God doesn’t give a shit about your job profile or whether you stuttered in front of the audience of 100 that was assembled. and yet, he cares most deeply about what you care most about.
it doesn’t matter to him if you passed 6th grade or not or whether you are an Olympic level athlete. what matters to him is- are you alright? are you happy? and how can he best hold your grieving heart in the moments you offer it to him.
it concerns him least how other people see you or what they think of you. all he knows is- the ultra-fucked up neon color you wear really brings out the kaleidoscope-disco-light of your soul, and the summer dress that you wear falls as soft on your shoulders as a feather falls in the cradle of a flower’s blossom.
he doesn’t care to look at the CV you’ve struggled so much to build. all he wants to know is- how have you built your life? are you happy with it? if not, what can you and him do together, as a team, about it?
he hardly notices that you haven’t waxed your arms or developed those abs as of yet. to him, the more flawed you are, the more real and lovable you are.
he isn’t afraid of the questions you tuck under your pillow at night and the chaos you carry like a whole universe, alone, on your shoulders. it only pains him when you forget that he’s here to answer those questions (heck, that he wants to answer those questions) and shoulder that weight along with you.
he isn’t afraid to show up at your door day after day after day with roses and your favorite pizza topping and a love letter for you to read at night. it only saddens him when you believe you deserve none of this and hence, never even dare to show up for it and ask for it.
he doesn’t judge your worth by the amount of money you have in your bank account or how many people you have following you. to him, you are already worthy. and every day he prays (to himself) that you realize this as soon as you can.
and if it is true that we fashion our own Gods, that we ourselves assign whatever traits we say he has,
why do we not believe in a God who actually uplifts us?
a God who isn’t a strict parent or an examinations in-charge, ready with a marksheet to judge us, but a living, breathing entity, who only seeks to love us evermore?
why do we not believe in a God who, instead of always punishing us and making us suffer, only wants to bless us infinitely? and only wants our open hands to receive those blessings?
why do we not tell tales of a God who loves to celebrate and sing and dance just as much as we do?
why do we not allow in a God, in our hearts and in our minds, who is actually here to accept us and love us- stinky morning breath and all?
why do we not mold such a God with our bare hands and keep him in temples and paint him on stained-church-glass-windows? the same way we have kept alive another god all these years.
why does the God i am told about have to be so cold and remote and another thing to make me feel even more alone in this already vast universe? why do i have to clear a certain set of criteria before i can even pray to him?
why does he have to think that period blood is impure when he himself imbued me with this power of creation?
why do i have to feel like he isn’t ever available or won’t even listen to me because my problems are too petty and my dreams too cosmic for him to handle?
why can’t i have a God of fullness and healing and creativity and goodness? why does he have to lead wars and be concerned about categorizing people as heaven-worthy and hell-worthy, as good-enough and not-good-enough? why can’t he be a God of forgiveness? why can’t he be a God who listens and talks back?
why can’t i have a simple God, a beautiful God?
a God with a face as familiar to me as my own.
a God that, wherever i go, always feels like home and a warm, warm blanket on a cold winter’s night.