You, Me and Everything That’s Already Been Said

Here I am again, on bended knee one more time. Here I am again, crouched in some corner–with a pen and pad, bleeding my heart to you. Here  I am again, crying the same tears from yesterday.

I don’t know what else to say, because we’ve been here so many times. I am trying so hard to understand your ways, I’m told they are so much higher than mine. I believe that–most of the time. But at times I still wonder

I wish I had the faith that moves mountains, but I don’t. I wish I had the kind of faith–the kind they teach you from pulpits. You know, those people..

Like the lady that didn’t have grocery money, so she went to the store, and loaded up her buggy, and stood in line. Then  the guy behind her bought all her food, with no clue she had nothing. Or the guy that gave away his rent money to the poor, and then a long forgotten check showed up in his mailbox. You know, that kind of faith, for those kinds of stories. That’s what they teach you in churches.

And sometimes, I think that’s what you are supposed to be. You are supposed to send me random checks in my mailbox, or give me divine appointments. Then, I don’t understand when your hand is more subtle. So subtle that I am not even sure if it’s your hand or mine.

I give you credit, all the same. But, still I feel a little hurt, and I wonder if you love me just a little less than others. And I know that’s silly, because you are…God. You love everyone just the same. So, I push away the doubt, because it’s not good to entertain such thoughts.

But I wish faith looked like that for me. For me, faith looks like Puritan work ethic. Try, try, try, and try again, and eventually, some day, you will probably get what you are after.  I wish I could catch a break here, God. Because it sure is exhausting this way. But we’ve been down this road, no need to traverse it one more time.

So, here I am again, sitting here in the pregnant silence–just you, me and everything that’s already been said.



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