With Easter weekend now come and gone, the issue of faith is on my mind. Here’s why.

The weekend started out on Friday. My kids had the day off from school and spent some time with their dad. I went for a long run, then an even longer walk with a close friend. I worked the rest of the day, had dinner with another friend and went to bed. I know there are many of you out there who are thinking this is a darn good way to spend a Friday, but it’s always hard to be away from the kids and I had my usual mini-identity crisis. Who the heck is this person doing what she pleases all day long?  But no worries – Saturday came soon enough. I rushed through the morning buying candy and stuffing over 200 plastic eggs. Then I assembled Easter baskets and hid everything in a closet. The kids returned at noon.

It was raining and cold, so we had one of those days inside where everyone fights and begs to do video games and watch TV. The day ended with a huge fight over the Simpsons, and without disclosing the gory details, I sent them all to bed early. Then I cried in my bathroom, watched some TV, and at around 11pm faced the rain and cold to hide 200 eggs in the yard with my brother.

Sunday morning arrived and the kids were still mad about the Simpsons. They searched for the eggs and fought even more about how many each was finding. At this point I threw my hands in the air, then got the kids in the car and drove into town for bagels. Along the way, I pointed out the packed churches and swarms of people dressed up for services. My kids are being raised agnostic – which really means that they are being taught about different religions and their own mixed heritage of Christianity and Judaism. We talk to them about how they have to find their own faith and beliefs about God. They are very curious about God and, overall, I have been impressed by their desire to think about God and search for beliefs that they can truly have faith in.

However….it occurred to me on this Easter sunday that they could use a little perspective. So, parked outside one of the churches, I reminded them what Easter is all about. I talked to them about the belief in Jesus Christ, his birth, his death, and his resurrection. My oldest son corrected me on some of the facts (always fun when that happens) and then we all discussed the story, whether it could possibly be true and why so many people believe it is. Nothing was decided, but their understanding was deepened and they stopped complaining about plastic eggs and candy.

When they went to their dad’s  (to find even more eggs), I went home to clean up and regroup. And along the way, I started to think about faith, not just in God or a particular religion, but in everything. The past ten years have been a long journey for me. Giving up work for marriage and kids. Dedicating more and more time to writing when there was no guarantee it would go anywhere. Divorcing and having to make a new home for my kids. When I think about it sometimes, I actually lose my breath. Everything I did was supported by nothing but faith.

Now I am staring down my 42nd birthday in a new house, taking new risks with this fledgling career that, still, comes with no guarantees, and facing the world of dating again after 16 years with the same person. Doubt follows me around like a stalker, filling my head with negative thoughts and my heart with fear. There are so many questions. Will my kids be OK? Will this career sustain me? Will I survive in this new era of internet dating and what seems to be an increasing level of human disconnection? 

There are no answers, and believe me, I have tried to find them. My friends are on the brink of sending me bills for ad hoc therapy sessions discussing the meaning of life, happiness, control, letting go. And having faith. When I was done cleaning up and getting ready for the end of this crazy weekend, I sat in my room and stared at the post-it note my youngest son had written, and of which I wrote a few weeks back. I read the words “I Love You.” I picked up the books that now have my name on them and remembered back to the first time I held one of my babies. And then to the first time I started to write a novel. And I realized that even with doubt on my heels the whole way, my children have learned to love and my work has managed to find a path. Faith means different things to all of us. Right now, I think I’ll hold on tightly to mine and see where it takes me next.

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