God: Like Santa Claus, But With Babies

I am an atheist.

I am also infertile.

My atheism did not cause my infertility -- in fact, throughout most of the last decade, I was a conservative (though not evangelical) Christian. I prayed daily, went to church regularly, read my bible every morning. I was never "rebellious," or looking for a way "out" of church. I was, and always have been, a "good" girl. Hell, I married the second guy I ever slept with (and was, briefly, engaged to the first). I don't smoke, drink rarely, don't do drugs. I was (and still am) extremely boring. I love kids, and I work with some of the most challenging every day.

And yet, when people hear I am infertile, the first thing they say is that they will pray for me. And that everything happens according to God's plan.

When I tell them I am not religious, they give me the look. The "Aha. I understand" look. As though, somehow, my lack of children is directly tied to my lack of faith. As though if I somehow prayed harder, or believed more, or trusted in "his timing," I would have the babies I so desperately desire.

And yet, can anyone seriously look around at our society today and tell me that God has been handing out babies only to his faithful? He isn't fucking Santa Claus. You don't get a baby because you are good, because you say the right things, or because you pray fervently. If any of that worked, I (and many of you) wouldn't be here, railing at the universe for our lack of fertility.

Even before I abandoned any notion of a higher power, I became convinced that God had nothing to do with babies. Who got them had little to do with who wanted them, and even less to do with who "deserved" them. And yet, it is impossible to miss the snide undertones of my fertile Christian friends and colleagues who seem to think that they are somehow superior because of their belief in God. And of course, their children are proof positive of this. They wanted babies, they prayed, and they got them. Even if a few struggled along the way, their faith and trust in God got them through -- and had I just been more patient, more faithful, I would have, too.

I hate them for that.

And yet, at the same time, I envy them their solid convictions, their ability to trust in the universe and some "plan" for their lives.

I know, more than anyone else ever could, that faith was never my problem. I know that I believed more fervently than most for a very, very, long time. I prayed with every fiber of my being -- not just for a baby, but for the health of my husband and of my marriage.

And, eventually, for the life of my unborn babies. Once. Twice. Three times.

Those prayers were never answered.

I have, over time, and after a great deal of thought and research, come to the conclusion that the chances of there being anyone out there "directing traffic" so to speak are very, very slim. It is impossible to prove a negative, so I will never say for sure that God doesn't exist (it's just very, very, unlikely.)

But I DO know this: I am an atheist, and I am infertile. And one of those things has nothing to do with the other.