I stand humbly before God in prayer. The illusion of the life I live fades to the background. In a crowded building, it’s just him and me. I come to him with my pride, sin, and delusions of perfection in tow, and he is there, blinding me with his flawless beauty. Just one look, and I’m stunned. Could I really be so rusty? Could I really be so fallen? Could a God with such brilliance really love me enough to create me, to sustain me, and to save me?
Day go by where we don’t communicate. And each passing hour I try to avoid his gaze, I slowly forget what it’s like to be human. Each day I’m one step closer to self-destructing, a landmine of flaws. It’s my own fault that’s when I decide cry out to him.
A moment of doubt turns into a lack of faith. A lack of faith turns into a lifestyle change. A lifestyle change turns into unbelief. The cycle continues until met with uncontrollable destruction.
I can’t let that happen to me. My faith means too much. So I offer an apology.
“I’m sorry God. I’m sorry I ever tried to control things myself.”
He says, “I forgave you long ago.”
I feel brave, so I ask him the question that’s been haunting me since childhood.
“But God, how do I know you created me? How do I know I’m not making this all up?”
He replies: “You’re here, aren’t you?”
Word count: 248
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