We Are All Believers
I believe there are no non-believers. Some of us are called non-believers by the Believers with a capital B. I respect their beliefs and want them to respect mine—to not call them non-beliefs.
For example, I believe in the Betsie River where my husband and I have been canoeing for 25 years. On a recent trip, we peered through binoculars at a young eagle on the branch of a white pine. Later, we heard a gravely shriek and watched a pair of sand hill cranes glide out ahead of us over the water.
Shoving the canoe into some reeds out of the wind, we ate bread and cheese and apples—and watched the river go by, shimmering in hazy sunshine, silent and eternal.
I also believe my best friend, Susan, with whom I have coffee every week. We install ourselves in the corner of our favorite restaurant and talk until it closes.
Last week we talked about the college class she’s teaching on “Love, Sex and Gender,” and the essay I’m writing on “This I Believe.” About leadership and forgiveness and mascara and menopause. And about the challenges and rewards of being married to men—which is a recurring topic.
These are just a couple of my beliefs and maybe they don’t sound spiritual. But divinity is everywhere—in nature, in people, in pets and places and poetry.
In my brindle cat who sits on the picnic table and watches for chipmunks. In my daughter who survived a brain tumor ten years ago and has just finished a master’s degree. In everyone who believes in something and I think that’s just about everyone.
I believe we are all believers.
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