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When I was small, I liked the idea of God, and I believed he existed, but only as an abstract idea. I went to church for the spectacle, the singing and my fellow Catholics; it wasn’t until one specific incident that he became personally important to me.

My mom and I took my dad to the emergency room when I was fifteen.  I brought homework along, but I couldn’t concentrate, so I prayed the rosary in entirety three times, which is when the doctor came back out to talk to my mom. My dad stayed at the hospital that night, but I went home with my mom believing that everything would be alright; I had prayed my rosaries and no one had told me otherwise.

It wasn’t until the next day that my mother told me my daddy, the person I loved most in the world, had terminal cancer and three to six months to live. I couldn’t stop all the tears in front of her, but I saved the true extent of my emotions for God. When my mother was at the hospital, I started yelling at God: ranting about how he didn’t answer my prayers, that it wasn’t fair because I was only fifteen and needed my daddy, that (of all stupid things) Beyoncé was older, richer, and more blessed in general than me, that she didn’t need her dad nearly as much as I needed mine.

Then a thought dropped into my head: we die because we are so selfish as to believe one life is worth more than another. I only wanted to exchange my dad’s life for Beyoncé’s because my dad was important to me. It was intensely selfish to think my loved ones were worth more than anyone else’.

Sure, there wasn’t a voice, and an angel didn’t come unto me. Nevertheless, I believe that God answered me, because I think that thought was his and not mine.

Since then, there have been times when I didn’t feel I could talk to anyone else, or I talked to others and they couldn’t help me. So I talk to God, and I feel that he listens. I certainly have doubts about whether or not I’m imagining the whole thing, but I like to think that it doesn’t really matter. Whether he really exists or he’s just a comforting construct of my mind, I believe I’m better off because I believe in him.

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One Comment

  1. This is beautiful– your experience is so similar to my own– I will tell you about it sometime. love, me


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