Believing in What We Cannot See

He had to have been little—I think he was six. We had just moved into our house on the farm, and we were painting his bedroom. His mattress was still on our playroom floor—the playroom I had to tiptoe through to get to his sister’s room to play "tooth fairy." I was the worst tooth fairy ever—it often took several days to get the quarters under their pillows. Nothing a few stories about how busy the tooth fairy was couldn’t cover! Well, this morning, I had forgotten once again. I didn’t know how much longer they would buy my cover. It was still very early in the morning; the sun was rising. The kids were both still sleeping, but it was risky. Certain that I could pull it off, I began my tiptoe through my young son’s makeshift bedroom. The farmhouse was nearly 100 years old, so I should have taken the squeaky floorboard factor into account . . .

As I gingerly stepped across the playroom, I heard a quiet little voice. “Mom?” Busted, I sat gently on the edge of his mattress, hoping he might go back to sleep. Instead, in the semi-darkness, I heard his sweet little voice ask, “You are the tooth fairy, aren’t you?” He was little, and part of me wanted to keep the fantasy of it alive for him. But he had asked, and I wanted to be honest. “Yes, I am the tooth fairy.” “You’re Santa and the Easter bunny, too, right?”  Oh, man!  All the childhood joys, stripped away at once!  But, again, I answered honestly.  “Yes, I am.” But even as I responded, there was a prompting in my heart. If he began to doubt the truth of silly children’s games—characters they are told of but never see—what would he think of God, whom they hear of but don’t "see"? Right on the heels of my confession, I found these other words pouring from my mouth. “Honey, there may not be a tooth fairy, but I will never tell you that there is no God. God is for real.” Before I could expound further, I heard that sweet little voice again saying, “Well, duh! It’s not like we go to tooth fairy school every Sunday!”

Fast forward about nine or ten years. My boy was growing up, and he had his first job. His father and I had tithed since very early in our marriage, so he was used to seeing us put our money in the offering plate each week. When he got his first paycheck, I was so proud to see him bring ten percent to put in the plate. He seemed rather pleased as well. However, as time passed, he no longer put money in the offering plate. I assumed he had fallen prey to what happens to so many of us—perhaps he had found more "pressing" needs for the money he earned, and it was trickling away before it ever made its way to the church.

Fast forward about six or seven more years. A young man home from college sat in my family room. And, amid a very challenging conversation about God and faith, he confessed that he had stopped putting money into the offering plate because he began to question what it was used for. What was being done with the money he "gave to God"? To my dismay, I couldn’t even answer to my own satisfaction. Like many churches, the incoming offering covered the salaries of the pastor and any staff and paid the bills to keep the heat and lights on. Yes, it was serving the body of believers that gathered, but what was the body doing? I'd had my own struggles of late. I had realized that while much of our time at ladies’ aid meetings and church council meetings was spent discussing our needs, perhaps we were missing the bigger picture. How could we better serve those outside the church walls? I began to wonder, even though we made some financial contributions to various nonprofits and ministries, how much personal investment had we made in sharing the gospel or loving the lost?

And so, I reflected back to that conversation on the edge of a mattress in the playroom of the farmhouse where I told my little boy to believe in a God he could not see. But then, that was what I was supposed to show him, right? Just like the wind, we may not see God—but we should see the effects of him. Our lives should look as drastically different as a grove of trees after a tornado! There should be changes in our choices, in our ministry, in our outreach, and in our hearts. We should look different than the world—not just how we talk and dress, but how we live and how we love.

It was a turning point for me. Had I shown my son "church" . . . but not God? Was I just doing church and not being the church? I feared that my legalistic approach looked far more judgmental than loving. Was I sharing unconditional love? Or was my love reserved for those who looked, acted, and thought more like me? Was I even close to loving my "enemy"? Had I fully surrendered to God, willing to do whatever he asked of me? Or had I only offered him the safe and comfortable things I chose to do? I realized I had a lot to think and pray about. God have mercy! The winds were stirring . . .

“Now faith is confidence in what we hope for

and assurance about what we do not see.”

Hebrews 11:1 NIV

“Do not conform to the pattern of this world,

but be transformed by the renewing of your mind.“ 

Romans 12:2a NIV

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good.

And what does the Lord require of you?

To act justly and to love mercy and

to walk humbly with your God.”

 Micah 6:8 NIV