Just a Conversation in the Storm

"I don't think you are enough," I tell God as I light up a cigarrette and take a drag.  "No matter what some cheesy church song tells You. I just don't get what you are enough for." 

I pause.  Am I going too far?  Does it matter?  This is what I honestly think so I add, "And you want me to be honest, right?"

"My dog is dying.  My work is a mess.  Everything seems so hard.  Nothing seems right.  Eternity isn't here, so what's the point?"

He sits quietly, without offering an explanation.  He just sits and waits.

"Really, what do you want me to say?  I am glad?  Grateful?  What Way are you?  Why do loved ones still suffer?  Why do babies still die?  Why is life so hard?  Why are you so silent?"

And yet He just sits and waits.

I go through my day, trying to keep busy.  A meeting with friends, He sat in the back, where amends and God's love are the topics.  I remember that fear is my biggest transgression against myself, how I hold myself back, how I hold my heart down.  A chat, while He listened in, with a wiser woman who is wondering some of my own questions, and we gingerly joke as the thunderstorm comes that I may be struck by lightning.  Lunch with another friend, while He took the booth behind us, where we discuss difficulty in relationships and that change is hard to swallow.  A book on grief found without being sought, while He stood by the shelf, brings some peace, and tears.

"You are still a pain," I tell Him while I listen to the cicadas.  "It still isn't fair, but I see you aren't planning to leave."

Though quiet, He offers a crooked smile.