are you there God?

Sundays were always routine for Grandma Hazel. She’d wake up at 7 a.m. sharp, make her first cup of coffee, and bury herself in the local Sunday paper (her favorite of the week). After Chipo and I would wake up, she’d make breakfast and turn on public radio for their weekly jazz show. No matter what happened the week before, Sunday was always our day to let all of that go, and simply be. 

And after that, it was time for church. 

Church was a place of peace and quiet. Grandma Hazel was a longtime and dedicated member of the neighborhood Methodist church. She was never one for the overtheatrical preaching that was common in the black Baptist churches of her childhood in Chillicothe. Instead, Grandma Hazel cared about the actual teachings of the Book. To her, that was where you learned how to be a better person. How can you possibly retain information that is yelled at you week after week?

Weirdly enough, church was one of my favorite places in the world.

For most kids, that place would probably be a noisy and overstimulating playground, but not me. The quiet of church was where I felt I belonged. 

And the best part? I could talk to God without ever saying a single word. A conservation without talking–sign me up. 

As a kid, my prayers to God were fairly simplistic and expected–new toys, for Grandma Hazel to be ok, and to one day see a whale with Chipo by my side. But sometimes other prayers would creep in:

God, will I ever have friends?

Why did you make quiet?

Am I ok just the way I am?

That last question started to come up more frequently as I got older. 

I never expected to get a verbal answer from God. I didn’t believe that was the way He operated. Instead, I sought out signs–visual manifestations of His (potential) answers. 

I never found those either. 

I don’t see God the same way anymore, and I don’t think that’s a bad thing. In fact, it would be sad if my beliefs remained unchanged after everything I’ve been through.

 

A stagnant faith is a dangerous thing. I had no intention to let that danger come to fruition.