When I was a child, I once believed that God lived on the moon and watched us from above. I thought he had curly red hair, a green hat, and long striped stockings. I believed that he would sit there on his crescent throne, swinging his legs, granting the wishes of all the good boys and girls. Now, I’m not quite sure. I’m not quite sure he’s even real.
In the beginning, my family was avid church goers. We were Catholic upheld many of the practices. No meat on Fridays during lent, confessions to repent for sins and praying daily. We would attend morning mass every Sunday as well Sunday school classes that took place after mass. I never really understood why I had to maintain my attention quietly, for hours listening to a sermon and occasionally sitting, standing and kneeling. I remember reciting prayer after prayer until it was permanently engraved in my mind. Although I haven’t recited a prayer in years, I could recite them verbatim now.
I feel that the only time we pray is when we really need something. I find myself doing this from time to time or when I find myself in troubling times. Why is it that times we pray, most of them go unanswered? What kind of God would cover his ears to people who need something the most? All over the world, there are children dying from terminal illnesses, war-torn countries like Syria or epidemics of homelessness and hungry, yet our supposed God has done nothing about it. Why does God allow such bad things to happen?
I remember when my uncle died. He used to scare me. He was tall, had brooding eyes that sent shivers down my spine and a chuckle that could shake a room. He wasn’t my favorite person, but he was family. My family was praying, all night and day in hopes that someone would answer their prayers. They were crying hysterically. I remember tapping my mother on the shoulder, asking her what was the matter. “Someone very close has passed away,” she sobbed. They continued to pray. No one was listening. He didn’t come back. He was still dead.
As I grew older, I soon began to lose faith in something that I couldn’t see; yet I would still catch myself praying when I needed something. My prayers were never answered. I have been through some difficult times this past year and my struggle has caused me to lose faith in everything. I’ve tried to believe, but I can’t. I don’t want to believe in something that I can’t see. It feels as if the another underlying force decides our fate, but we have the power to make a decision.
I’m not exactly sure what I believe. I learn, observe and build off that knowledge. There are other cultures whose beliefs are not like our own, which is what makes them so fascinating. I don’t believe any religion is right or wrong. I think we all believe what gives us comfort.
I was inspired by atriumofwords by her profound post about her belief in God. You can read about it here. As I was reading, I could see a little bit of myself in her piece, which is why I decided to share a piece I had written in my advanced English composition class.