IN THE MOUNTAINS AND THE VALLEYS

how religion shapes parenting across generations

by Dara Gonzalez

Do you ever find yourself feeling at odds with those around you? It might be due to beliefs, personality, interests, or even something as simple as your taste in clothing. In a society centered on individuality, it seems we are always competing to stand out and show off how interesting we are. It’s not often that I attribute my unique traits to God, and to my faith and foundation in Him. Instead, I think it’s much easier to look back on the ways different generations of my family have shaped me, especially in the sphere of religion. 

“But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, God’s special possession, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light” [1]. My mom often paraphrases this verse, which reminds me how God has set us believers apart from the rest of the world. As Christians we are told to be holy, to follow Jesus’ example, and to not be tempted by the material world. My parents reinforced this value in their parenting, reducing the influence of the outside world from a young age. 

I was born and raised in the small town of Laredo, Texas, which is right on the US-Mexico border and is populated by a Mexican majority. From a young age, I remember just how out of place I felt socializing with my peers. Of course, we all shared Mexican heritage, but the core pieces that formed our beings were already so different. The biggest distinction I noted was that a vast majority were Catholic—and all other characteristics stemmed from this belief system. While they were allowed to freely use web browsers and watch television without supervision, I was limited to certain channels (PBS Kids, Qubo, and TBN) and had to sit with an adult to play games online. 

“I know the media we consume has a lot of influence in our lives, which I always taught you. I wanted to keep that pureness in your heart,” my mom recounts over a video call. “Your father and I had the responsibility to raise you and your siblings in a godly way and keep your conscience and thoughts age-appropriate rather than let you grow up too fast. I didn’t like the way kids on Disney were shown to be smarter and more powerful than their parents.” Above all, they wanted me to mirror the childlike faith Jesus praised. The gospel of Matthew recounts a time when a group of disciples asked Jesus who is considered the greatest in heaven. Jesus responded that children are the example to follow, and we must assume their position to enter heaven [1]. My parents took note of these verses, emphasizing the importance of innocence, purity, and humility that children naturally exude. Though I’ve come to understand my parents’ intentions as I’ve matured, it didn’t easily dispel the disconnect I felt with others. Even the close friends who also identified as Christian were not as heavily monitored as I was, and it caused frustration.

I come from a lineage of pastors on my maternal grandfather’s side, all of whom have been raised in conservative environments. However, it’s clear how this theme has been more strict the further back in time we choose to view religion. My grandfather Nehemias and his siblings come from a generation that believed dancing was demonic, and it was prohibited even in celebrations such as weddings. I vividly remember how he would even go so far to always avoid secular music, only singing and memorizing hymns and songs of praise and worship. “I was restricted from vices and dancing because of religion, but even when I had chances to participate I chose not to. This choice was more than a religious teaching, it was of my own conviction,” he responds in Spanish. 

My grandmother Sandra agrees as she chimes in, “Being raised Catholic for the first few years of my life, there was always peer pressure to do worldly things like drink and go out to dance. I always refused, saying I didn’t need it because I had Jesus. And it was true, when I gave my life to Christ at twelve years old, I physically felt God guide all my actions.” These practices and beliefs may be seen as extreme for our generation, which sees dancing as a form of expression. Is this ideal of conservatism simply a loss of freedom? 

While raising their children, my grandparents never needed to enforce religion. My grandfather’s work as a pastor meant the family spent most of their free time within the church anyways. My grandmother served in the children’s ministry and gained firsthand knowledge on how to incorporate God into her parenting. While my grandfather busied himself with ministry to the public, my grandmother dedicated her ministry to her children. She would take the lessons given at church, simplify them, and apply them to real life. She has always been a woman of faith; she believed God would act on his own divine timing. My grandmother knows the importance of a personal relationship with God, and she gave her children room to make mistakes as they learned how to listen for his voice. 

