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Prayers of Futility

I start to pray and stop myself. Why bother? It’s not like God’s going to do anything for me. Give me something I need or a blessing or favor. I’ll ask and just be more bitter for the asking.

I’m not a genie in the sky. I don’t exist to grant wishes and manipulate outcomes to your liking.

I get that and it’s fine. But you don’t even offer comfort. A little comfort. Is that really too much to ask?

Do you want a friend who only comes to you when she wants someone to listen to her cry? Again? You know the answers. You know how to care for yourself. You’re going to be OK.

I used to pray to worship you. To tell you how wonderful you were. To tell you how much I wanted you. That’s all I really want is you.

I’m right here with you.

Right. Here in this messy garage. With a cold, rainy wind coming in. And there’s nothing special. There’s no joy. It’s just normal but now I know you’re here in the normal. Only it doesn’t change anything. I don’t understand. What difference does it make if you’re here or you’re not here? It’s all the same. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing with you anymore.

It takes awhile to work it out.

*Snort.* Of course it does. I’m going inside. The kitchen floor needs washing.

I know. I’ll be there.

(Picture credit ASBO Jesus.)

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