Apologizing to God

Hello, God. I didn't make it to church this morning because I couldn't sleep last night. It's Mother's Day and when I finally did roll out of bed, I read the emails that told me that my mom is having what is the worst Mother's Day of her life.

As you know, since you know everything, my dad has entered a new phase today. He was agitated all night and kept asking fearful, and even angry, questions. Suddenly, he thinks I am 4 years old, and that he needs to go find me. When Mom tells him "Candy isn't 4. She's 48," he says "God dammit, I'm talking about OUR Candy." When he wants to know where I am, and Mom tells him I'm in Phoenix, he says "How can she be in Phoenix? She's only FOUR!"

He also wants to know what has happened to his farm and all his tractors. When Mom tells him we sold all that, he wants to know "How can I make a living now?" Don't worry, she tells him. You're retired. We're fine.

And the biggest heartbreak of all: He thinks she is lying to him, and says "The next thing you'll tell me is that you're my wife." Yes, she says. I have been your wife for 66 years.

And then Dad thinks he's figured it out: He's been in the hospital all these years and has missed everything.

So, God. I am trying not to despise you. I know I shouldn't be thinking like this. I know I'm supposed to love you and trust you. I get it. I get the rules. I'm hoping that if you're the source of all love, as I've been told, and the God of Mercy, as I've been told, that you'll accept how very sickeningly angry I am at you.

I've heard it before: God can take it. He can take your anger. He's GOD! He MADE your emotions. He knows how you feel whether you tell him or not.

But you scare me. The way you just let things happens terrifies me.

You know that my big problem with you, and that the big problem MANY people have with you, is that you let so much suffering float by on the big river of misery that ends up rising from its banks and drowning us all anyway. I know, I know. It's our original sin. It's our free will causing the shit to hit the fan.

I heard a very smart man say "Those who believe in God only have to explain suffering. Atheists have to explain everything else." Nice quip. Very useless at the moment.

Here is my apology:

I'm sorry, God, that, for awhile now, I've felt like you are the King and I'm a sniveling, sycophant of a court jester who is at your needling mercy. And that I have to keep thanking you for things all the time, even as things get worse. Like you're saying "You're thanking me, aren't you? You have to thank me. Did you thank me? I don't think I heard you. Oh, OK, I heard you thank me, but I'm throwing this javelin through your mother anyway."

I'm sorry that my sincere prayers of gratitude are always laced with fear and resentment.

I'm sorry that I didn't cherish the better days with my dad. I'm sorry for the anger I've felt for not having been of more interest to him, back when he had things he was interested in.

I'm sorry for making this about how I feel, when it's about what my dad and mom are going through.

I'm afraid you'll respond to this apology, and I'm afraid you won't.

Either way, I'm sorry that I've accidentally locked the rickety door on my heart. I'll keep checking outside for a note.

Please be with my dad. Please soothe him. Please put your arm around my mother.

I'm sorry for asking, when I've just written my own name on your shit list.