But I’m feeling like a poor excuse for a Christian, like I have no business writing a blog that has anything to do with prayer. I’m a phony, a sham, don’t pay attention to anything I say.
The truth is sometimes I don’t know if I even believe. I want to believe, trust me. My life would be infinitely better if I believed beyond a reasonable doubt. I want there to be a God—a real God with a capital letter G, not just some higher power sort of god who exists in nature and who is just another word for love. No. I’m not interested in the “spiritual but not religious” kind of god. I want God the Father and God the Son and God the Holy Spirit—the whole Trinity of the one God. (A concept I can neither understand or explain but I love because it is so mysterious.)
No, it’s not working. I need to feel some communication. I need to feel that God is like my imaginary neighbor Manny (short for Emmanuel)—a guy who can tell you what’s wrong with you lawn, and change your flat tire, and tell you to be patient because things will get better. He’s a sweet guy, Manny. When my brother was murdered and I didn’t think I could drive 50 miles to my mother’s house to tell her, I would have gone knocking on Manny’s door. And Manny would have driven me to Maryland and explained to me that God is good, always good, and that God’s heart was broken just seeing my pain.
And Manny would sit down with me now, make me a cup of tea and tell me that I’m not alone. He would give me good advice when I ask him for it, and he would listen quietly when I just need to vent. And he when he tells me not to be afraid, miraculously I won’t be afraid.
I’m a believer with doubts. Sometimes big doubts, at other times smaller doubts. I know that the way through this is just to pray, to throw myself into the arms of a loving God and trust that He will catch me.