Alex was tucked into bed. We were finished with prayers—including those for his friends and all the babies, born and unborn, that we’re waiting for. I had turned on the night light and started the CD, and I was closing the door when Alex said, “Mommy?”
I paused. “Yes, honey?”
Silence. He was looking for a reason to keep me there. I leaned on the doorframe and waited.
“Mommy, why does God make bad people?”
Whoa.
I re-entered the room and sat on the bed beside him, feeling very much like a mother, and not like Kate-faking-it. “Well, honey,” I said, thinking fast and talking slow, “you know how you lost your books tonight because you wouldn’t come upstairs when I told you to?”
“Yeah.”
“Was that a good choice or a bad one?”
His eyes flickered in the darkness, as if to say, Is this a trick question? “Bad,” he said.
“That’s right. God makes everyone and lets them choose whether to do good things or bad things. When people make a lot of bad choices, they make themselves bad. But God doesn’t make bad people. Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” he said uncertainly.
“That’s why we take things away when you make bad choices. We want you to grow up to be a good person. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah,” he said, but I could tell he was fading off to sleep, so I kissed his cheek again, repeated my good night, and stepped softly out into the hall.
“Mommy, I wuv you,” he called through the door.
“I love you, too, honey. Sleep tight, little man.” As I went across the hall to get ready for bed, I thought, Holy cow! All religious formation takes place at bedtime.
Kathleen M. Basi 