Jesus, God, Lord of Mercy, please help me PUSH OUT OF THIS and be okay.
Ahh, suddenly I’m a religious man. Never have been before, but this seems like the prime time to start talking to God. Forget the positive thinking, let’s go straight to the big kahuna. But will God know I’m a fraud? I guess so since I haven’t spoken to God since I was probably 13, praying that I would pitch a no hitter in the championship game, and when that didn’t happen I started to question where God was. My lessening of faith didn’t occur because someone close to me had died, or because I saw the suffering of hundreds of people in another country on TV, no, it came when God failed to help me pitch a no-hitter. Granted, my parents never really did instill religious teachings in me, in fact the first time I saw a family say grace before dinner was when I was nine years old and at a friend’s house. I watched their bowed heads as they articulated a lovely thanks over a meat loaf. I remember thinking that it was weird, but also strangely comforting. However, now I doubted that God would forget that I gave him up over a baseball game and be willing to let me just jump back on the bandwagon in my time of crisis. But just in case God was listening, and maybe was forgetful, I prayed. I reached down into the depth and formed a prayer. It came out of my mind in fragments and pieces, sentences rushed together that didn’t really make sense, but somehow I couldn’t stop the flow. I started the prayer with shyness, hesitation and embarrassment. I moved into a serious and near pleading tone as the words came faster and faster. And by the end I could feel emotion welling up and flooding me and I my voice was the voice of desperation inside my head, uttering a plea so tangible I thought I could taste my sincerity inside my mouth.