matthew 14:22

i stopped praying the day i fell through the water. after forty days of nothing, i felt like it was time to shake the dust off my knees and stand up. i was flesh and bone and all my sins, which were greater than the sum of their parts.

when i was little, i felt god in my rib cage once or twice. i endured panic attacks before i knew what they were. my heart would start pounding fast but before it could shock me, a hand would slip between my bones and rock my heart back and forth to its beat.

you're safe now,

you're safe now.

i think it was faith.

the third time i felt god was different. the tent was set up in the front yard for the night, and the cats were keeping us awake. scratches and shadows on the fabric fought us, so we retreated inside.

i was the first to walk in through the front door, but i sensed a presence in front of me once i entered the living room.

do not be afraid,

for i am with you,

he said.

i wasn't truly scared,

but i nodded.

i was in sixth grade when i discovered the books named after a series of colors. each story was different, but they were all the same. a simple girl would make the wrong decision and choose to drink/have sex/puke/etc. until she was a wreck, but then she would repent and god would grant her a happy ending.

when i started coming undone in eighth grade, i remembered the stories, so i turned my bedroom into a chapel. i fell to my knees and lowered my head as i rested my shaking hands on my dresser. i sobbed and i prayed, just like they did in the books.

i'm sorry.

i regret all that i've done.

lord,

please grant me redemption.

forgive me.

i will change.

i will follow you forever.

i will never take your name in vain,

i promise.

i'll go to church every sunday,

and i'll pay attention,

and i'll do whatever you say,

just help me,

please, help me.

i don't want to be this way.

nothing. so i tried again two weeks later, and again when another two weeks went by. maybe it didn't work because i didn't believe what i was saying, but i sure as hell tried. but oceans didn't split and bushes didn't burn; there was no sign to show me where to turn after i had failed to become a believer. it got to the point where i begged to be a martyr, but god and my own demons kept me in the middle. i couldn't really live, and i couldn't die, so i gave up on both.

now i am the salt of the earth; i let life and death walk all over me. i have nothing left to say, nothing left to pray. i am finished scribbling psalms on my ceiling in the hopes that god will notice.

i am older,

wiser, now,

less susceptible to his holy ink.

sometimes i feel it a fourth time.

lord,

grant me the wisdom

to think.