We came home last Saturday from family camp in the Adirondacks. This is the fourth year that we’ve spent a week of vacation there with two other families. Inevitably, it is one of the best weeks of the year. Continue Reading
“Thank you God for this pasta and this fork and the napkin and the placemat and the lettuce and the cucumbers and thank you God for this day. A-MEN!” The prayer ends with a self-satisfied smile from Andrew.
We all begin reaching for our forks and napkins when Colin insists, “WAAAAIIIIT! I didn’t get to pray.”
We again fold our hands and bow our heads.
Colin’s eyes squint halfway closed. His head swivels to watch us as he begins to pray.
“Thank you God for this pasta and this sauce and HIS EYES AREN’T CLOSED!” Colin accuses, looking at Nathan.
Faith always feels like following a distant star.
And I’d rather have a road map.
Our family signed up for star-following when we decided to come to Toronto. Two to five years was the best guess as to how long we’d be here.
It had all felt so adventurous when we’d set out. We’d live in the city and send our kids to a French school. We’d keep our house in Chicago and visit often.
Two to five years, and we’d have had our taste of the urban. The kids would be bilingual.
Yesterday, I told you all about our little miracle and answered prayers.
It seems appropriate that today’s word, in this series of reflections on Advent, is believe. When the angel visited Mary, bringing the incredible news that she, a young, unmarried girl, would give birth to God’s Son, Mary suspends her fear and incredulity. She believes.
My own story of belief starts way back. I had parents who were faithful Baptists. We went to church when the doors were open.
But when I became a teenager, the Jesus-stuff bored me. Religion seemed something much better practiced by the thirty-somethings,who, settled down with kids, would be spending their Friday nights at home anyways.