How Betting and Faith Shape My Life

What is it that grounds me in all facets of my life? I’ve been asking that question for decades, tried on different answers, but inevitably the question resurfaced. I think I’m onto something, maybe, just maybe this reluctant disciple gets it, and it’s simple—my life is based on something I’m going to call “serial betting,” and faith, whether it’s a belief in God or trusting in my own abilities, is an ever present part of all that I do. Though ignorance is my constant companion, and I bet on outcomes even when I don’t know I’m betting, faith, not wishful thinking, guides me along the way.

When I was six, my friends and I frequently hiked into the woods that abutted our suburban neighborhood. To get to Duck Pond and Sugar Pond, often our destinations, we had to cross a flowing brook whose mucky banks were overgrown with skunk cabbage plants, which, if broken, released the same pungent odor of their namesake.

“Betcha’ can’t!” Bruce taunted on one such occasion.

In my neighborhood, a bet, dare, or challenge required a response. I surveyed what lay before me, turned to Bruce, and smiled.

“Bet I can,” I replied with a six-year-old’s false bravado.

I guessed that with a running start, I could leap over the running water and smelly plants, and clear the squishy mud, but I wasn’t certain. Pride and my status on the block were at stake—kid stuff. Bruce’s offer of his purple lollipop was a bonus.

That day in the woods, with Bruce and my buddies, I thought I understood the challenge: leap over the plants, muck and water, and be celebrated—end up in “the drink,” and we’d have a laugh, my mother notwithstanding. All that was accurate, and age appropriate for a six-year-old determined to prove his mettle. I was, however, more ignorant than knowing, betting on the outcome and unconsciously placing myself in the hands of faith. That was the real challenge, something that didn’t occur to me then, but does now as I reflect on choices and decisions I’ve made over time.

None of us standing by the creek that day were brazen and foolish—scraped-up, bruised and battered by fun-infused risky behaviors, yes, but we all relished the challenge and opportunity to prove ourselves in front of our peers. Like most first grade boys we pushed and prodded each other into feats of daring. Whether we succeeded or failed, a guileless faith in ourselves seemed inherently present. Something most of us lose with the onset of maturity.

The skunk cabbage test of “character and courage” came to mind as I was thinking about how often daily life forces us to wager, and the role faith plays in our actions and decisions. In my six-year-old mind I objectively decided I could make it across the brook. But I was actually betting on a desired outcome, trusting in faith and hope more than in hard data. Even if I’d cleared this natural obstacle many times – hard data – this attempt would still be a leap of faith.

We all bet, and wager with our lives – board any vehicle of transport whether you or someone else is in control, eat a meal in a restaurant. We are placing ourselves at risk by putting our health and safety into someone else’s hands (a pilot, train conductor, a chef, the restaurant manager, etc.). A friend related the story of a fellow writer who had a mysterious experience (while meditating) that changed her life. Were the visions she saw delusions, wishful thinking, or healing messages from an anonymous source, another world? Whichever position she chose (a healing message in her case)—wishful thinking or other worldly visit—it would be an act of faith.

Much of my life has been tethered to the idea that gathering information to become smart and knowledgeable would lead to wisdom. I’ve accumulated many facts, deduced conclusions from them, and then formulated ideas about life and events.

It hasn’t worked.

The “smartest” stance I’ve taken is that ignorance is my constant companion. I bet on outcomes all the time, and faith, whether I’ve acknowledged it or not, is what drives my decisions and actions. I’ve come to embrace a world of “unknowing” rather than one of fact-gathering and knowing. Living fully means embracing uncertainty, discarding the illusion that I’m in control with my satchel full of facts and “knowledge.” It is relieving to accept my “betting life,” anchored in faith. It’s also scary with its endless possibilities.

My faith is fragile, frequently challenged, and when that occurs I resort to the comfortable “old ways” wherein I believed I was in charge, managing and controlling choices and decisions. Being informed is important, but when it dismisses the role uncertainty and faith play in life it is a false posture.

I’ve returned to the woods near my home of origin. Though its course has been altered over the years, the brook still flows, and where skunk cabbage once thrived weeds and barren ground has replaced the smelly plant. Where a running start was necessary to cross, I now simply stepped over the brook, but the element of faith remained.

I don’t know if God exists. I can’t be certain that a client who seeks my assistance will benefit from our time together. But, as I do every morning when I turn on the shower, I’m betting God does, they will benefit, and warm water will flow.

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