I am told you make miracles happen. I am told that by the many who visit you every Sunday dressed in their best. They told me that you turned water into wine and walked on water like it was land. They tell me a lot of tales of childbirth, healing ailments, tales of prosperity and pleasure. I am a skeptic who questions the bible, a heretic who rejects the article of faith, an infidel lunatic who steered away from Christianity, and an ungodly sinner in your eyes.
I ran away from home at 10. By 12, I was inhaling coffin nails and drinking rotgut. By 14, I was no longer chaste and almost a murderer by 16. I ran far and wide, across countries and continents. I ran over many women, lived many lives. I nearly crashed at 22, they said I had the clap. It was nasty and disfiguring, but I was given another chance. I married a woman of faith, drove her away from you, fathered many sons who all strayed away from you. They all survived hale and happily, without ever believing in you. Is that what you call a miracle? Do you take care of all your children, even if all they do is disown and abandon you? Or do you not exist at all?
When I went on that ship, where we practically drowned by a storm and I was pushed on a shore, were you the one that nursed me back to health? But they were tribals who knew not of any Jesus. Then, when one of my sons lost his limb, did you help him walk again using a prosthetic, or was it just a doctor who was trained to do so? And what about the time I lost my youngest son to a car wreck, did you bring him back to life? NO! We healed ourselves and time was our God! All this and I still don’t know how to rationalize the ones that come to our door with a pamphlet and a smile and stick “GOD IS LOVE” on my face.
I know not of this God who is love. I know not of the miracles you have performed. All said and done at 60, I lie here on my bed, tormented with cancer of the soul, rejecting the existence of your idea, hoping to wither soon. I am hoping for this miracle to happen. As I am told that you make miracles happen!
In response to a prompt from Puttingmyfeetinthedirt