Lena, God and Universe

As I read of my sister and nephew’s recent encounter with Buddhism, I was reminded of this recent conversation I had with my 17 year old daughter, Lena.

Me: Get up Lena
Lena: (silence)
Five minutes later.
Me: Get up Lena
Lena: (silence)
Five minutes later.
Me: Get up Lena
Lena: (steady breathing – nice sleeping noises)
Me: We’re going to be late for church if you don’t get up.
Lena: I don’t want to go to church.
Me: I didn’t really ask if you wanted to go to church.
Lena: Why should I have to go to church?
Me: Because it’s good for you. In fact it’s good for the family. In fact it’s good for the whole world.
Lena: You don’t even know what I believe. You’ve never asked me what I believe.
Me: OK – What do you believe? (I’m such a sucker.)
Lena: Well – I’m not sure. But it’s not that! Church makes no sense.
Me: Especially when it cuts into your sleep time.
Lena: I shouldn’t have to go to church. It should be a choice.
Me: Soon enough it will be a choice. And I’m sure you will spend most of your twenty’s avoiding it like the plague - like we all did. Unless you start dating some cute, nice boy that attends church religiously – no pun intended – in which case you’ll find God most illuminating. Now, please get up and get ready for church.
Lena: If you make me go I’ll hate church forever and never go as an adult.
Me: Everyone questions their faith periodically - and usually in their teens and twenty’s.
Lena: Well the whole God and Jesus thing just doesn’t make sense. And even if I believed in that I don’t see why I would have to go to church. I can not go to church and still pray.
Me: I’m confused. What was your point again? You want to sleep more? Is that the basic premise we’re working from?
Lena: No. I just don’t know what I believe and church doesn’t make sense. So it’s not for me.
Me: What makes more sense?
Lena: Evolution – The Big Bang.
Me: I agree - that does make sense. But I don’t think that eliminates God. What about before that?
Lena: Before what?
Me: Before the Big Bang.
Lena: I don’t know!
Me: Exactly. Me neither. So there – I run rings round’ you logically.
Lena: What?
Me: Never mind – just one of my favorite lines ever. Anyway, when I was near your age I remember a walk in the woods in Waters, Michigan with your Grandpa Zimmerman where I was sharing some of these same thoughts. I don’t remember exactly what was said, but here are some of the things I took from it. No matter what you believe, you’ll have to believe in something. And that means faith. And things come from somewhere. I don’t know where, and our puny brains can’t expand past the concepts of life, love, universe, time being relative, and why Paris Hilton is famous. But once you come around to figuring out you need to believe in something, then Jesus, the bible and church looks pretty good. There’s lots of stuff there that reinforces the things I believe: people are basically good but imperfect; be nice; forgive; take care of the people you love; don’t steal; don’t lie; use nice language; don’t covet your neighbors stuff – you know, wife, pets, snow blower. You follow?
Lena: I believe that stuff, too. But I don’t see why I would have to go to church to believe that stuff.
Me: That is actually a pretty good point. When we miss church, we don’t lose our values. Hopefully. But why do you think you believe that stuff in the first place?
Lena: I learned that stuff from you – and from mom.
Me: Where do you think we got it?
Lena: Your parents.
Me: Ah, you know your grandparents. And where do you suppose they got their values?
Lena: Their parents?
Me: Have you ever heard about Fati (sp - Vater?)? Anyway, where do you think they got their beliefs?
Lena: You’re going to keep doing this until I say church or we get back to the big bang or something aren’t you.
Me: I was planning on stopping around the 18^th century with inaccurate references to our puritan and tyrannical forefathers. And, you know, like, the Spanish inquisition is not a stellar period for Christianity either. Have you read the Three Musketeers? All these things are great ammunition for your premise about church not representing what you believe. But I’m getting off point here.
Lena: So do I have to go to church?
Me: Yep. It’s either that or you have to listen to me go on with my erroneous views of history, the church and our ancestry.
Lena: I’m going I’m going!
Me: I knew you’d see it my way.

