Independence, Parenting, God: Part 3

So I've been pondering questions like "Is independence a worthwhile goal to strive for (as an individual)" and "What kind of actions am I going to take to inculcate independence in my infant son?" At what point do I make choices to let him cry himself out, and what are the deeper ramifications of such decisions?  Why am I making those choices?  Will never allowing him to cry himself to sleep make me a helicopter parent who spoils my child?  Will doing it too early teach his infant brain that his tears and screams have no effect on me?  I certainly don't have answers to these questions.

Yet I keep thinking about them, and wondering if they say anything about my relationship with God.  I grew up in an evangelical church context where some of the most serious questions were about theodicy and suffering: How could a good, loving God allow _______ to happen (to me)?  I know people who had significant crises of faith wrestling with the tragedies in their lives and their image of God and all the ways the two just never fit together.  They couldn't imagine that the God of love they worshiped condoned or caused their suffering in any way.  Sadly, so sadly, some lost their faith in any God in the midst of these tragedies.  "How can love co-exist with my suffering?"

Shusaku Endo's novel Silence made quite an impression on me when I read it as a college sophomore.  I highly recommend it, both as literature and theology (my friend Kyle is figuratively screaming at me in my figurative ear THEY'RE THE SAME THING (often)).  Essentially the novel builds up to a climax where a character asks the question "Where is God in my suffering?"  The answer, which holds little weight out of context, is "I AM right here suffering with you."  It's a difficult answer, nearly incomprehensible, not least because some branches of theology can't abide the concept of a suffering God (even though, you know, the crucifixion).  I can feel the triteness of the answer "God is here, suffering with you" when spoken to a mourner in the midst of a tragedy.  In the context of the novel, I found it powerfully moving.  In a hypothetical pastoral context, I'm less sure.

I find it still less moving when I consider Cyprian crying at 1 or 2 in the morning.  What good does it do him if it "hurts me" to lay in bed and listen to him cry rather than go to him and try to soothe him?

What kind of identity do I want to have?  I remember speaking with a friend about a book my professor had written on the Song of Songs.  As I was reading the book (Eros and Allegory by Denys Turner) and the scriptures it referenced, I found myself meditating on the idea of security.  The image of a woman tending a garden behind a locked door, waiting for her spouse to come, deeply scared me.  Can I be that secure in the love of a spouse or of a God, that I can simply wait and prepare the garden around me, the physical space, knowing that any preparing I do on myself doesn't matter because of the strength of the love of the one who loves me?  Can I simply be myself, hidden behind a locked door, waiting for one who loves me totally, fiercely, no matter what?  

It frightens me because it leaves me no task to fulfill, no set of boxes to check off, no way to earn that love.  I just have to be me, and I find that very difficult.

It challenges my notions of independence, of self-worth, of identity.  I am who I create myself to be, I am the sum of all my actions / feelings / thoughts, I am my charisma and charm and humor and intelligence, I am my pride.  How can I be any of those things without showing them off in front of other people?  Without defining their worth in distinction to those around me (and often, admittedly, in superiority over them, in arrogance)?  Aren't I independent?  Can't I get along on my own, without them, carving out my own identity and solving my own problems, not needing the love or "helicoptering" of someone else to save me?  Should I, as it were, be able to cry myself to sleep and learn to get along on my own?  Is it the mark of how badly I've been spoiled to imagine anything else?

In a great little StarWars book I read in high school, an ancillary character repeats like a mantra "Why is always a question deeper than the answer."  I have many (stream of consciousness) questions but few answers.  

The short: I want to be a good parent!  I want my son to have a healthy emotional / psychological life (despite the fact that watching the movie Magnolia makes me severely doubt this as a possibility).  I want his identity to come from a place of security in our love for him.  I want my identity to come from a place of security in God's love for me.

And I think the notion of independence might get in the way of having the mindsets and taking the actions I need to do to be and do those things.