In the beginning:
In the truck, applying lip gloss. Dad behind the wheel, destination: church.
Fond memories of red berries on the hill, crowned with a cross. White flowers by the doors. Mrs. Hengst’s red lipstick. The grey, musty floors.
Stone mill, tall oak trees. Counting how many times one man could say ‘lord’ in his opening prayer – interesting fact, it was seventy. Being bored shitless during sermons, imaging life beyond those two front doors. Getting on stage to sing the ritual “Jesus Loves You”.
Even then, I knew there was no god answering my prayers. Those ‘answers’? I knew they were coincidence, I asked for easy things – like for the sun to rise tomorrow. I doubted every second, hoping I would find the one true answer.
Blindly believing in faith was not sufficient, my mind would not be satisfied without real answers.
In the end:
I found there were no answers from a God that would end my questioning.
I found that there was no verse I could learn that would make me stop wondering.
I found that I would not be satisfied with unanswered prayers.
I found that the life I had led for thirteen years was a big white lie and if I was wrong… I was prepared to burn in hell for it.