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| Image credit: Photo by Sarah and Mike ...probably on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons |
Before my first child was born, I swore to friends and family members that I wasn't going to be one of those people. You know the kind. The ones who would pull out pictures of their newborn and expect me to fawn over it, when I (the non-parent) saw nothing more than a bald, generic infant — nothing particularly cute or interesting — just a bland, tiny thing like every other infant in every other picture from time immemorial. (I used to wish they had pulled out pictures of their dog or cat's new litter instead. Now those things are cute!) But of course, my children worked their magic on me. My son arrived — purple faced, squalling and covered in muck — and I was smitten. He was the most beautiful, miraculous thing I had ever seen. And ashamed as I was to have deserted my old beliefs, I'd shove his image (at the very least provocation) into the face of every living being I could find, knowing that people like I used to be were rolling their eyes.
When I started in recovery, I said the same thing. I'm not going to be one of those people. You know the kind. The ones that are all blah blah blah about God and spirituality all the time. After all, the vengeful God of my childhood didn't have any place in my life. And even when people were talking about a different kind of God, one that clearly enhanced their lives, well, it seemed (I admit it) so irrational, so silly, so... cheesy. I rolled my eyes at people talking about God the same way I used to when people would take out their baby pictures. God, like a newborn baby, wasn't particularly interesting or attractive until I had one myself.
Now, when people ask how I have gotten through the hard times, the answer that comes to my mind is "by developing a spirituality and a connection with the God of my understanding." Yet I'm still acutely aware of how nonsensical and unhelpful that sounds to anyone who is where I was. I can see newcomers in meetings thinking, "Oh, no. Here's some crazy lady talking about God, like that's helps with my whole my-husband-is-a-sex-addict thing." I can see them put off in the same way I was put off. And I find I'm one of those people again. I'm the person I used to roll my eyes at. I'm the delighted mom, with a wallet full of pictures of God: my God, which is beautiful and life-changing to me, but looks just like every other bland, generic, troublesome higher power to everyone else.
This post was originally published at The Second Road.
I LOVED this analogy.
ReplyDeleteI can safely say I'm not one of "those people". Not that there's anything wrong with that, I've always liked looking at people's baby pictures. But I don't pull out any pictures unless directly asked. Or to a very close friend who I know wants to see some pictures. I let my own mother do all the showing off of the grandchild :)
ReplyDeleteI totally get what you mean on both fronts - the baby pictures and the God part. Even though I may secretly *roll my eyes* in annoyance, deep down, I secretly want both. I want my own chubby cheek, bald baby and also a relationship with God (one that I can relate to). Hopefully when the time is right, I will be blessed with both :)
ReplyDeleteI didn't have either a God or children for a long time although I desperately wanted both. I did, at times, roll my eyes at the "God-pushers", but there were some who were so pleasingly devout and seriously peaceful in their faith that they made me want it...badly.
ReplyDeleteWhen I eventually found my way to God, I realized that all those people who had tried to introduce me to "their God" did, in fact, show me the way to God. When I finally met Him, I knew exactly who He was because of all the introductions I'd experienced over the years from "those people."
So, in my opinion, its not so bad to be "one of those people." I'm not a "God-pusher" myself or a "baby picture-pusher"; but, if asked, I readily share my story and my faith--maybe I'll be a marker on someone else's path to God, who knows.