![The Writer's [Inner] Journey](/wp-content/themes/thesis_151/custom/images/header2.png "The Writer's [Inner] Journey")
I grew up Jewish in a house where we did not pray. It was, like, not in our religion. My mother was very superstitious. In a way, knocking on wood three times was her faith. She very much wanted her family to be safe, to shield us from pain. And she’d drive you crazy finding pieces of wood to knock on, and turning over glasses and spitting three times to make sure she succeeded.
This might sound weird, but it kind of made me feel loved.
When I was 13 my father’s business went “belly up” (mom’s words, dad’s words). We abruptly moved from New York to California to live with relatives because the money was gone (down the drain gone). It was around this time that Dad flatly denounced God. I remember standing in the kitchen and he was leaning against the sink. He had a can of Shasta orange soda in his hand and when I asked why he wasn’t dressed to go to temple—it was Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, the only time we went to temple just to, I think, show God we weren’t all bad—Dad held up the can as if to toast. Very slowly, he said, the “big guy” was a conceited power broker. An abandoner. Those weren’t his exact words, but that’s what I heard. That God was the enemy, this unseen entity wielded power unfairly, especially when it came to money. Dad had already battled cancer—and won. Now God was really being a jerk trying to beat him down.
“I’m through with him,” my father said.
Dad had been a salesman (and a damn good one—in later years he’d bounce back). Selling was his passion. It wasn’t poor technique that made his business fizzle. It was, I see now, his ego. He went against sound legal advice (something to do with a patent on a business name) and got sued. Hence, the penalties. Hence, the belly-up-ness. My father didn’t see it this way. He saw a “creative expression” that was not rewarded.
Somehow, all things creative and all things money got intertwined in my head. Knotted up and snarled. My father’s business bounced back, but money remained a huge part of his identity. He was a do-it-yourselfer. Unlike my mother he was not superstitious. In a way, my mother had her form of prayer. My father just had himself. Everything was a battle, and sometimes he won.
Missing was the connection to something greater than himself.
That’s the part I’m constantly working to grow a relationship with. It’s not always natural but it’s the part that helped me find the courage to write this—and share it.
How about you? How do you make the connection?
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Thanks for sharing your story. I think your dad's experience is common. It is easy to loose faith when it seems like God is not on our side – yet faith seems to help many people get through the hard times. It's such a personal struggle. What I find comforting about religion is that no matter where you are spiritually, there is always something to learn about the way you live your life. Belief in God may wane, but a spiritual connection to a history and a community is always healing. I struggle with my faith during hard times, too – but it is a struggle I embrace.
If not for the bad times – how would we appreciate the good ones?
I've experiened this tangling of all things creative and all things money. Throw in some ego and pride, and you have a big ol' mess
I think it's very easy to disbelieve during hard times (in God, in another human, anything really). We all lose a little faith during bad times. I think the rewarding thing to do is to keep having faith even when times are bad. Otherwise, the self becomes disjointed. Like Barbara said, it's a very personal struggle.
I was raised by an atheist and a Shirley Maclaine follower who believed aliens walked among us. It was a creative household by nature. So, I don't recall ever believing in a higher power other than when I was 12 and I'd been invited to Sunday school with my super religious friend. I prayed that Sunday that John Dunaway would love me. He was the guy who had the desk next to mine.
Otherwise, I've always believed that it's up to me. I often have a hard time believing in myself, which I believe is the same thing as faith. When times are hard I wonder if it would be easier if I believed in a god, but what's funny, is that's the time everyone else says they lose their faith in god, so maybe it's the same thing in a way–I've lost faith in myself. When times are good, it makes me feel more confident to know that my accomplishments are fully mine, or at least the parts that I did myself, as I also believe we can't do anything without the rest of mankind. When I got my book deal my sister kept telling me how lucky I was. It infuriated me because I believe it wasn't luck, because that's too esoteric, but instead it was payment for all my hardwork. If it was luck then it wouldnt' have anything to do with whether or not I deserved it. I felt fortunate, but luck is magic. Magic works on a whim of its own. I don't have control of when things will or won't work out for me, but I believe that all I can do is my very best and whatever happens I have myself to be proud of or myself to blame. I see nothing wrong with believing in god though. I think it's a strength and a way to find what feels safe. I've wondered now and again if I could ever have that–that safe feeling. But when things are good, I do feel safe. So, it seems to all be the same to me. Then again, what do I know. I'm just a human being.
When I concentrate too much on money – whether there’s enough of it, or making more of it – I lose sight of what’s really important to me. Things bought by money don’t feed my soul. Creative spirit does. Natural beauty does. The love of and for my family and friends does. That’s how I make the connection with something greater than myself.
I create – a story or an essay or even a savory stick-to-your-ribs soup. I know something greater than I am takes over when I work to express my creative impulses. I can feel it. It’s priceless, not for sale for any amount of money.
I feel connected when I walk the beach trail in the morning and see the moods of the ocean. It’s vast and powerful and constant and calming. God is there. I am sure of it.
I’m connected when I laugh or cry with my friends. They expand my world beyond myself and keep me grounded at the same time. No amount of money could buy this.
My family holds me close but gives me wings. Through them I am connected to past, present and future. The sense of continuity is a comfort. It’s greater than I am, but I belong to it, too.
I’m not a churchgoer or a subscriber to any organized religion. Mostly, that feels too restricted, too narrow. God, I think, is everywhere, in everyone, and we are all connected, all of the time.
Meredith, this story is really fascinating. I think you should use this post as a draft and write a longer more polished piece as an op-ed (so timely!) or newspaper commentary…
Meredith,
if you are reaching for connection, I think you wil find it, perhaps in unexpected ways and places. I have not found faith to be a safe place, necessarily, but it is a place of trust. Not always clarity — that depends on the circumstances — but trust. Good wishes on your journey.
I've only been in this position with my faith twice in my life. Once during my pregnancy after losing 3 children to miscarriage and now. I love this place.
Faith in God for me is a relationship that needs nuturing just like any human relationship. It needs time, good communication, trust and openness. (And if I neglect a relationship, what right do I have to curse the other when things sour or wane?)
I have found that the more I nuture my faith the more I am blessed by it, as is true in my other relationships.
Maybe I can best explain it with something that happened the other day with my child. My son was fearful and worried and I said, "You know, you can pray and ask God to take away your fear." He proceeded to shut his little eyes and repeat a sweet little saying from Sunday school complete with hand motions…"Open and shut them, open and shut them, give a little clap and fold them in your lap….Dear God, please take away my fear, amen." He opened his eyes and said, "Mom, I'm still afraid" As I looked down at him, I noticed his fists were clasped tightly shut. "You didn't let go" I said. "God couldn't take the fear out of your hands" He then did the whole thing again, but this time held his hands high and opened his fists. When his eyes opened this time a big grin spread across his face, "It worked Mom."
Usually when I feel my faith has failed me, it is because I failed to let go.