How do I tell about God? I wondered, staring idly out of the church window. Outside, the clouds were sneezing a cold, dreary mist onto a world waiting for spring. The choir was practicing in the background, slightly off key, and my mind kept wandering away. My crotchety gray cat climbed out of my imagination and curled up on my lap, twitching an ear in annoyance.
How do you keep a wave upon the sand? Just as impossible to pin down. Do I have to? Not particularly. I sighed, curling around my coffee cup. The gray cat muttered as I settled again. Faith was complicated, unable to be stuck down by pretty little words. Ah well.
I wasn't too fussed about it. I knew about my faith, even if I couldn't define it. But did I need it for the story? "What do you think?" I asked the gray cat but he was asleep, or pretending. This is the story of the ten thousand steps it takes to get back again, and God has a part in there. But how to tell it? I thought of my bumbling, clumsy attempts to explain my thoughts to a Christian boyfriend, and exactly how well that went (read, not at all). Part of me doesn't want to tell anybody anything, because the story's too long and the words just don't fit.
Part of me just doesn't want to get hurt again for being different. Therefore, I shall sneak up on the subject slowly, come upon it sideways. The gray cat purred his content, for he has a place in the story too.
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