I may be a religious fanatic, but at least I'm not woolly

This article really touched me. It's one woman's look at what she and other atheists and agnostics tell their children when the kids ask about God.

She writes:

Sometimes I feel that as far as answering a child's difficult questions about God is concerned, a religious fanatic has it easy. Dangerous, maybe, but woolly his or her answers can never be.

Ah, I'd so much rather be a dangerous Catholic than the woolly atheist I once was. It does make for more cogent answers to those pesky little questions about the meaning of one's life. (I don't mean to belittle her questioning here ... I've been there, and I know how extremely uncomfortable it is to think that there may be an answer out there that you don't want to hear.)

Before I believed in God, I, too, thought the answers to the deity question lay in the murky realm of kindness/tolerance/each-to-his-own. Not that I'm now advocating crusades and stake-burnings, mind you -- I still consider myself a tolerant person, with respect for others' beliefs. I can, with a perfectly straight face, say that one of my dearest and closest friends is not a Christian. I don't merely tolerate her -- I love her. Tolerance is for pain, for long lines, and for driving on snow and ice. People, however, deserve more than tolerance.

The whole idea that we can teach our children to tolerate all points of view and leave them to their own devices to figure out the God thing is objectively illogical and subjectively heartbreaking. I really, really feel for this woman. It's hard enough to not know what you believe about God. But, to have to pass one's unknowingness on to one's children? I was at least spared that. I was childless when I became a Christian (my faith was one of the things that made me realize, finally, marriage has a purpose other than just making me happy.) I had a toddler when I was received into the Catholic Church. So, I've had the benefit of that religious fanaticism since my oldest could talk and ask questions. No woolly answers in this house (unless you count the "What's for dinner?" issue.) I know what I believe, and I delight in passing on the seamless beauty of the Catholic Church to my children. What a feeling -- to know that there are answers to the tough questions, and that I believe those answers because I have pondered them, investigated them, prayed about them, and fallen in love with them.

I remember what it's like to lack that certainty. It's not a fun way to live. Being in a constant state of questioning is exhausting.

The final paragraph of this article

My cousin Emma tells how Gleo begged not to be disillusioned. "She once said: 'Mum, I know that Father Christmas and mermaids don't really exist but please don't tell me anything about the Tooth Fairy?' A few days later she asked me rather sadly, 'Don't you believe in anything, Mum?' and I said, 'Yes, I believe in the potential goodness of human beings.' She looked a bit doubtful.

reminds me of a line from Garrison Keillor. He said something like, "My friend Corinne doesn't believe in God, but there's evidence to show that God believes in her."

I do, too.