My mother cultivated her love for God as she grew in church, knowing her faith was the truth at a young age. “I had convictions and later realized how important it was to pursue God with an open heart. For everything, I turned to the Bible and prayed for God’s wisdom and guidance.” She lived through various periods of hardship in her life, and became all that much more unwavering in her faith. She quickly adopted my grandmother’s attitude, and the family’s constant engagement helped enrich and unite them in faith. Though she felt frustrated about my grandparent’s definition of vices and sins, she always took a moment to pray and reflect on what her desires truly were. “I used to get upset with my mom, and ask her why I couldn’t go out to dance with my friends. She would stay silent and just give me a look that said to do what I wanted. She gave me space to learn and grow, and it was precisely that which made me realize the significance of trust.” 

My father was also raised in a religious household, but it was a stark contrast to my mother’s. My dad’s family is Catholic, but his parents' teachings were not always connected to their faith. He used to tell me about how he was restricted from doing certain things out of his parents' fear. “Don’t do that, you’ll get hurt,” or other derivations of this phrase were daily occurrences. He paid little mind to this notion as he entered his rebellious phase. “We valued education, and did not really enforce religion onto your dad or your aunts. As long as they grew up to earn their college degrees, we were content,” says my grandfather Hugo in Spanish over a phone call. My dad would tell me stories of how he would spend weekends partying, drinking, smoking, vandalizing, and planning pranks at school. His nature was so aggressive, he wouldn’t hesitate to get into fights, and he told me of a few instances where his mom had to prevent him from beating my aunt into a wall. Though the family would regularly attend Mass, my dad left the message given to him each week in the pews and continued his reckless path. 

He was this same man when he met my mom one fateful day, but softened slightly by the love he held for her. Their romance was far from perfect, as he didn’t immediately fix his habits, but he was determined to change for the better. My mom was patient with him, and would encourage him to accompany her to youth groups at church, summer camps, church services, and many other activities. “I knew when he agreed to accompany me to different events and receive God, that it was a sign for me to continue my relationship with him,” my mom remembers fondly. “Although I admit I wanted him to be able to change and have all the knowledge I had about God since I was little, I knew I had to let God do work on his heart. He had all the motivation to change, but it would take time for him to learn to live by faith.” This development came much to the dismay of my paternal grandparents. They felt shocked and confused, as they hadn’t expected my dad to pursue a woman who wasn’t born and raised Catholic. “He made a complete turnaround from the state he was in after he met your mom. We didn’t understand why he chose to date outside his religion,” my grandmother Mari tells me. “Even so, we had to respect his decision, because we wanted to raise our kids with the idea that they were independent and had the power of free will in their own lives,” adds my grandfather Hugo. There were periods where they went without talking to him, commented on the differences in beliefs they now had, and felt wary of my mom’s family as they all went to ask for her hand and parents’ blessing. Understandably, they inherited attitudes of fear from those before them, as well as society’s foundation of rigid tradition. 

Catholicism in Mexico is now seen as common, but its existence only began after the presence of Spanish conquistadors. Their evangelism was initially not well-received, as the native populations already had a well-established culture in polytheism. Though Catholicism was present, it was the apparition of Our Lady of Guadalupe that truly brought Mexicans and Indigenous populations to the monotheistic faith. This development, coupled with the teachings following the mantra of “Be saved or be damned to hell!” instilled a terror of God opposite to that which Reformed Christian theology strives for. In modern day Mexico, a person leaving Catholicism to convert is seen as a betrayal and a failure of parents to their children. The fear-mongering tactics of my grandparents’ Catholicism was a far cry from the message of love and salvation that I was given.

My father decided to let God into his heart late one night, after partying and feeling the urge to call my mom. He told me that was when he finally felt a sense of inner peace. He used to remind me of how nothing but God and his love could fill the holes in our hearts, as he came to understand that night my mom prayed for his salvation. The sun rose as they both knelt in prayer, my father’s decision mirroring the development of God’s new mercies every morning, as described by Lamentations 3:22-23. My dad’s foundation had changed from an all-consuming fear to a confident faith in Christ. 

