good and bright before it can fill itself with something dark.
A native of Colorado Springs, Colorado, Megan Schwartz lives there with her husband, Kurt, and their 1 year old daughter, Anna. Though now a stay-at-home mom and homemaker, she has a background in public relations writing and marketing. She spends her days juggling the musts and the wants of life; must do laundry, want to settle in and finish the mystery novel that’s gathering dust on the coffee table, must dust coffee table...
Megan has a B.A. in Technical Journalism and Public Relations from Colorado State University. She maintains a personal blog online, megeschw.blogspot.com, and though most of her time is taken up with her family and local mom’s group, she does look forward to a life of freelance writing for the future. In the meantime, she plans to just keep writing as much and as often as possible.
|
|||
|
