Moments of faltering faith

Strange rituals sometimes take shape in our home. I sing to my kid each time she is scared to go upstairs, negotiate the dark hallway, and the loud whoosh of the water in the tub, when she turns it on. I have done so - diligently and tunelessly - since moving into this house over five years ago.

She may no longer be as fearful of the shadowy rooms with black gaping mouths, and our silly routine is possibly on its way out. But it continues to happen every now and then. 

“You can stop singing now,” she calls out, once the water is running, and the lights are on.   

Not to reveal the strange workings of our household or the general mental state of its inhabitants, but I sing the very same song that I sang the first time. For years, I have done so with an uncanny precision. With no recollection of how the original goes, mine has been mostly - off key, mechanical and blaring (after all, my voice had to reach upstairs, surpass and drown out the whoosh of the water).

When my vocal chords are asked to give another rendition, I sometimes wonder how long I will continue to do so. Is she still sometimes scared, or is it now general entertainment? Parenting involves many roles and court jester seems to be one of them.

So, the other day, when I hear the familiar, “Mom, can you sing to me?”, I reply in my most pep-talky-tone, “I have full faith in you. I know you can go upstairs and turn on the lights”.

She turns back on the stairs with a quizzical look, and says, “Yes… but will you still sing to me?”
I do.

Yes. She knows I have faith in her. But she needs to hear it (as discordant and off-key as it may be), when she comes face to face with the dark rooms upstairs. My singing voice is perhaps a symbol of the faith I have in her – and the louder and shriekier, the better.

For once, I try to see things her way. It is easier than I imagine. I recognize and even share the sentiment. Perhaps in times of faltering faith, we need to ride on the faith of others, or on the faith they have in us. Simply because they see what we cannot see or what we are not able to.  

I feel surprised at how sentiments are similar, even when degrees vary. Since last summer, I seem to have received several blows and confidence in recovery, at times, falters. Certain days, I do not find the strength to believe that things will be okay. An inexplicable dull wrenching festers, till I sweep it away.

“Hang in there. Rest on us, those who care for you”, texts a friend after I get back from the hospital.
This is a school friend I have not met in over a decade. She texts me several times a week. She has done so since my return from the hospital.

A friend visits me several times in the hospital (I remember only a few) to simply hold my hand.

There are others stories and others, who support and believe in me – more than I do. I feel humble and lucky.

Is it possible then, to hold faith in ourselves, in this vicarious manner?

Easier said than done – you and I both know this. For, in trying times, even when surrounded by love and well wishes, our guards are so high, and faith so low, it is hard to even receive the love and hope others offer. And of course, there are some who can turn guardedness into an art. Sigh…

So, is it really that simple? In times of our heightened fear and doubt, to look around and find the faith in others?
I understand this is a beautiful thing and I wish it were somehow easier to simply fall into this nurturing cushion. Effortlessly, without self-judgement or feeling like a burden, past the guardedness and self-protection.
Finding strength in tenderness, support in freedom. 

As for my kid, I’ll continue to sing to her till she leaves for college – unless of course, I accompany her there – to sing to her if the dorm hallways are too dark.
Oh well, at least I can threaten to do so.