Blog a la Cart

This coming Saturday morning we will be “Celebrating Courtland.” This is a ceremony that James and I crafted for Addison back when she was one. We were getting pressure from certain family members to hold a Christening for our first born, but given that neither James or myself are practicing Christians (in fact, I am an Atheist), we didn’t feel comfortable engaging in a ceremony that didn’t resonate for our family. Nor did we want to be disrespectful to those for whom that kind of ceremony holds great meaning.

People often gasp or react strongly when I drop the A word, as though that implies that I am some kind of soulless, meaningless, valueless jerk. It’s offensive. Just because I don’t believe in some kind of spiritual greater being does not mean that I don’t have faith. I have great faith in humanity. In the here and now. In the lived experience. In love. My faith is grounded in my time now, on this Earth. And I believe in making the most of this time. Love is an intangible that binds us all, and whether that takes the form of God is irrelevant. It’s about believing in something bigger than ourselves. And I do. Very much so.

*Whew. Explanatory rant over.*

In order to offer our second born a similar welcoming experience to our family and our world, we are gathering our parents, my sister, and Courtland’s fairy godparents together for another simple, personal ceremony at our home. Each person will offer words of welcome and celebration to Kaki, whether in the form of a prayer, a poem, a song, a book, or in their own words.

During Addison’s ceremony, I read “Someday” (and wept like a baby). If you are mother to a daughter, I challenge you to read this book and not get your ugly cry on. Also, I cannot recommend it enough. It’s an absolutely stunning portrait of parenthood.

I’ve been thinking about what I want to share with Courtland on Saturday and finally landed on a Mary Oliver poem, “Mysteries, Yes.”

It speaks to this notion of faith as something bigger, something more complex and mysterious, than ourselves. And it speaks to the kind of life and confidence I wish for my daughters.

Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous
to be understood.

How grass can be nourishing in the
mouths of the lambs.
How rivers and stones are forever
in allegiance with gravity
while we ourselves dream of rising.
How two hands touch and the bonds will
never be broken.
How people come, from delight or the
scars of damage,
to the comfort of a poem.

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
”Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.