Faith n. 1. A confident belief in the truth, value or trustworthiness of a person, idea or thing.
2. Belief that does not rest on logical proof, or material evidence.
I was having difficulty sleeping one night, and as my mind searched for the pause button, it skipped across the word “faith.” Despite having spent no small amount of time in churches while young, I never managed to acquire the belief system traditional to those organizations, or — as my mother often called it — my “church home.” I sat recently in Greg Meyers’ barber chair and as he mowed the wild field that was my hair, I reflected on some things he has quietly mentioned about religiosity. I had taken his recommendation about a book because of his wonder and amusement about how another person, raised in a religious household, had a different view of an experience similar to his. I have yet to read the book, but Ordinary Light: A Memoir, by Tracy K. Smith was a 2015 nominee for The National Book Award. According to some of the reviews, Smith is trying to find out how religiosity fit with and into her family life. As for me, my “faith” is wholly secular.
I know a woman who has a potentially debilitating disease, one with which she was diagnosed when she was in her twenties. Thirty years after that diagnosis, and after multiple hospitalizations, surgeries and rehabilitations, she has achieved her dream of becoming a registered nurse. She started, failed, stopped and returned, each time more determined to achieve her goal. I remember having a conversation with her long ago, where she mentioned that she had recently learned something about her disease that depressed her; she still has that information and she is still rising each morning to go to work. She has a faith in the value of her life and her contributions to the lives of others.
I know another woman who, though abandoned with her five children by her abusive husband, clawed her way off welfare and into the position of registered nurse. She too, started, failed, stopped and returned, and spent 18 years in the pediatric ER, caring for the sickest infants life can deliver. Her faith was a religious one, and she encouraged me to find a similar one.
Despite what some politicians would have us believe, the earth has not broken free of its orbit and is not plunging into the sun; nor is this country going to hell in the proverbial handbasket. Ever since we humans have evolved from the “rock, chisel, fire” stage of our early being, we have looked to make our waking days a matter of more than just survival: we desire enrichment and improvement, a day better than the one we last lay down on. And when I look around each morning, I remember that I saw at least two people refuse to give up on the belief in a better day.
“Faith” is not solely about “a belief and trust in God;” it can also be embodied in the daily toils of those who merely strive to achieve joy, to touch another person’s heart with kindness. It is not unusual for some people to succumb to despair during holiday times; they cannot see the value in continuing a life that has denied them the peace and prosperity that they see conferred on others. I have written before of “the Season of Hope.” However we may celebrate, and to which god we may or may not dedicate the days, we must still rise and live and touch each other with kindness.