Golden Way: Faith and Childhood Innocence
All right, picture this. It was a Sunday afternoon, one of those lazy days when everything’s really quiet, and the sun’s just warm enough to make you feel sleepy. The daughter, just a little kid then, sat across from the Dadda, wide-eyed and innocent.
She had that look kids get when they’re trying to unravel the mysteries of life – that pure curiosity only a child can have. The Dadda was sitting there, probably overthinking as usual, and out of nowhere, she hits him with a question about church. Little did Dadda know, that one chat would change everything he thought he knew.
So, Dadda started telling her about it. About the original evil Roman Church, about Christianity ever since. He talked about how, in his opinion, all this church and religion business was all wrapped up in power and control.
He told her how he’d come to believe that the whole setup – the church, the doctrines, the fear of Hell and the greed for Heaven – it was more about socio-economic control of the masses than anything holy. He was thinking he’d explain it all, lay it out bare. His words were simple, but the message, well, it was a heavy one for a kid her age.
She listened quietly, just taking it all in. There was a seriousness to her gaze, even though she couldn’t fully understand the weight of what he was saying. But then, he got to the part that hit hardest: “There is no God.” He was blunt, clear, and absolute.
To Dadda, the God idea was something used to keep people in line – a carrot and stick setup, where fear, greed and guilt ruled. He thought she’d get that he wasn’t tearing down people, just the institution.
But she didn’t see it like that. She just looked up at her Dadda, innocent as ever, and asked, “But Dadda, who will I pray to, if there is no God?”
It hit him like a brick. There was a quietness, an honesty in her voice, that made Dadda pause. Here he was, tearing down this structure in front of her, convinced he was teaching her a crucial life truth by showing her “the reality of religion.”
But in that moment, Dadda realized he hadn’t thought past the wreckage. He was so caught up in pointing out the flaws in this massive, ancient institution, he’d forgotten that belief is a part of people. For her, it was something good, something hopeful. Dadda was handing her the hard truth, but he hadn’t given her a replacement alternative to hold onto.
Dadda sat there, thinking. How many times do we tear things down without thinking about what we’re replacing them with? It’s easy, isn’t it? Spot the bad, point it out, rip it up. But what about after that? What fills the space we leave behind? He realized right then that it’s not enough to just show someone what’s wrong. If you’re going to take something away, especially something they leaned on, you’d better give them something real to hold onto instead.
That’s where the Golden Way idea sparked. This was more than just dropping a truth bomb; this was about giving her, and anyone who needed it, a set of tools – a way to live that was free from the chains of fear, control, and guilt. A system based on choice, integrity, and a deep respect for the freedom to live without bowing to some almighty being, or worse, to people using that idea to push their own agenda.
So, Dadda looked at her and thought, “All right, what if there’s a way to pray, a way to live, without the need for that structure, without the fear or guilt?” Instead of tearing down her comfort, he should show her a path that didn’t depend on a big, distant figure in the sky. Something rooted in her, in us. It’d be about her finding and developing her own strength, her own choices, and the goodness she could build in her life and the lives around her.
That moment shifted everything. Dadda saw the need to create something new, something strong but gentle, open yet solid. He wanted her to know that she didn’t need a church or a doctrine to feel whole. She didn’t need someone telling her what was right or wrong. She could decide for herself, with a little help, sure – but the power was hers.
And that, right there, became the heart of the Golden Way.
It was about giving her, and others, something real. A way to be grounded in love, in loyalty, in respect – things that make us better not out of fear, but because we choose to be better. So, I started building this idea, these pillars, these truths, and it all began with one innocent question from my daughter: “Who will I pray to, if there is no God?”
And from that, the Golden Way was born.