THE ACT OF MY ADORING

I recently found myself sitting alone inside a chapel,
and it almost felt like it had been against my will.
You see, the “God” thing is an issue with which I’ve always grappled,
from a very young age, and even now still.

The truth is, that if “He” is really some being up in the clouds,
there are a lot of things that I’d never have the guts to say.
Because I’m the type of man that needs to speak his words out loud,
with my thoughts so scattered, there’s no other way to pray.

As a result, I’d always felt that I needed to be alone when I approached Him,
if I were to ever express myself to my creator the right way.
Else, it’d be another session of the groveling and the praise,
and my true feelings would go unanswered another day.

So I sat there, alone, in the dark, one early Saturday morning,
on some uncomfortable chair, way there in the back,
and there, in that moment, I dropped the act of my adoring,
allowing the deepest rooted feelings to unpack.

I said, “You son of a bitch. How could you? Everything’s a mess.
You bore me into a life of violence, death, and rage.
I find it hard to sit here and act like I considered myself blessed,
when you decided to give my sister cancer at such a young age.

That child suffered for the sins of her family, scared and confused,
and for a year we watched her whither, tubes in her chest.
She never got to live a life, free of sickness or abuse,
but even in her final moments, she smiled and did her best.

And how you expected the rest of us to somehow grow up normal,
is a prospect I’ve worked my whole life to understand.
And how you expect me to speak to you in some sort of language of the formal,
or believe that I’d ever be willing to somehow want to take your hand.

It was You who set the tone, so early on for me,
for everything that followed for decades after that.
They all told me it was Your will, that I’d just have to wait and see,
what kind of purpose it was for me that you were getting at.

But I called bullshit on that lie, when I was practically still a boy,
believing you to be right up there with Santa Claus,
because you stole from me a life that any human could enjoy
and somehow expected me to thank you and applause.

So here’s the deal, from here on out, these little “talks” may be more frequent,
because a part of me wants to believe you’re really there.
But if you expect my faith in you to be any kind of decent,
then you need to show yourself somehow, that’s only fair.

And I’ll continue to try to be good, to help those who are in need,
because my one goal in this life was always to be a good man.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s all about which wolf you choose to feed,
so I’ll try my best to feed the good one whenever I can.
Amen.”

So I sat there, alone, in the dark, one early Saturday morning,
staring out into that chapel that was pitch black.
And having made the effort to drop the act of my adoring,
I sighed relief at the weight I’d just gotten off my back.

For as I stood up in total silence, and made my way toward the door,
I quietly wiped the tears from off my face,
and I crossed back into the hallway, my body weak from the war,
I realized that even sitting there just now was a leap of faith.

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