Dreams in the Dustbin

I dropped my 18 year old daughter Chloe off at college two weeks ago. Now I live at home with my 16 year old son Lysander. He minds his own business, makes his own plans, and rarely initiates conversation or maintains back-and-forth discussion. I invited him to dinner, thinking a change in the environment might liven up our interaction. He accepted, which surprised me.

He drove us to Local 22, a pleasant dining establishment near our home in Durham, NC. We lucked out on a parking spot exquisitely close to the entrance. We chose a high table next to a window. It overlooked patio seating. The server prepared mocktails with several succulent juices just 8 feet away. The dominant flavor was pineapple which tickled my mouth flesh. I made comments about college football and remarked how exciting it is to watch. I also mentioned items on the menu in hopes of sparking my son’s interest. However, he seemed lost in his thoughts. He was looking out the window at the folks sitting under the evening shade of the restaurant awnings.

I invited him to order the ribeye. It was $36. I was pretty sure that would have been his first choice. I was sure he saw the price and had planned to opt for a burger. I told him to order the steak. Unfazed by my enthusiastic urging, he requested it medium rare and asked for another mocktail. He seemed withdrawn which made me wonder if he felt obligated to join me for dinner. I chummed the water with whatever conversation bait I could come up with.

He looked up and said, “Grandma won’t eat rare meat because it’s a sin.” My mom only eats steak that is well done. I explained that she is merely grossed out by seeing blood. I told him Grandma thumped the bible recently to promote support of Israel and “God’s chosen people.” Lysander reflected, “the bible should not be used to justify niche political positions.” I wondered where he had learned the word, “niche”.

I had not grown up in a church-going, bible studying household. There were six of us and none of us studied the bible voluntarily. My parents cleaned house, mowed the lawn, weeded the gardens, maintained cars, and shopped on Sunday mornings. My siblings and I played Atari, watched movies on HBO, fished, and ran barefoot around the neighborhood. We had freedom to explore and be. I preferred my childhood over a strict Christian upbringing. But there were times that I yearned for deep discussions about mission and purpose. I griped under my breath about people who use the bible to bully others.

He looked up and into my eyes with a confident but non-challenging gaze. He confessed, “I don’t really believe in God or the bible.” The sparkle was missing. He looked sad as if the notion defeated him. He could have been sad that his admission might hurt me. I considered that neither kid was afraid of hurting me. I noticed in myself in that moment a lack of fear, alarm, and need to control his views. I felt peace. I understood the outcome has already been determined. It was as if the Hand of the Knowing were resting on my shoulder. I told him it is 100% understandable and that all you need is a mustard seed of faith. I know that his faith hibernates deep within his being, safe from the harsh conditions of self reckoning.

Is anyone in this world void of doubt about the infinite? It’s impossible to imagine without seeing the projection emanating from ourselves. I have a closet of doubts that I do not inventory because I decided to shut that door decades ago. I have had many “conversations” with atheists and decided no side emerged as the champion in the debate. What lies behind the angry and dogmatic arguments of the atheist perspective? Is anger the expression of sadness and disappointment over hope’s defeat? Just as I closed the door on my doubts, the atheist closes the door on hope and will only open it to “evidence” confirmed by the senses.

Our conversation weaved around the lack of evidence for God, even a higher power. I had personally found consolation in the idea of dark matter and dark energy. Both are invisible and can only be measured by effects they cause: gravitational force and cosmic expansion. For me, this parallels nicely with God’s invisible influence through divine action. Believers seek the manifestation of steadfast trust, love over fear, prayer, and trusting God even when prayers are not answered. These spiritual fruits are evidence of God’s power and influence. For me, this is enough.

Lysander was not convinced but he did not need to be right. I asked him to keep his heart open. He acknowledged that he wished he could believe in an afterlife but that he no longer prays. He likened it to praying for “pink unicorns on Mars”. I remember the ridiculous language his father used when trying to convince me there was no God. But God had prepared me for Robert. My faith remains. Robert now professes a belief in God and takes our son to his church. Maybe that explains everything. But I will pray, reflect, and hope!