Writing those songs really helped me. It opened the way for conversation between me and God. I still wasn’t totally sure if I believed in him; and I wasn’t free from the pressure of ‘saving my mum.’ Then one day something really weird happened. My mum and I were having lunch together (are you seeing a pattern?) and she brings up God, and how she’s beginning to wonder if He exists. I thought about telling her that I wondered that too, but decided to keep quiet. She continued to tell me that she had noticed all these little coincidences going on in our lives that made this journey a whole lot easier. For example, we had by complete accident run into one of my mum’s school friends (a lovely lady my mum hadn’t seen since she was my age!).
I wish I could list the other examples my mum gave, but I just cannot remember them. But I can remember my own. I had left the city which I loved, because I felt like God was calling me home. A man had left his job at a local charity that meant there was a job open for me when I came home, which enabled me to put into practise what I had learnt working in the city. My flatmate had moved out in January, meaning that I had had to move home in March, giving me my last few months with my mum. My boss at the charity was Donna’s husband, and when we found out that my mum was terminal, he let me go on compassionate leave to care for her and enjoy those last few months together. It seemed as though God had been working on the details of my life to make sure I was home, with my mum. And then it occurred to me: if God could work all the details of my life for me to have these final days with her, did he really need me to introduce my Mum to Him? God is God, and I am not. He does not need my help.
My Mum shared ideas about God with me, and encouraged me in my faith. Hearing my mum speak about God, knowing that she had began to notice him during my month of atheism, when I was definitely not trying to make her a Christian, helped to me to believe that if there was a God, he was not dependent on me. In fact, the timing seemed to suggest that He wanted me to know that.
However I was still not totally convinced he existed; questioning whether he was real had allowed so many hurts to surface, times where I felt God had let me down, or that Christians had been fake. I still could not read my Bible without coming across a passage that put into question God’s goodness.
Could it be that my Mum would find God and I would lose him?