Maybe I’m better broken. ‘Cause I remember me before. And I don’t even know how it happened, really, but I have a theory.

Let me start by saying that it would totally ironic if God isn’t in this, because the whole point of writing is always, always, always to please him. I mean, yeah, it’s fun, it’s challenging, it’s supposed to be entertaining and informative, but if God isn’t in it, what’s the point?

When I wrote my first short story at six, I wasn’t even thinking about God. I can’t remember if I knew about him yet or not. I also didn’t know about abuse, rejection, bullying, or any of the other things that would color the opinion I had of myself and the world. Those things shaped me. Or bent me out of shape.

Other ingredients got added to the recipe that finally made up ME. Writing, the love of family, developing good and lasting friendships, music, movies, books…  But the dough was unalterably soured. 

So I hid behind my hair and lived in a fantasy world, started experimenting with different personalities to see if one of them would be acceptable. I sat in trees and smoked cigarettes and dreamed of being someone tougher, prettier, with big brothers to protect me. I wondered if I was from another planet sometimes. I hoped so. I longed for the mother ship to return to Earth and rescue me.

Then I grew up and had children of my own. By then I had heard a little bit about God and he seemed pretty cool. After a lot of trauma, in fact, I put my life in his hands to see what he might make out of it. 

Then I went wandering off. I thought I’d go back someday, but I was headed for adventure, and God was in my rear view mirror.

A reject walks into the mall and tries on a really short skirt. She timidly wears it out to some clubs and gets so much attention that it inflates her ego to the size of Texas. The ego begins to wreak havoc that goes on for years. She can’t go back to being that reject she once was.

And here’s what’s weird about the super sexual wild woman who left the church for the bar life: one day she stumbles over God again, only this time, she finds a way to make him fit into a mold of her own making. Even when she scans the bible, she finds verses that tickle her ears and gives credence to her now Native American/New Age/Christian belief system.

My lord, she is smart! How can these numb skull Christians look down on her beliefs when they are clearly on the pages of the bible. Look! Here and here and here! I’ll show you! I’ll write a book that will put you all to shame. I’ll teach you all about the truth. I’ll show you how unloving and unkind it is to criticize my way of life. I have a connection with God that you only wish you had! We’re buds, God and me. Surely you can see that?! Don’t they realize how super spiritual I am?

Hello, God? Where are you, anyhow? My heart is broken and I’m grieving and scared. Are you testing me?

God, it’s me again. I feel so cold and alone. Where are you, anyhow?

Lord, don’t you see what’s going on? Don’t you see me going through all of this hard stuff? I can’t bear it! WHERE ARE YOU?

I hate you! I hate you for letting me suffer all the time. What kind of a loving person, with all the power there is, would allow this to go on and on and on?

Hello… God? I’m sorry for what I said. I know you want to grow me. I just can’t figure out where you are, and I’m scared. I know what the bible says about you not giving up on me or leaving. But why do you have to feel so far away?

Lord…I’m broken. I can’t do this without you. I can’t even want to. I can’t like you. I can’t love you anymore. I can’t get out of bed. I can’t imagine a good future. I need you to change me. 


Yes, Lord?

That’s what I was waiting for. Now let’s get to work.



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