When I think of God, this is the image that pops into my head. I have pictured Him like this since I was a kid. An old man with a beard and a white robe. Sitting on a cloud, watching me. Picturing Him like this might seem childish, but at least I am picturing Him. So don’t judge me monkey.
We all have our own way of looking at things, especially if its a hard concept to wrap our itty bitty minds around. When I attended parochial school back in the day,the bible stories were so far fetched, I had a difficult time believing. But I accepted what I was taught, and tried to be a good little Catholic girl. I went to mass, said my prayers, made my first Communion, and joined the rosary club. But was I just going through the motions? A part of me was. The other part was trying to find my God. That part of me is still searching.
I started to question His very existence after my father died. I was an angry, pissed off kid. How could the good, loving God that I had learned about my entire life be so cruel, taking away the human being I loved the most in this world? What did I do to deserve such pain? It didn’t seem fair. I turned my back on the whole thing, although I never fully denounced God himself. I had my vision of Him, the old man with the robe.
I had a friend at my old job, the sweetest women. We had some deep conversations about almost every topic you could think of. She was a devout Christian. She even gave me some pamphlets. I read them. I researched. I did some deep thinking. Yet I still have not found what I have been looking for all these years. For some reason it eludes me. That “ah ha!” moment.
I still pray. I believe there is a God, a higher power. He doesn’t rule over my thoughts, though. I try to be a decent human being. I believe in love, peace, general good will. I believe there must be a heaven. I believe in angels.
No matter how I picture God, I do. That has to count for something.