This might be a little bit of a touchy subject for some, but stick with me… I’ve got a point somewhere in this, I promise.
When I was growing up, I went to Sunday School.
I don’t remember why I went to Sunday School, I just did. My parents
didn’t go to church – my mom may have occasionally been in the
congregation, but we were never a church-going family.
Having said that, I grew up knowing that there was a God, knowing that I
was essentially Methodist – in name, if nothing else – and I knew right
from wrong. When I was a tween and later, a teenager, I went to a
local youth group in my area. Most of the people
I went to youth with are still my friends today, either on e-mail, in
person or on Facebook. One thing that Facebook has done for me is
reconnect me with all of my old friends from the area where I grew up.
I loved going to youth group. It was the
highlight of my week to have that Friday night with all of my friends. I
absolutely loved the songs we sang during worship too – I fancied
myself quite the singer back then – all of us fighting for the chance to change the song sheets on the overhead projector. One of the coolest
things about Friday nights was when the tuck shop opened for 20 minutes
and we could stockpile on sweets! I loved putting on plays with the
group and I loved being the resident dancer whenever we put on a show
for a church family day. I think I even once
exhibited my limited acrobatic skills at one of these shows, to much
applause from my friends (because they had to clap for me!). I had my
first crush at youth group. I had my first kiss at youth group. I went
to my first disco with my youth group. Some
of my fondest memories of growing up can be placed right there in the
social room at Montclair Methodist Church.
Eventually, when we all reached 15 or so, we had
to start getting serious about why we were there, so a few of us
started attending confirmation classes. I had a very busy dancing
schedule when I was 15, which included dancing on Sundays
when preparing for a show, competition or exam. I missed a couple of
my classes and as a result, I was duly chucked out of confirmation
class! Yes… how embarrassing… I was expelled. I still attended
youth group and church on Sundays with my friends.
We would all sit right at the back of the church and do what every 14
and 15 year old does – concentrated 50% of the time and played the fool
the other 50% of the time. We passed notes across the aisle, we
listened to the sermon, we sang the hymns and we
played ‘last touch’ with each other along the pew. I will never forget
the first time I saw somebody speak in tongues. I was absolutely
fascinated. I never wanted to be on the receiving end of it, but I was
amazed at what had just happened. After the first
batch of the group left school and started getting on with their lives,
our youth group kind of fell apart and it wasn’t the same anymore. The
family that I’d grown to love had matured and grown wings and with that
came the end of an era.
One thing I will never ever in my life forget
was one day when I was competing with the school gym team at the Durban
& District Gymnastics trials. We had to do a very basic tuck-type
vault, but your feet are not allowed to touch the vault
at all. On my first go, my feet touched the vault, so that go was a
nil score. My instructor came over to me and tried to ‘pump me up’ with
sports speak and told me to go again. My heart was racing, I could
have sworn that people could see it pumping outside
of my chest, because I was so nervous. The reason being that I had
never ever – not ever, even in practice – done that particular vault
without touching it. Never. So I had one more shot, in the competition
space, to do it. So, waiting for the run-up,
I prayed. I prayed the hardest I’ve ever prayed in my whole life that I
would make it over the vault properly, without touching it. I might even have offered to make a bargain with God if I made it over. I did my
run-up, jumped onto the springboard and over the vault… and I did it!
For the first time ever I had cleared the
vault. I have never forgotten that day and have often wondered if my
furious praying had anything to do with it.
It’s at times like that when I wonder whether
there is a higher being that is looking out for me, even though I
haven’t done my homework for the past 18 years. It’s also at times like
this, with our difficult journey over the past year
and a half, that I think ‘what if?’. What if I did have the conviction
that some of my other friends have, that God is always listening and
helps you when you need it and ask for it – would I have a baby by now?
Whenever I’ve felt really low and wanted to
send up a prayer about it, I’ve felt like such a hypocrite, because who
am I to ask for something so huge, when I haven’t devoted my life to
the cause?
When Dave and I got married, we didn’t have a
religious ceremony, because Dave didn’t want one. I wasn’t at all
bothered with not having one, so we got a justice of the peace to
perform our ceremony outside, under the
bright sunshine rain clouds, overlooking a watering hole on a
game reserve, in front of our nearest and dearest. It was perfect, just
the way we wanted it and I have never felt that I missed out in any way
by not having a church wedding.
I’m a fair-weather believer, I guess you could
say. Or maybe the scientific side of my brain just wins out most
often. But when I see something absolutely unbelievable happening,
which I can’t explain with logical reasoning, I think that
maybe – just maybe – there might be something to it. How do you
explain the stories of those people who, for 10 years, were always at
their desks first, but happened to be running late on the day the planes
hit the Towers? How do you explain the fact that
despite never being late for a day of work in his entire life, the
crane operator overslept on the day that a helicopter hit his crane,
killing 2 people in London just 2 weeks ago? Most people, believers
mostly, would call it a miracle.
But on the other side of the coin, how do you
explain the fact that a 39-year old man who was walking to work on that
day, just happened to be on the street right under the crane when the
helicopter hit, and was subsequently killed by the
wreckage? Why did all of my grandparents pass away at such a young
age, meaning that I have never met them? What would those people say
then? They’d say that ‘it was just their time’. That’s what I
struggle with, because I just can’t bring myself
to believe that. Because if I believed that, then I would have to
accept that all of the tragedy that has befallen my nearest and dearest
is for some higher purpose. And I don’t. I simply don't believe that there is possibly a good enough reason in the world, when we lost our very dear friend at the age of 41, that was more important than having him here with us and his family. And that’s why I find it
incredibly difficult to sound convincing to myself
when I want to send up a prayer for strength to get me through the
difficult days, when it becomes clear that we will be moving onto yet
another cycle because the last one has failed.
I truly believe that cliché that everything happens for a reason – does that mean that I believe that a higher being is ultimately responsible for it? I’m still not sure.
So I guess my point in all of this is that, at
the age of 33, I still struggle with my belief system. I believe in
both creation and evolution. Dave always asks me ‘but how?’, but I
do. I can’t explain it and please don’t ask me to!
But I do think that there is something in it and I do sometimes envy
those of my friends who truly believe that God is responsible for
everything that happens in their lives, because maybe that would offer
me some sort of comfort at times when I need it.
But my logical brain always wins out, no matter how hard I try to argue
with myself.
So I guess what it fundamentally comes down to is faith. Something I don't always have.
You can do anything, you just have to learn how. Yes you can, I’ve always believed that….. have a little faith! Oh... except when it comes to making chocolate. I can’t make chocolate. Yet!
