This is a tough post to compose since I’m still emotional, but I think I need to vent here in order to deal with my emotions and my anger.

I don’t go to church. It’s probably been over 25 years since I’ve sat through any kind of church service. I always enjoyed the singing of hyms; I felt very spiritual then. Listening to sermons, though, pretty much put me to sleep. Another part of church I did enjoy was discussing the bible during sunday school. Sometimes the discussions turned to “polite” arguements and sometimes they came close to blows. It was strange, though, that during those discussions was when I also felt stronger in my faith. It was through such discussions that my beliefs were formed and took shape.

The only reason I miss church these days is for the social aspect, the singing and such discussion. Although, with my belief in reincarnation, amongst other little oddities, the church I grew up in (Episcopal) probably couldn’t deal with me.

I’ve been content to “observe god” in my own way and by myself. I see god in art, in gardens, beautiful sunrises and sunsets, in people I know and love, and in my furry kids. Every evening when I kiss my husband goodnight as he goes off to work, I say a simple prayer of, please lord, get Richard safely to work and bring him safely back home. During the day I’ll say little prayers for members of my family, and sometimes for friends. Once in awhile someone online will ask for a prayer and I say one.

I’ve had a friend tell me that my prayers were nothing more than superstitious ritual. That’s possible. However, I have faith in my prayers. My faith, exactly, is this: I believe that a prayer is a trigger to positive thinking, positive energy. I believe strongly in the positive and I have faith that a prayer can help add more positive energy to a negative situation.

Sometimes, when there is a crisis, I’ll get down, literally, on my knees and prayer. For me, this is to focus my mind AND my body on the crisis. As I pray, I ask for guidance, for calmness, and I put the situation in god’s hands – meaning that I won’t waste my breath trying to influence an outcome I want. This all helps me to focus and to keep from being a hysterical idiot that’s not helping the situation at all. This gives me the strength to be strong for those that need it; I can fall apart later.

When Mimi became sick and we finally realized that there was nothing short of a miracle to save her, I prayed, literally, every second, every minute, every hour of the day. I’d walk outside with her and pray under my breath as she was chasing grasshoppers or watching birds. Each time I caught her eating a tiny bit of food, I’d hold my breath and say another prayer.

The weeks kept passing. Mimi got thinner, but her spirits were always up. She wasn’t listless. She did sleep a lot, but she always came out in the evening to nuzzle Panda and she always asked to be cuddled. Two weeks ago we realized we were losing the fight to save her. Force feeding her was doing nothing for her except to make her vomit. She’d continue to drink a little water each day, but never enough to hydrate herself. She was dying and we were prolonging the inevitable.

When I made THE call to the vet, she couldn’t come by for a week. We accepted that. In the meantime, I still prayed. This time I prayed for god to take Mimi before the vet showed up. I prayed to god to spare us having to euthanize her, to spare her the final pain of a needle and the confusion of what was happening to her body. As you know, that didn’t happen.

Thus, my anger. This is when my faith gets shaken. This is when I question my “habit” of praying. This is when I question myself. This is when I shout angrily at god, call him a f***ing bastard for having put Mimi and us through all this emotional upset and pain. And this is usually the time when some smart-aleck, holier-than-thou person hands me the lame phrase, “well, god wanted you to learn from this experience”……..

I came real close to punching the hospital pastor who said that to me an hour after my dad had died and I’d gone to the chapel for some quiet thought.

This is when I understand why people get mad at god for terrible tragedies they feel god should have prevented. I understand how some people who go through such tragedies don’t regain their faith. Some people do get stronger, but there are just as many that irrevocably turn their back on what they once believed in.

My faith is shaken because I’m once more questioning my belief in god. I don’t really care for logical reasons about why this is. I’m pretty sure I know why; the answer is in my angry words. I’ll deal with it, in my own time, but this is another thing that serves to diminish my belief in a god entity and strengthens my belief in myself.

I should conclude this rant/essay, but I really don’t have one. So, that’s it.

Tags: faith, Family, friends, God

This entry was posted on Friday, August 31st, 2007 at 7:38 pm and is filed under Rambling. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.