“Religions die when they are proved to be true. Science is the record of dead religions.” Oscar Wilde

"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight. Wish I may, wish I might, may I have my wish tonight," I recited to Riley as she admired Venus in the twilight.

She closed her eyes and clasped her hands under her chin. "I wish Aunt Gail were here," she said and then threw her hands up to the sky.

I walked over and fell to my knees in front of her, holding her shoulders.

"Me too, baby," I said and kissed her while tears welled up.

"That's where Aunt Gail is, right?" she wondered, looking up again.

"Yeah," I sniffled, "She's watching over us."

"That's nice," she said.

"Yes," I said, straightening and taking her hand, "It is."

We walked to the house and I wondered to myself about the fib. Venus isn't a star, of course. Hell, it might not even have been Venus. Should I have been truthful and taken that moment to explain, no, sorry Honey, that's a planet not a star? No, I decided; she can discover the science of it later, when she's a little less raw from the loss. I don't think it will do her any harm to believe this. I remember wishing on that bright light myself as a child. I still do, truth be told.

Was the fib that Gail is watching over us? I have no proof of that, though I feel in my bones that she is. In my mind and heart, she's very nearby. There are moments when I can see her in the passenger seat of my uncle's Land Rover. I can hear her opening the door to my Grandma's house and calling out "Hello." I can sense her laughter around the fringes of us. But that's not proof, not scientific. But it is the truth to me.

Comforted by my reasoning, I spoke no further words on the subject. I felt no duty to strip away whatever illusion Riley and I were sharing and reveal the "truth." So what, we wished on planets rather than stars? So what, we believe our ancestors are watching over us from the beyond? Believing in the illogical or impossible helps to take the sting out of life's great pains. This faith that wishes can come true and that there is benevolence in the world makes the intolerable tolerable.

Logically, I don't have a reason for why I believe in God, in guiding spirits, in miracles. And I don't have to have a logical reason, formed in syllogism either. My heart gives me proof enough, formed from its own mysterious logic, which doesn't adhere to scientific method. My heart tells me that God exists when I sing to Him, when I listen to Mozart's Requiem, when my child says something profound, when I see my friends taking care of each other. I feel my heart reverberate when He is nearby.

I don't want to be a party to the scraping away the wonderful in this world like so much flaked paint; not for Riley, nor for anyone else. I plan on keeping my eyes peeled for incidences of goodness and love, which are evidence enough for my heart that there is a God. My way of checking that He's still around, if hidden. I also plan on keeping in check the incidences of chaos and evil, when it is in my power to do so, and not aiding those forces with my own hand. I will adhere to Rule number one in my house: To do no harm.

Hopefully, my choice to extend Riley's innocence and encourage her faith won't come back to bite me later. I hope she won't be angry with me. If she does complain, I will understand but not apologize.