My father was a writer. He wrote all of his life, inflicting upon many of us his novels, plays, articles, essays, and self-help books. Some were marvelous; some merely well-intentioned. But of all the things he wrote, his journal is his legacy: by turns wise and bewildering, it neared 1,100 type-written pages when he died in 2010. Although perused many times, this is the first time it will be read - cover to cover, page after page.
Sunday, July 5, 2015
Inadequate God
It is perhaps a question of my expectation, but God, I find your response so woefully inadequate. You may do well at sustaining the universe but in my life your presence and influence, at least on major issues, have been hard to find. I notice I say you are because I wish you were, lest I be alone, but I am unable to see or feel indication of you and when I have asked I have heard only silence.
Labels:
disappointment,
expectations,
God,
loneliness,
responsiveness,
silence
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment