Do I Believe in God?

I want to believe in God--I swear I do.

But wanting and actually believing are two completely different animals. 

I believe in fits and starts.  I go through phases where I pray and promise everything from the perfect prayer life to never using the Lord's name in vain if the turbulence in the plane would cease and we would land safely.  On the other side of the altar (coin), I condemn the entire notion of a god to worship, feeling it is a way to keep people submissive and genuflecting.

Then there is a third mindset that does not allow me to feel anything but contempt for a god that would allow his only son's death, even if it was for the salvation of an eternity of souls.  He's the ruler of everything!  For #$% sake's he could have thought of another way.

Many times I don't like him very much--or the idea of him...or her.  Maybe it was a lack of proper Sunday schooling, but I was always taught that prayer could help just about anything.  I have never found that to be the case.  (Although my plane rides HAVE all ended safely...)

God allows or disallows all things.  Why, why, why would he allow hunger, war, disease, murder, or any number of other pains and tribulations?

I am supposed to swear my love and faith to an entity that responds with resounding silences to my conversations and beseechings.

My questions are nothing new--but they never leave me.

I read the Screwtape Letters--sometimes a few times in a year--hoping to glean a shining new grain of faith from Christian scholar C. S. Lewis.  I feel energized and renewed--for a day or two.

http://www.amazon.com/Screwtape-Letters-C-S-Lewis/dp/0060652934

I want a sign.  A glowing and shining light with a voice in my head--or out loud--telling me that indeed this is truly GOD.

I will probably keep doubting and waiting.  And hoping.

Day 57 from 100 Unfortunate Days

Every single basement has a dark corner or room no one likes. Maybe the whole basement is dark and scary. Spirits collect in dark and cluttered spaces. They hide and wait for you because they are stuck. Some people can see them. Some people see the long thin black wispy figures with arms ten feet long that unfold as they slowly reach for you in the dark because you have to go down there to get something or fix a light bulb or retrieve a screwdriver. Part of you revs up and moves really quickly to get out of there because you know if you wait long enough and the arms fully unfold, they can touch you and then part of you belongs in the black corner in the basement. Then it will be very hard to be normal again. You will wake up in the middle of the night, and you won’t be able to get back to sleep because you will worry about all the things you have done wrong and how you are hurting people. You can’t get this out of your mind now and you think that maybe if you count and envision each number in your head as you say it in your mind; you can block some of the bad thoughts. Or maybe you can pray—say the Lord’s Prayer over and over and over and God will surely be there to help you because you are saying his prayer. But it doesn’t help. God doesn’t give a fuck when you are miserable—he doesn’t care if you pray. You can pray until there is blood dripping out of your mouth and nothing will change. God is an asshole that way. Even a relatively rotten person will assist you if you are begging for help. But your thoughts will just revolve through your mind over and over until you want to take a gun like the lead in Fight Club and shoot them out of your head. Maybe someday you will, but for now, you are trying to figure why God is such a jerk-off and you have to live like this. You wonder why you feel forsaken—well it’s probably because you have been forsaken and you don’t know how to live in that state. Because when you are a kid somebody probably told you everything would be all right, and now you realize they lied. So you keep lying to yourself, telling yourself it’s not such a big deal, but actually it is. Because now the dark corners in your basement have started to get darker. And bigger. The arms get longer and longer and pretty soon there won’t be anywhere you can go where they can’t touch you. So you start to drink or take pills or do some other kind of drug so you can’t tell when you get touched. But now the problem is you get touched all the time, but you don’t know it. At least now you don’t care.