This is not an exact recounting - but close enough for my blog. Along the same lines as this topic, and for my sister’s benefit, I think I may have gotten fired from both Sunday school teaching and the confirmation group, too. No idea why. For that reference you’ll have to visit www.theselfrighteoushousewife.blogspot.com

The Mail Box

Many years ago, when my family was growing and it seemed the right time to buy a house, we did. It was a house that needed a lot of work. I mean, A LOT OF WORK! Even so, the only way to afford a mortgage and have money to fix up the house was to rid ourselves of a car payment. So I sold my car and bought a motorcycle.

I was managing a hotel in Birmingham, Alabama and needed to be dressed appropriately each day. So I took all my suit coats and sport coats and put them in the closet in my office. In this way I could dress for the day, throw on a waist coat (not to be confused with an English waist coat) and ride to work. The idea was I should have to do this for about a year. I should achieve a decent bonus the next spring and that would dictate what car I would be able to buy. This all went as planned; but not without a logistical challenge here and there.

We had a two year old and a new born. So obviously, we were very busy as we sanded floors, repaired drywall, painted, poured cement, etc…. But there was one item that had been identified by my then-spouse as the defining improvement. “I’ll know we’ve really arrived when that mailbox is replaced.”

The mailbox was a standard box on a pole - a pole bent at about a 20 degree angle. From the rust on the pole, I judged it had been hit and bent sometime during the Nixon era. (For a reference point, I believe this was the Bush era – Sr. not Jr.) It didn’t seem to be hampering our ability to receive mail, so it wasn’t at the top of my list of priorities. But I knew it was important to someone else, so after a few weeks in the house, I decided to take care of it.

As a surprise, I took a day off when no one would be home, and set to work on replacing the mailbox. Me having a motorcycle, and trying to do this on the QT, I had to shuttle a new mailbox, cement, and mailbox stand on my motorcycle. This ended up taking much of the morning, at the end of which I couldn’t find my wallet. I retraced my steps numerous times – actually walking the two miles to and from the Home Depot - but no wallet.

As I was standing in the living room looking out the front window, on the phone canceling my credit cards, I noticed something jammed down by the back wheel on my motorcycle. Sure enough, my wallet must have fallen out of my back pocket and, luckily, wedged itself by the wheel. Back in business!! And time to get to work.

I set about digging up the old pole. But every time I stuck my shovel in the dirt I hit cement. No matter how far I was getting away from the pole, I was still hitting cement. It turned out that no post hole was dug here. Visions of a back-hoe and a case of beer flitted across my consciousness as I pictured a couple of friends laughing and putting this thing in back in 1970. "I'd hate to be the guy who ever tries to replace this mailbox! HAHAHAHAH..."

Hours later, I had the excavation complete. But there was a hole 5 feet wide. So I decided that to get the new box stable, I better move it. In order to figure out the correct depth, I pieced together the new stand/fancy pole - then dug the hole. (Stay with me) But the pole needed to be taken back apart for assembly to the mailbox. Two hammers, a crow bar, skinned knuckles, and another hour later, the fancy pole was bent worse than the original - time for another trip to Home Depot for a new fancy pole.

As the sun was setting, and I still had not completed the mail box, I knew I was out of time. I was tired, sore and frustrated as I sat heavily in the middle of the front yard… atop a large fire ant colony. As the ants swarmed up my wrists and ankles, I thought I heard a tiny little voice yell “NOW!” as they bit down in unison and I ran for the hose. I estimate that I amassed around 40 or 50 little red welts. As I rinsed the ants off I was feeling lucky to have not been bitten more. But I knew I had one more trip to the store to make.

Back from that final errand with a six pack, and darkness setting in, I drank a beer and admired the beautiful Alabama evening, and wondered where my friends with a back-hoe and case of beer might be.