Our Father, Who Art in... California?

We all know there are certain subjects that are politely avoided in general conversation – politics and religion being paramount, unless and until you’re among friends and can discuss without offending. So the way I see it… #1, this is my blog and I can say what I want, and #2, I’m among friends here anyway. Besides, I doubt this is that controversial. I’ve had this general discussion twice in the recent past, and my theory has been well-received both times.

Maybe it’s just from years upon years of the Lord’s Prayer (in English and French) racing through my head, but I’m comfortable with the idea of God as a Father. In fact, it helps me draw a parallel. I’ve mentioned my unusual religious/faith background in the past, and so there is room in my philosophy for more than has been seen in Heaven and Earth (to scramble Shakespeare a little). My thing is, I don’t think anyone has it really wrong. Other than to claim that their faith is the only “right” and “true” faith, because I’m sorry, that’s just crap. The God I know has room for everyone in His kingdom. (Yes, or Hers.) Anywho… back to the Father thing. Let’s look at my own father first, as in the man who provided half of my genetic code, and who helped raise me to be a thinking, questioning being who can still have faith in the unseen and unproven. My father, Al.

You see, to me, he is Daddy. Every now and then, just plain Dad, but since I am his youngest daughter and still adore him as a child would, mostly Daddy. To my sister, he is also Dad or Daddy, but her experience of him is different from mine, due to any number of factors. To my mom, he is her ex-husband and the father of her children, and part of him will always be the 11-year-old best friend of her big brother, or the 17-year-old she dated, or the 20-year-old she married. To my stepmom, her wonderful husband, with no memories of shared younger, non-parenting years but with several years now of being parents to grown (or mostly grown, I was 16 when they married) children and grandparents together. To my grandmother, her only child and her little boy, despite the fact that he will turn 60 next year. To my cousins, Uncle Al. To former co-workers, whatever side of his persona was ever revealed at work (and that will be different for different people). You guys get the picture. Same Albert Louis Watson. Different person, depending on who you ask, with different personality traits and different defining characteristics. Different to the same person, even, depending on the time period in question. I never knew what a dry, sharp, wicked sense of humor he has, until after he and my mom split up.

I see God kind of the same way. Call him what you will… God, Yahweh, Allah, Buddha, Ra, Zoroaster, Great Spirit… consider Him as one entity or many, consider Him as a Being or as a Force/Energy… or don’t consider Him at all (there are plenty of people in this world who don’t know my dad, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist). That doesn’t change the nature of who He is, or His love for us, endless, giving us strength through our trials if we will accept it, giving us words of wisdom and then loving us even when we don’t listen. Leaving only one set of footprints in the sand during our darkest hours – because He carries us. Sounds like another father I know.

In Stephen King’s “The Stand, “ Mother Abigail Freeman tells Nick that he has been chosen by God, and Nick replies that he doesn’t believe in God. Mother Abigail smiles and states (I paraphrase here) “That don’ matter, chil’. He believes in you.”

So. That’s my two cents about my father, and my Father. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to finish my work day. And then, I’m going to call my Daddy. Expect a blog about my mom soon, and expect it to be as delightfully different as she is.