Brilliant … But Bouncy

Wait, Did I Say My Prayers?

My relationship with God took a long hiatus between the ages of 18 and 28.

I started out in church, like so many people do, which I did not enjoy. My parents were both raised by very religious parents – my non-alcoholic grandfather was a minister – so I ended up in church by default. I think most kids are raised in whatever culture their parents provide. I spent a lot of time coloring while stuck in a pew, and if Sunday School was available, I was there. “God” was just a given.

No one asked me what I believed; I memorized the Ten Commandments in Sunday School and the order of the Bible books. I learned how to sing about letting my little light shine, and the music is what I liked best.

I believed everything I was told. I admired David and his bravery, taking out the Jolly Green Giant. I had a little crush on Samson with his long hair. I was awestruck by Noah saving all those animals from sure disaster: a 40-day flood that covered the earth. I neglected to wonder what happened to all the people during the flood, even though that’s probably the moral of the story.

But at some point, I started to question the existence of God. I asked my youth minister about it, who tried to explain the concept of faith. But it sounded like hooey. How could you know something you don’t actually know?

Religion was never my cup of tea, but I’d always said my nightly prayers. I was still saying them – quietly, so as not to let my roommate know – when I was a freshman in college. My prayers were fairly basic; I think they even rhymed. I’m not sure to whom I was speaking, but if there was a God, I figured I could benefit from some of His attention.

Then I started drinking so much that sometimes I would pass out without saying any prayers at night. And when I woke up I’d think, Wait, did I say my prayers? And then I’d feel guilty if I couldn’t remember saying them.

Then I took a class simply called “The Bible” in college. For homework once, we read two stories from different books of the Bible. Each told the same story from a different perspective – and they were totally different! Maybe this assignment was meant to show how people’s perceptions differ – but it taught me that I couldn’t believe what I’d been taught my whole life. Someone, somewhere was lying.

My prayers really shortened themselves after that.

I didn’t know then that I could believe in God without believing in the Bible. I’d thought they were the same.

So one evening, when I was getting ready to go out drinking, I wrote a little note to God. I was big on writing poems when I drank, all of them dreadful, but I wrote this poem sober.

It said:

And that was it. I wrote it carefully and sincerely in the fall of 1982.

Then I tucked it away and didn’t think about God again until 1987.