Thursday, June 5, 2008


I go to church maybe 3 or 4 times a year now. Easter, definitely. Probably on Thanksgiving. And a couple other times when the urge hits me.

I was raised going to church every week, sometimes twice a week. And for a while, I knew God was with me. And then in college, there was no church of my denomination, so I only went when I was at my parents’ home.

Then, when I moved to L.A., I grabbed onto church because it was the one place I knew I would be accepted, where there would be nice people I could talk to. (And at work, needing to be at church on Sunday was a joke.) But once I made friends, using church as a social circle became less necessary, and I started to wonder if I even believed in God. Was it all a hoax? I mean, surely, believing in God makes me feel better. Why wouldn’t an all-knowing parent loving and looking out for me make me feel better? But is he/she real?

There’s a line in a movie -- Bless the Child that goes,
-“I’m not sure if I believe in that kind of thing.”
-“Oh, that don't matter. It's there if you believe or not believe. It don't care.”

So, right now, when that feeling is kicking me in the gut that despite our current situation of M still not working and his feeling that he’s *not* going to get the job we hoped he would, that things will be okay—I think that’s God. When the feeling that’s hitting me over the head again and again. “You have this idea for a book. Why aren’t you writing it?” “Remember you had this idea for a screenplay. Where is it?” Something tells me I need to write. And I think that something may be God. I don’t know if that’s prayer or not, but it’s close.

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