I remember the day I
found God, when I was sitting around in the darkness upset about yesterday. I
felt this sudden, divine force as she dusted me off and placed my feet on solid
ground. I couldn’t figure out what God was, but she placed a pencil down on a
table in the darkness and told me to “Sit down and write.” And so, I began. She
then told me that I needed to unshackle those chains of past guilt and
worry. I didn’t really know what I
was writing or why I was writing it. Suddenly, the pen changed into a key and
it just so happened to be the right-sized key to unlock the chains I carried. When
I looked up to see where God was, she had left me in the darkness, alone…so, I
thought. Then, I looked down to the notepad I was writing on and I was
surprised that I had no idea that I had written the word “future” on it. It was
clear that God had given me this ability, this part of her. I recognized that
using this ability was my way of staying connected to God. The key. So now,
focused on the present, I sit down and write.
It’s forgettable- the number of times I was called a “fucking faggot” as a kid. As a former child of god, I wasn’t expected to know what those words meant. I was taught that repentance was vital to achieving everlasting life. My momma made me go to church every Sunday. I said my prayers as I was told. But I eventually learned that Catholicism was never my sanctuary. Christianity was never my safe-haven. God never stopped the cheap shots. He never once prevented the harassment or pure embarrassment that I felt from the words of my “kin in Christ.” Now, picture me- a helpless faggot, blinded by the incandescent lights of an old catholic church. I was home from college spending Spring Break in my former hellscape. So, naturally, my momma yet again made me go to church. This time, on a Wednesday. It was Ash Wednesday. When I was among the folks from home, I felt out of place. So much that I’d imagine camouflaging myself. Like saber-tooth in hiding. But the difference? I had a far mo...
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