The other night I sat down to write about some of the difficulties I’m having lately. I started with the question, “Where is God in all this?” I looked up from the computer, pondering this question, when suddenly it seemed that He was sitting at the other end of the table, waiting on my answer with bemused concern. The song “Oh My God” by Jars of Clay came on (if you haven’t heard it, I highly recommend it), and I began to write to Him instead of about Him. This is that.
I love you though I don’t know how to say it, I don’t know how to imagine it. I can’t love you the way I do people (sometimes I wonder if I can even do that), I love them through knowing them and I know them through my senses. I know how they look and sound and feel and smell and even taste, I know them because they are like me.
You, though, live in some foggy blend of my mind and my imagination. I have ideas of you and beliefs of you, some of which I can trace to somewhere and some of which I plain made up. I know the feeling that I relate to you, the way I think you make me feel. But do I really know that’s you? What makes me think I can trust my mind?
When there’s more questions than answers, I try to stop wondering. I know that I love you and I know that I need you and, sometimes, I know that I need those things more than I need answers. I take a deep breath and relax in that, and remember that’s called faith.
Isn’t it? Or is faith never doubting in the first place? Do the faithful know more than I do? The questions start again. They’re troublesome. There are so many memories of so many people in my head, saying so many different things. Who’s to know what’s real anymore?
Deep breath. I remember that you are real.
I remember peace and calm. I remember health and hope. I remember that you are always around, no matter how many times I ignore you. I prayed for bad things to go away, and they did. I prayed for good, and it was there. I remember knowing without a doubt that when no one else was listening, you still were.
I remembered, again tonight, that when no one else understands, you do. I remembered that when no one else has the answers, least of all me, you know.
I’m trying to remember how to ask you. All I can think of is what I’m doing wrong. How do I start?
“Oh my God.”