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Giving birth was the most profoundly spiritual act of my existence. As the primal screams abated, a quiet elation filled my soul; I felt the power of a god creating new life. Then, when I looked into the eyes of my child, I beheld infinite knowledge. It was as if she held all the secrets and mysteries of the universe.

I had only recently returned from India, a country that transformed me from a fundamentalist atheist to an accepting agnostic. I had found solace, wisdom and love in all of India's faiths and intended to continue along the path to faith.

Yet my spiritual development stalled at the first nappy change. While worshipping my kids, I've found the routines of parenting completely at odds with a search for meaning. Living in our secular, competitive and rather practical culture doesn't help. The creed of capitalism, the worship of success, doesn't encourage spiritual depth. Yet I've found it endlessly fascinating to observe my children's beliefs.

My daughter, made in India, seemed to imbibe the country's attitude to faith. Christened by an ex-priest in a multifaith ceremony, her given name was soon replaced with "Swami Bam Bam" as she loved nothing better than waddling around smashing things while clad only in prayer beads and a dhoti-like nappy. She was not yet two when she asked me what happened when we died.

This was the moment I had to choose. I once lamented the lack of religion in my upbringing. I bemoaned the faith, security and context it would have given me. Yet when the moment came to give my child a set way to interpret infinite mystery, I baulked. Instead, I told her some people believe we rise as angels and others believe we return in a new body. She nodded wisely, smeared herself with porridge and chose reincarnation with an initial plan to come back as a boy.

I thought no more about her interest in the afterlife until I took her to a playgroup some months later. It was held in a Uniting Church, and as she studied the bloody and broken Jesus hanging from the cross, she asked the minister, "Who is that?"

"That's Jesus, sweetie. Do you have Jesus in your life?"

Now, as God is my witness, you must believe me when I say she answered, "Oh yes, he came around to afternoon tea the other day with Krishna and Buddha."

The woman responded by asking her what she served the great prophets (biscuits and milk). But I choked. I didn't recall ever mentioning Krishna and her Buddha experience was confined to a statue in our garden. I wondered whether my child was in fact a reincarnated Hindu swami or Buddhist tulku.

Clearly, she had an inner knowing.

While Swami Bam Bam grew up to graffiti our stone Buddha and pull away from Krishna, she has maintained a soft spot for the Dalai Lama and Ganesh. Yet at five she chose to worship fairies - building them endless playgrounds and believing she had a fairy soul that left her body at night. At school she studied Bahá'í, a scripture that respects all faiths, unity and equality. I so enjoyed her acceptance of different paths that I felt a sense of loss when she recently declared she doesn't believe in God. Yet, I still see her as a spiritual being - maintaining her belief in fairies, a human soul and other worlds.

My son has had an entirely opposite approach to faith. In year 1, he professed a desire to learn about Jesus. My initial reluctance seemed justified when he met me at the school gates screaming, "Mum, you didn't tell me I had two fathers!"

It was only after shocked parents had parted like the Red Sea that he finished the sentence. "I've got Daddy at home and Daddy the God man in the sky!"

My son loves religion because of its stories, its clear teachings and lack of nuance, although his tendency to take it rather literally can cause problems. After weeks of endless rain and a class on Noah, he was recently awake until midnight trembling lest God's voice boom down from on high and tell him to build an ark.

I almost envy his simple, solid belief - yet I try to maintain interfaith peace in the household. We celebrate the Hindu festival of Diwali and Easter and insist on respect for different views. My favourite debate took place over the grave of the neighbour's guinea pig. The children of the street gathered to pay their respects to Sid, who'd perished in a Sydney heatwave. Some children crossed themselves, others knelt in prayer and my daughter firmly told the animal he'd soon return to us in the body of a child. While my son chided her, saying, "Sid is now with Jesus", I'm proud to say they all agreed to disagree and the grave remained a sacred space not soiled by religious division.

I understand the Dalai Lama's urging to find solace within one's own cultural tradition, yet I couldn't impose it on my children. I am happy for my son to choose religion and my daughter to choose spiritualism. I'm not sure you can completely impose belief on children. While their young brains may be particularly receptive to the idea of a superhero like God, it's likely they'll come to their own conclusions at some stage.

Mind you, if God does call my boy one night, I'll rethink my scepticism.

by Sarah Macdonald

The Age, April 20th 2013

llustration above: Ben Sanders/The Jacky Winter Group.