Given the history of their families, it’s understandable that my parents wanted to find a balance between their own experiences. Being the firstborn of my family, my parents were also aware of the fact that they needed to be careful with me, as they were learning what to do for my future siblings. They began this process of building my foundation on God even before I was born, praying for guidance to decide my name which would serve as a declaration over my life. They ultimately decided on Dara, meaning pearl of wisdom, as they wanted me to become someone who led by example. They sheltered me from secular media and celebrations out of caution, but also to foster my focus and love for God. When there were nights I was upset as a toddler, whether out of fear of the dark or some worry I had for the following day, my parents and I would huddle together in prayer or read from the Bible. At the end of each prayer, we would recite a passage in Spanish, which read, “In peace I will lie down and sleep, for you alone, Lord, make me dwell in safety.” [2] They told me I could pray to God for everything, and that He was my friend who’d always listen, just like my teachers taught me in Sunday School.

I naturally cultivated the habit of prayer from these instances, though it served to be an awkward explanation to those around me. After I mastered English, I now prayed in both languages everywhere, even at school. For things such as small cuts, on my hands or my friend’s, I’d say a quick prayer for healing out loud and be met with confused glances. My Catholic friends were taught that prayer was a clear-cut recitation of words; they did not have a personal connection with God the way I did. Though there was a thin wall between me and my peers, there was a brick wall between them and God. 

This was never seen as something shameful, just confusing. When I proudly declared things such as how God had answered my prayers for siblings, I heard a brief congratulations, and the conversations between my friends would turn away from the matter. There was an uncomfortable sense that I didn’t belong, but I chose to ignore it. After all, there was nothing that brought me more joy than singing and dancing along to praise and worship at church. Even though my friends did not always understand me and my focus on God, I was more than content to live my life the way I was.

When my family relocated to the largest city in Texas, I tried to cope with the culture shock by founding my life on conformity. I mimicked the speech patterns and behavior of my new friends, who were much more culturally diverse than those I had previously known. I finally delved into the deep end of popular culture, seeking validation from anyone who could provide it. I did not want to feel the scrutinous gaze of misunderstanding anymore. I believed if I could fit in, all my social problems would resolve themselves. This change did not go unnoticed by my parents, who held many family interventions to steer me back to God. I was losing my religion, which I had once held so dear, and losing sight of who I truly was. 

Our TV was on one weekend during this time, set to the city’s Christian channel. It was conveniently playing an episode from the God Rocks! series I had only recently renounced my interest from. Though I don’t recall what I was distracting myself with, I do remember the lyrics and visuals of the song which spoke to my heart. I heard, “Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will.” [3] Though these words alone were enough of a sign from God telling me to change my attitude, it was the imagery which really struck a chord. The fictional cartoon band was being squished into uniform boxes with seals of  “World Conform” approval. This dramatic telling of scripture caused me to reflect on what I chose to base myself on. I surely didn’t want to be squished into a box just to fit in with the rest of the world. If I could remain my true self with God, to keep the special blessings I was told I received with him in my heart, I’d gladly choose that over conformity any day. 

Reminiscing over my childhood, do I feel anger or regret for the way I was raised? My mother wishes she had realized earlier how she and my father could only shelter us so much, as we tainted our innocent minds when we learned profanities and sexual vocabulary among our peers at school. Yet I am truly thankful my parents made difficult choices to allow me to grow the way God intended. My foundation in God has allowed me to become the person I am today. Through keeping my actions based on faith I can find the hope of Scripture: that I can get through the valleys and see my life take its trajectory back towards mountains. [4] The beliefs and fundamental values of my family have changed over time, but there is always one constant. God will always hold a place in our hearts, and be the firm rock we stand on for eternity. He works through me to inspire others and lead them back to Him.

SOURCES

[1] 1 Peter 2:9

[2] Psalms 4:8

[3] Matthew 18

[4] 1 Kings 20:28