I thought I was a non-believer.
But, I begged; I pleaded.
I assumed my faith had long crumbled. I promised myself that I wouldn’t pray, as life got worse, as it certainly would. I vowed to myself that I would live it without pining for divine help or assistance. I assumed I could find my way. I would struggle I was sure, but I would wobble along. And wobbling was fine for the most part.
Many stubborn years later, I entered the church to kneel before God. I begged him to stop these tests, to put an end to my bankruptcy, to breathe some life into me. I searched my heart to feel a connection to him, to these words I formed inside my mind. But a deep sense of fear coated these words. If he existed and if he listened closely, he would see it too. But, I asked for forgiveness and begged for his attention. I was positive he wouldn’t believe me and I was positive I was just voicing my insecurities. Yet, I had completely lost faith in myself. I felt the urge to turn to someone else. I needed, craved for someone else to share the blame with.
I have fallen, far deeper than the faithful fall. For, I was a non-believer.
I felt gutted. I didn’t believe; yet I prayed.