Saying Goodnight
Nicholas WordsmithThe other night my five year old daughter asked me who made God. The casual conversation as I helped Nora to bed usually consisted of our revisiting the day’s highlights and considering what’s ahead tomorrow. But this night Nora decided to abruptly up the anti, and I, knocked off balance for a moment, struggled to find a response.
“No one really knows the answer to that one, sweetie. Great question though. Maybe God’s just always been there.”
“But someone had to make him.”
Nora attends a Christian pre-school that teaches her stories from the Bible, and I debated drawing upon these freshly established ideas, even if it meant giving her information I had trouble believing myself.
“It’s called a mystery. You know about mysteries?”
“Like on Blue’s Clues?”
“Yeah--kind of like Blue’s Clues. Very good.”
“But that’s silly, Daddy. Blue’s Clues is about a blue dog. I’m talking about God, not a dog. God up in the sky.”
This logic was sound enough, so instead of exploring the phonetic mirror-images of the words discussed, I resorted to the solace of many parents in times like this: Diversion. I decided to try and guide this conversation into more comfortable, answerable territory. After a lifetime of Catholic education that included four years in a Jesuit university, this inquisitive little five year old had nothing on me.
“God lives in the sky? I thought God was everywhere.”
“He is, Daddy. But his house is in the sky.”
“Wow, that’s pretty cool. What’s it like?”
“He has a huge house up in the sky on top of the clouds.”
This was good. Moving from the black hole of origins into the safe comfort of heaven. I kept her going.
“What else is up there? Angels?”
“Yes. Angels that have big butterfly wings.”
“I’ve never seen those kinds of angels before. What are they like?”
You could see the sleep beginning to settle into her eyes as she spoke.
“Everyone who goes to heaven gets to pick their wings’ color. I bet your Mom Mom picked blue. She always wears blue.”
My grandmother died a few months ago. Where these questions were coming from slowly made itself apparent.
“Aunt Dolores likes yellow, so she picked yellow. My Great-Grandma has pink.”
All three of these women died in the past year. I tried to keep Nora shielded from the heavy impact of their passings, but their ghosts pried their way into her thoughts nonetheless.
“That’s really beautiful, dear. What else?”
“There’s a big giant house...”
She was starting to doze now.
“Uh huh. What’s it like?”
“It has a big pool...”
I stifled a laugh.
“Wow--I never knew that.”
“Sure, Daddy. It’s hot up there. It’s very close to the sun.”
Her eyes were barely open now. Almost there. I tucked her in and tried to ease her into sleep with simpler thoughts.
“You know, I never thought of that. I bet you need a lot of suntan lotion up there.”
Eyes closed now, she barely managed to exhale her response.
“You’re silly Daddy. There’s no sunburns in heaven.”
And with that, she was asleep, and I sat watching her, worrying how I’ll answer the questions she will ask when she is six.
Reader Comments (5)
There is nothing like a little girl with questions. Today I went over my daughter's report card with her. The grades are "S" for secure, "D" for developing and "BG" for beginning to emerge. Of course, she received all "D"s in the areas for social skills. She was quite crushed by this. After awhile she then asked, "Mommy, isn't everyone really just "developing" when they try to get along with their friends? How can you be "secure?" I truthfully told her that I do not know anyone who is completely secure.
Thanks for the post!
April Mae,
The categories you describe are awesome. The question "is everyone just starting to develop?" is profound enough for me forever. I wish I could give myself a report card each night with those categories. I wish we could give a report card for the world, country, leaders, family, body, habits, jobs like that. Your daughter is right, just like Nora and the father above, the ideas of who we are in relation to everything else is developing. BG -- beginning to emerge -- I think when I read things like Nick's post and your response -- emerging is possible even for someone who demands the world to be secure. Now there is a philosophy.
Wonderful post: written with the softness I imagine that the daughter was laying her head upon. The whole tone of the piece is sensitive -- as if this may be the most important story and conversation ever told. And her question just may be, but it has to be one of the most asked questions in human history. I was overwhelmed with the clarity of love amissed a challenge. She was seeking from the father an answer no one could have answered but one she could not dare to answer anywhere but where she felt most secure.
The rationalization of the child depicted in the dialogue --- trying to understand the profound and elusive through what is familiar and beautiful in life reminds me of the native american myths that shaped their understanding of place. You were able to combine the deepness of the experience within the simplicity of a daily routine.
I especially liked the wings. She is emerging into a much deeper world, perhaps the metaphor of sleep, where she uses all her years experiences to understand. I think the father instinctively knew that this was one question she would have to come to in her time, through her rationale and experience. He knew because the daughter had experienced the same losses as he had during the year. His experience is much more painful with experience and memory that has shaken his foundation in theology, but she reaches for him in his pain because she knows he has something to tell her.
He told her in words not stated: you will understand in your own time...like I will. But he also knows she understands enough to allow her to sleep.
Humans all suffer the same, but sleep, sound sleep is how the measure of that suffering may differ.
If this was fiction: I think the father would...well it is your story.
Thanks for the experience, that is way more than lunch.
I sincerely appreciate both of your responses. The observations that our children can make even when not realizing what they are saying can be astounding, and often can make us remember just how little we know ourselves. It is one of the greatest, albeit sometimes most heart-breaking, aspects of parenthood.
I loved it and I love her for asking. I love you for not falling into the traps that we were taught. I find that when I tell people (and my husband has warned that I should not share my own view with people) that I am not stable in my faith and I am not sure if Jesus ( i mis spelled it three times) is the way I a choosing to go to raise my children becomes an almost off limits topics. I just can not convince my self that my daughter should have to go through the heart break of the church. I was sold the packet, hook line and sinker. I walked to church to pray my the souls of my damned family every Sunday for two years. I prayed at my make shift alter. But then I went to mass one day and they began to talk about the Children of God who did not believe in abortions. And my heart broke. My ideas directly were the opposite of theirs and mine we not welcome. I was hurt beyond repair and this was even before the crazy scandales. Then the priest came to collect money from my mom, but he would not bless the house because they were divorced. It was the last straw. Now I have one kid baptized and one left as a heathen. I dont want to set them up to fall and I am not mentally prepared to bullshit my way through a religion I dont really beileve in. So just like Wordsmith, I devirte, I lie a little and I tell lots of my ----up truths. Oh, did i mention I have an account set aside for therepy only. ;)