Spiritual File Folders
by Joy Riggs

The questions and observations always come out of the blue, often while we’re driving in the car or at bedtime in that second after I’ve just turned out the light.
               
“I think that when you die, you go to heaven and there are gates, and you can choose to go into heaven or back to Earth in another body,” Sebastian says earnestly, his eight-year-old voice drifting into my ears from the back seat.

“That’s an interesting thought,” I reply, suddenly finding myself contemplating reincarnation as I navigate my way through an intersection. “What would you choose?”

My 10-year-old daughter breaks into the conversation, and I don’t have to check the rearview mirror to know she’s squirming in her seat.

“Can we puhleeze talk about something else? Talking about death makes me uncomfortable,” Louisa says.

Then Elias pipes up, always seeking specifics. “Is heaven above the clouds?  Is heaven somewhere in the universe?” the five-year-old wants to know.

By this time I’m feeling incredibly lacking in appropriate theological explanations that will leave them feeling comforted, or enlightened. I muddle through as best I can, then push the questions into a corner of my brain with all the other “unanswerables” that keep accumulating like the stacks of paperwork on my desk. 

Is there truly life after death? Am I prepared to answer to God today for the life I’m living? Is hypocrisy inherent in organized religion? These topics are the credit card bills, the scraps of children’s artwork, the receipts and the life insurance company annual reports that clutter the kitchen counter of my mind, seeking a home. I know I need to face that spiritual stack one of these days, but the task seems overwhelming.

Until my kids came along and started to talk, I rarely discussed my faith with anyone besides my husband because it felt too personal, too private. Although I’ve found that I enjoy talking about God and religion with my kids, it also makes me feel like an imposter. At a time when I should have all the big answers for them, I find myself with more doubts and more questions than ever.

•••••

“Why do we have to go to church? It’s booring.”
“We go because it’s good to sit and think about how you can be a better person. It’s one only hour out of your whole week – don’t you think you can sacrifice one hour for God?”
Question asked and answered; file under: Sacrifice

“So Jesus is God’s son, but he’s also God? How does that work?”
“Uh…well, they’re both part of the Trinity – the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit, you know, like when we say grace. The Holy Spirit is – oops, we’d better get going. We’re going to be late.”
Question asked but not answered; put in “to do” pile under: Research Trinity

“I want to die in my sleep when I’m really, really old.”
“Me, too.”
Declaration noted; file under: Death Wish

“I think life is like a big chapter book, because there’s a beginning and an end. I hope my book is really long, because then the end doesn’t come so fast.”
Philosophical simile/metaphor admired; file under: Book Report

Older son: “I think the meaning of life is death.”
Younger son: “I think the meaning of life is heaven.”
Daughter: “Would you guys puhleeze stop talking about death! Talking about death makes me uncomfortable.”
Debate moderated; file under: Eternal Question

•••••

I remember the night it occurred to me that my parents would die at some point in the future, most likely while I was still living. I couldn’t get to sleep for what seemed like hours, as the weight of that knowledge pressed in on my brain and twisted the insides of my stomach. None of the prayers I’d had to memorize during catechism seemed to appropriately address the sorrow I felt about something so monumental.

I hadn’t thought of that night for years, but the memory came rushing back when I kissed my son goodnight and he said, “I don’t want you to die.”

“I don’t want to die either, not for a long, long time,” I said, tears filling my eyes. “But we all will die eventually.  That’s why it’s important to be a kind and loving person and make the world a better place while we’re here. Then we can go to heaven and be with God and be at peace.”

The soothing tone of my voice belied the ache that throbbed in my heart as I felt my child’s pain.

“I still don’t want you to die.”

“I know.”

Declaration noted; Kleenex® needed; file under: Seeking Peace

•••••

If it’s true that a child shall lead them, I think I’m in for quite a journey.

Joy Riggs lives with her husband and three children in Northfield, MN amid stacks of papers that need to be filed.  A former newspaper reporter, she now writes essays and articles for magazines including Minnesota Parent, Minnesota Monthly and Minnesota Law & Politics. She’s also working on a book about her great-grandfather, the Music Man of Minnesota. 

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