Posts tagged stories

Photo by cbguille (flickr)

{See my previous post for backstory}

My mother and I decided to eat out last night. After our almost-discussion the day before, the elephant in the room was just too cumbersome. We needed to finish our talk, and I was finally–after over a year of evasion and privacy–ready to tell her.

When our hefty plates of stir fry were placed in front of us, she grinned. “I’m glad your roommate walked in last night.” I grabbed a chunk of meat and stuffed it into my mouth. “I knew that if we had said more, then I would have gone down the path of ‘Well what about this?’ and gone down the path of debate instead of doing what I wanted to do which was understand your journey and see what brought you to where you are today.” She clearly knew what I had to say, but wanted to let me vocalize it all.

I told my story.

. . . . .

My hand shook. I stared as it carried vibrating forkfuls of food towards my mouth–too quickly, I thought. I could barely swallow in time before having another bite to chew. I didn’t feel control over my own movements, so they happened anyway; I simply observed. The clichéd tremble amused me, and I chuckled to myself, which I’m sure came across as puzzling to my mother who sat across from me, leaning back from her empty plate as I continued to work at my food–barely touched.

The need to fill the silence between my mother and I was a desperate itch. I ached to scratch it, but I bit my food with vigor and stared at my stupid, shaking hand instead.

I had just told her I was an atheist. She’d listened to my story, and now she sat silenced, glossy-eyed, and buried beneath her thoughts. As I inhaled my food, I tried to imagine what she felt. Disappointment came to mind first. Probably a caring sort of pity, too. Perhaps she was praying. No, I knew she was praying. My mother always prayed. This is probably the first time she thought twice about praying aloud in front of me.

“I can see how it would be hard for you to deal with all of that alone,” she said.

No more silence.

. . . . .

After the big “moment of truth”, we started discussing various topics and thoughts: We talked about the Catholic church, masculinity and femininity, how she used to be an atheist, evidence for miracles, and that she doesn’t believe Christianity requires people to leave their reasoning skills behind.

Aside: You should know that my mother is one of the most thoughtful and faithful Christians of my acquaintance, and she’s also one of the most respectable, wonderful individuals I’ve ever known. When people talk about blind faith and dumb believers, they are not speaking about this woman.

At the end of our conversation, she mused, “This is astonishing…” I nodded, smiling. “You’re the girl who came home from camp in 7th grade and said, ‘Sorry Mom, I’m going to be a missionary.’”

“I know.”

“Astonishing…”

Who should I tell next?