From the Mouths of Babes (Actually, Alicia Keys)

As Tripp and several of my friends who've endured my (perhaps inappropriately) intimate queries about their personal beliefs regarding God's existence, the meaning of life, what happens after death, and various other heavies can testify (pun intended), I think about this kind of crap a lot.
This came out of the blue for me. For years, I quietly and without question attended Christmas and Easter Mass with my mother's Catholic family as well as my cousins' Bar and Bat Mitzvah and a handful of Seders. Then for a variety of reasons, many of which I'm sure I don't realize, I started thinking about the whole God thing more.
Is there a God? A lot of people seem to think so. I'd like there to be a God, at least the kind of God I imagine: a benevolent, wise, unconditionally loving and accepting grandfather-type who makes everything okay in the end (and who lets us reunite with our loved ones who died before us). But when I thought about it, I mean really thought about it, the idea didn't make sense. Where would God exist? Who or what created God? Isn't it more likely, doesn't it seem more reasonable, that there isn't a Heaven, that we don't have souls, that there is no purpose to life (beyond what we, ourselves, claim it to be), and that there is no loving, omniscient, bearded, bespeckled, and Birkenstocked grandfather in the sky (this is MY fantasy, dammit!)? And finally, don't we look back at the ancient Greeks and think, "Wow, that whole Zeus thing was kind of crazy"? Isn't it possible (probable?) that thousands of years from now our descendants will look back at us and think the same thing?
I struggle with this off and on. During the on's, I feel a deep sadness and fear. People (and animals, for that matter) die, or are tortured, hungry, sick, abused, trapped, and mistreated everyday. The idea that there is no purpose to suffering or that there is nothing better waiting on the other side haunts me. And I envy the faithful. Beneath all the dogma that some spout, those who truly believe have a sense of peace that I want.
Tripp, God love him (haha), is absolutely no help. He'll endure my repetitiveness as I ask the same questions and try to convince him of God's existence using the same arguments I've unsuccessfully used for years (if I convince Tripp, the biggest non-believer I know, then surely I'll believe). But it never works. And for that matter, Tripp seems completely unfazed by the idea of no higher power.
Then, something changed. A little DVD titled "Elmo's Christmas Countdown" came into my life. While trying to distract Henry from his favorite activity (removing all the knives from the dishwasher and licking them), I popped in this little treasure and found an unexpected sense of comfort from it. I only half paid attention to the story line: Something about an advent calendar being lost and resulting in the permanent cancellation of Christmas. But little Elmo and his celebrity friends have faith, which they simplistically explain as what you believe in even when it's hard to and even when it seems more likely that what you're believing isn't true. You hold onto it anyway, and who knows? Miracles can happen. I'm sure religious scholars throughout time have said the same thing in a more sophisticated way; but, as usual, I respond to the Sesame Street version of complicated topics. Faith. Belief that is not based on fact. What's wrong with having a little faith? Maybe there isn't a God or a heaven, but what's wrong with having faith that there is? In the end, Christmas wasn't cancelled forever even though Cookie Monster ate the advent calendar after the gang did all that hard work to find it. If that can happen, maybe there is a heaven and a grandfatherly God, too.