the process, pt. one

I was hesitant to post this poem because I was afraid people would get worried about me, like I’m losing my faith. But honestly I have nothing else to say. Let it be. I’m journeying into deeper feeling and deeper honesty in the wake of death and tragedy, and I still long to believe in a God who welcomes that. The God of Psalm 22. So here is honesty. 

I sit here in the morning sun 

Flowers blooming 

Birds chirping 

Blue sky 

And I scowl at the sky

Disgusted by the birds 

Angry at every flower 

What is this God?

What kind of cruel joke? 

How can you who makes 

Beautiful things

Allow this? 

How can the God of perfection

Bide his time 

While tragedy and misery 

Run rampant below? 

You can do anything, 

Everything,

And you’re choosing this?

What kind of God are you?

I have felt your intimacy before

I have trusted you before 

I have said “It is well” 

So many times 

But this morning it feels 

Like a slap in the face 

Like I don’t really know you at all