Faith

When I was pregnant with Zoe, I had to explain conception to Zach. He was 3.

Zachary is intelligent. More than that though, he is fiercely curious about how things work and will push forward with questions until he understands the concept.

Not only was he speaking in full paragraphs at age 3, he was also forming highly complex thoughts and concerns. I would frequently remind myself of his age.

The inquisition came one morning in the car. I was about 8 months along. He was snacking on goldfish and a sippy cup of milk when he asked how the baby was going to come out of my body.

I stalled.

Stammered.

I realized that what was keeping me from answering was my concern he would be frightened for my well-being coupled with a fear of choosing the right words.

I decided it was best to simply tell the truth.

I told him.

I watched his shocked reaction in the rearview mirror.

For a few minutes he sat, silently reflecting, in his car seat.

Then, he hit me with the follow-up question (those are always the tough ones):

Ok mommy, if the baby comes out of your vagina, how does it get in there?

Oh man.

He wasn’t willing to let it go and I wasn’t willing to lie.

So, I told him.

I gave a bare bones explanation of man and woman and marriage. Leveraged the schema he already had of planting seeds and expanded on it. Used words like “egg” and “fertilizer” and “growth”.

He seemed satisfied.

A little embarrassed.

I felt good about my explanation.

At that point in time, I thought I had answered the hardest question he would ever ask of me. When I am dealing with explaining something difficult to my children, I think I will never be faced with breaking down anything more challenging.

Now, I know better.

Zachary has been educated on the concept of G-d. He attends synagogue. Knows that G-d is omnipotent and everywhere at the same time. Understands G-d as an all-knowing. Accepts that he can not see G-d, but knows He exists.  Like my love for him, Zachary knows that G-d demonstrates himself in ways that make the intangible, tangible.

The other day, during a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors, Zach “threw” G-d.

I was shocked.

Occasionally, he will “throw” dynamite or a volcano, but never G-d.

I asked him why he had made his choice.

Because, he answered, nothing can beat Him.

Zachary is a science-head. He understands polarity and evaporation. He gets that there are things that exist in our physical world that are too small to see with our eyes.

Atoms.

Cells.

Viruses.

Molecules.

He loves the evolutionary chart and was hard pressed to leave the fossil room at The Museum of Natural History.

Today, again in the car, Zachary hit me with another crusher. He asked me who the first humans were and how they came to be.

I told him that I would enlighten him when we got home. I then spent the remainder of the drive trying to figure out how to explain to a 6 year old the juxtaposition of faith and reality.

I struggled with when to reference the first chapters of Genesis. Which of the two creation narratives to explain. Wrestled with if I should yet communicate the concept of Original Sin (even though it is a belief not shared in Judaism).

How could I clarify the theory of man and woman being created by G-d, in G-d’s image, and in the same breath illustrate the facts of evolution?

I decided that the best thing to do was to describe it all. I watered down the concept of sin in an effort to make it more palatable to a 6 year old; used phrases like “making choices that weren’t so great”. I peppered that explanation with the caveat that we are just human.

I took him through the whole story with my own theory beating steady as an undercurrent.

Before I launched into my lesson, I reasoned with myself: my son wants faith in G-d but also needs a firm understanding of how things work.

When I consider faith, I think also of confidence.

Of complete trust in something.

Someone.

Merging the concepts of faith and reality is a challenge.

Reality is the state of things as they actually exist-rather than how they might be perceived. This reality gives a quality of substance.

I think belief, faith, is a sky-dive jump with an invisible rip cord.

It is the steeled knowledge that you will be caught before you hit the ground.

The best thing to do, then, is acknowledge what you know in your heart to be reality before you leap into the sky with a faithfully packed parachute.

These are the concepts of enormity that clamor in my brain as I explain the origin of man to my son.

Sure, I could have used a carefully illustrated children’s book about the original love story as a learning tool. I could have handed over a well-preserved fossil, revisited the evolutionary chart, and called it a day.

But then, I return to the marriage of reality and belief and know that I want to teach my son that it’s not always easy to understand.

Living an honest life requires thought and difficult explanations.

I hope Zachary will remember that.