Where Is God?

I’ve prayed.

I’ve prayed many times.

I remember one time in my early 20s I sank to the floor and begged to get better... begged for relief... and, no answer.

I have done that on and off for the past 35 years or so praying for relief... praying for others’ relief and wellness.... and, no answer.

Oh, I didn’t look in the right places?

I didn’t pray hard enough?

The right way?

Maybe I didn’t have enough faith?

If this is one of those ah-ha moments I’ll finally get on my death bed, how cruel.

Why is there such suffering?

Childhood cancers?

Starving people?

People who live daily with chronic pain, chronic illness, disabilities... and no answer.

“Either he’s not all powerful or not all good,” Neil DeGrasse Tyson said on a podcast.

Don’t tell me you’re all powerful when people suffer, and don’t tell me you’re all good while people die from suicide because the life “God” gave them is too horrific to explain.

No answer.

Maybe just maybe he’s been a friend who helped out when I had no money for food... or copays or gas.

hands painting — Photo by Cherry Laithang on Unsplash

Maybe he’s been speaking through a wise therapist... a friend....

Maybe the answer isn’t for him to give. Maybe it’s for me to discover.

Well, then shit.

Now it’s MY problem to figure out?

Chronic illness?

Chronic pain?

Chronic disease?

Doctors who won’t help... can’t help....

My problem to figure out why I never made it in life with music... art... graphic or otherwise.

My problem to figure out why I tread water in this small town in the middle of nowhere... making a life of nothingness and routine.

Well, God, you suck then.

How dare you, powerful or not, all knowing or not, all caring or not, all good or not, tell me I have to figure this shit out?

I call BS.

I want a miracle.

I think I’m due.

Or haven’t got a clue what to do but kneel on a pew... and vote for you?

3.5 decades of horror, withdrawals, some cruel doctors, wicked side effects, deafening insomnia, electric shocks to the brain, ketamine in the vein...over and over again.

Decades of me losing myself.

Now losing my memory....

What did I wear yesterday?

How long ago was last month?

What was I talking about...

Oh, that my number has been called for a miracle and I want it to be glorious.

I want to feel what it feels like to get shivers down my spine because someone plays music so beautiful one is deserved.

I want to belly laugh.

I want to not worry about if I can afford life... I want that stressor gone.

God Is Good tile — Photo by Sincerely Media on Unsplash

I want.

Me.

Yeah, I’m gonna have to be selfish this once, briefly, before I get to everyone else who is suffering.

Those that have it worse than I.

Those who have a plan because they never got their miracle.

You were late.

Absent.

You’re not fair, God.

You’re cruel.

YOU are selfish.

Mean-spirited.

Everything is your fault and nothing is.

And after all these years and prayers and begging for the torture to stop, I still don’t know your plan, but at least I’ve figured out that much.

Maybe you’re a quack selling snake oil.

Put morphine and cocaine back in our drinks, you crook.

My friend battled breast cancer and won... how dare you take the credit.

Narcissist.

Look at me. I can give and I can take and I can cure and I can torture.

You’re definitely not good then.