Growing Up Atheist

I smiled as I thought about my five year old daughter, and it was at that moment I realized I was feeling better. I had been experiencing some pain in my body related to my pregnancy, and had voiced my frustration to my husband in earshot of our eldest. She had cuddled up beside me as I spoke, silently holding my bulging midsection as best as her tiny arms could manage. 

Suddenly she had spoken to me with certainty and very matter of fact, “I prayed for you, Momma. When you wake up tomorrow you won’t be hurting anymore.” Then she had trotted off happily. 

I was proud for my little lady, at all times, I suppose, but something about her childlike faith touched me at a place deep within, and I was then reminded of myself at age five. 

  
I can still recall a program that came on television during my kindergarten age days. It was aimed towards children, and it told the story of creation. At the time we were living in Los Angeles, California, in a small apartment, although it was much better than the motels we had been staying in prior. I watched the screen captivated by the images of a little man with a hammer, and I listened raptly to learn about how this figure, who I would later compare to Mario or Luigi, constructed the entire world with a ball peen hammer for no reason other than his own desires, or perhaps boredom. 

I watched with curiosity, but also apprehension. In my little heart this story just didn’t feel right, and I watched wondering, if the hammer guy didn’t make all this stuff, then who did?

I had heard mention of this invisible guy called God, and I speculated if he was responsible. I had never seen him, and we didn’t talk about him much at all. My mom had taken me to a place once or twice where they read us stories about how much this God loved us, but my dad had given her a hard time about taking me. 

“What, are you gonna follow all the rest of the sheep?!” He had asked incredulously, and had laughed and taunted her some more. 

We didn’t go back after that, but as I watched the miniature carpenter making a turtle on TV I pondered about the God who apparently was always thinking of me. 

Later in my life that God I wondered about would scoop up my mom and me, and He would place us in other circumstances, ones where we didn’t have to worry about disappearing dads and dwindling bank accounts. In this new life He would introduce us to trusting others, friendly folks, and a world where church every Sunday was the norm. 

In this new life I would hear more about that God who made me, without a little hammer, but rather with His mighty hand. And it would just sound right. More importantly it would feel right. 

But it would be years before I truly learned what the creator of the universe was capable of in my heart. 

I realize now that we were created with a purpose, and like an empty container we will always feel void until we are filled with the love of Jesus. We will always feel not quite right until we can walk with purpose in a relationship with the Lord, saturated in His Holy Spirit, healed by His forgiveness and unconditional affections. 

I spent the first part of my life not even knowing Him, but knowing something was amiss. Then I spent the next decade or more only partaking in a portion of the blessings He had in mind for me. It wasn’t until I came to understand how to commune with Him personally that I could reap the full reward of relationship. 

I am hoping to save my daughters the hardship of separation from Christ, and my goal is to show them what they are capable of if they follow Him with their whole heart. 

As I sit comfortably in the healing power of the Lord, and I reflect on the heartfelt prayers of my girl, I am pleased for how their little spirits soak Him up like a sponge. I am happy for the opportunity they have to experience Jesus. I know in this world they will be faced with trouble, but I am at peace with their futures having a foundation built on Christ.