Crystal Clear, Razor Sharp

Does God pray for me?

I said in my monumental Sept. 17 blog entitled “Yes, no, maybe so, 99, 100,” that I had the question “Does God believe in me.” Since I have a few minutes before bed, I would like to explore this a little.

Care to come along?

I don’t doubt there is a God. I never have. There are too many things in this life that don’t make sense otherwise. There is too much goodness in the world, right along with all the bad. I can’t help but look at beauty in the world, I can’t help but feel happiness and love and know someone must have had a hand in it. I don’t practice with any organized religion, I just don’t feel like it fits me. I went to a Methodist church a few times with a friend, and I have been to a Catholic church. It all seemed too theatrical and I really just didn’t feel anything. For now, I’m just not interested.

But I pray, and I have a bible. I read it sometimes, mostly psalms and happy things like that. I pray when I need help, when I’m sad or scared. Not really bowed head, palms together kind of praying, more of an ongoing narrative in my mind.

That’s a little wishy-washy, but hey.

When I graduated from high school, I went to the cemetery with my dad. We went to take my grandma a graduation announcement. She died when I was only seven, and being the oldest child as well as the oldest grandchild, I am the only one of us kids that remembers her, however vaguely.

Dad doesn’t share the same view as me concerning God. In fact, he’s exactly opposite. “There is too much sorrow in this life for there to be a God,” he says. “This morning I read an obituary about a six-year-old boy who died of cancer. How could God let that happen?”

As we knelt there, I cried a little. Don’t ask me why, I just do it sometimes. I looked at dad and felt so sorry for him. Without a belief in God, he must not think he will ever see his mother again, I thought. “Dad, how could she be gone?” I asked him. “How could someone as good and loving as grandma just be gone? I can’t believe that. There must be a God, because I know grandma can’t really be gone.”

“I don’t know what I believe,” he said, and we wept together.

I believe in God, but I don’t know if he believes in me. There are times when I feel like dad – how could God let something like this happen? Why doesn’t he do something? Does he care? I know I wouldn’t want to let bad things happen to good people.