Losing My Religion

Steve & Grady circa 2006

Grady came home last weekend inquiring about heaven, The Terror Guy and down there (with right index finger pointed towards my hard wood floors).  Apparently, he's been receiving most of his religious teachings from a fellow-second grader on the bus rides to and from school this year.  Just great, right?  Is this really what they talk about on the bus?  So I guess it is finally time to sit down and talk about organized religion, evolution and the Big Bang Theory with our son.  That only took eight years.  

When I was thinking about writing this post, I couldn’t help but think about how far I’ve come with my own musings on the topic of faith and religion.  I mean I have been baptized three times and all of that was before I even turned 20 years old!  I have been a seeker for most of my life and now that I’m sitting here in rural Sonoma County, it is here that I have finally found my church of choice.  My church is my community.

On any given weekend I can commune with other like-minded individuals at the local coffee shop and debate politics, hold someone’s baby or run into friends.  On my daily trip to the post office, I can get the goings-on of my small town (population 126) by chatting with the perkiest postmistress in all of America.  Just last week, I was offered a beehive from a local as I was exiting the p.o.  You gotta love that!

I enjoy the local firefighters’ pancake breakfast fundraising season that has just commenced in Sonoma County and already have one under my belt, with many more on the calendar.

I just finished helping with the biggest fundraiser the Bodega Bay area community has called Fisherman’s Festival.  It is 100% run by volunteers (over 600 this year) and all proceeds are distributed to local non-profits in our area.  My little boy runs around this festival and everyone knows him, watches out for him and spoils him with treats and attention.  You see, they are in our congregation, so to speak.

We have a fantastic fireworks show over the bay in Bodega Bay, a farmers’ market in Occidental that starts in a few short weeks, musicians who frequent our local bar/restaurant in Valley Ford that we know on a first-name basis and farmers that deliver their goods right to your front porch.  Imagine that.

Goat milk was gifted to me a few months ago, jars of jam, homemade ice cream, newspaper article clippings and books show up at my house from fellow townspeople - just because they thought of me or my family and wanted to share.  My 81-year old neighbor just helped patch a hole in Grady's baby blanket (because I don't know how to knit and she does).

I’ve met a network of parents in Tomales that gather at their park on Fridays and share food, stories and laughter.  All the while our kids are riding bikes, running, swinging and strengthening the bonds of friendship with other little ones.

I guess I’ve been sort of baptized (again) by living in a small community.  It may not be for everyone, but it’s the only kind of religion that’s made any sense to me.

Yes, this is my church.   This I can easily teach my son and know that he will carry it with him his entire life.  Living by example is the only way I can or even want to preach to him.

So when he gets on the school bus tomorrow and is questioned about his beliefs, I hope he shares what he knows for sure and is kind to this little girl and listens to what she wholeheartedly believes.  After all, she’s in our community.  He will see her for many years to come (most likely at a crab feed or a pancake breakfast!) and respect, kindness and friendship should be the religion we practice...even if we don’t subscribe to her line of thinking about heaven, The Terror Guy or down there.