Recently I was listening to a debate on the radio about God and his (or her) existence. The topic originally came up after the aired episode about the Duggars and their trip to the Creation Museum, which showed not a little cuddly lamb curled up in Jesus’ arms, but a juvenile dinosaur. To me, the images are comical bordering on satire.
There were many listeners who called in with their two cents, most being that while they certainly do believe in evolution, they also believe in God. I would have to say that I was part of that majority in that belief.
Then one of the radio hosts replied to one such caller who said she believed the earth to be billions of years old, and that yes, we probably did evolve from some lowly form of single-cell, mud dweller, BUT believed in a higher power with this: (and I paraphrase) “You are just hedging your bets. Logically you know evolution to be true because it’s scientifically proven, but you want to make sure that when you die you can face God – if there is one – and proclaim yourself a ‘believer’.”
I immediately felt defensive on behalf of the caller. Why can’t I have both? Why can’t one believe that God created this world billions of years ago instead of six or seven thousand years and maybe his grand scheme in life was to make some of us THINK that it was done in a week and for others? Well, much longer, and that maybe he just likes a good debate.
And then I realized something. I am hedging my bets. Depending on the situation, I want someONE to blame when something shitty happens. Someone who can’t defend themselves or point a finger back in my face for whatever failures I endure, say like my miscarriages or infertility. It’s easy to denounce a god when your luck has soured.
On the other hand, who do you think I’m thanking every night for healthy and beautiful children even though the same “being” put me through four fucking years of hell here on earth? Especially since ZGirl’s conception was anything but spiritual, performed in a cold and darkened surgery suite by a team of mortals wearing scrubs and masks and no amount of conscious sedation was going to make me believe that it was an act of God. Irony or hypocrisy? More than likely, a little of both.
Yes, I would rather hedge my bets by trusting in science and logic yet hold faith in something “bigger”; and I can’t imagine any parent when faced with the horrific circumstances of losing a child wouldn’t do so as well. Right now all of us are raging against the heavens for the recent deaths of innocents, but we are not those parents. Ask yourself, and be honest in your answer, if it was YOU that had to stare into an empty crib once you put your child in the ground, wouldn’t you want to believe that your baby had been given the wings of an angel, even if it went against everything you ever believed before?
Something inside of me cannot believe that when a child dies, they become nothing more than memories and a tiny, lifeless shell. As a parent, I can’t barely let myself think it. Instead, I can only wish that the littlest become the greatest guardians of our hearts AND souls because to NOT believe at least that much means accepting their death is nothing more than a crumbling of flesh.