If the blood falls from me
where does it land?
Where does the river flow,
and if God could touch it,
would it run clear?
If God could touch me,
would I become pure?
If God could touch me,
If God could reach me,
then let him.
I haven't seen Him yet.
Has He even tried?
Or is He sitting on a Golden Throne
Of titled justice,
reaching down to us mortals,
delivering healing, or
meting out death?
Let me say that I am a Christian. How I came about being one is a long story and has nothing to do with my family of origin, unless you count them sort of being part of my need for God. I am not discounting God in this poem. My faith is as strong as ever, and honestly keeps me alive some days. A lot of days. But I have learned through the help of two trusted pastors that I have worked with that it is okay to question. It is by questioning things that we grow. Our faith is not exempt from that. I know that God can heal people. What I question is why he hasn't healed me. ANd yes, there is anger there. I have written a letter to Him expressing that anger. And no, a lightening bolt did not strike me dead when I wrote that. We are human, and we cannot deny our emotions. It is what we do with them that matters. So although I may have questions, I don't turn away from my faith, I search within my faith, and this allows me to grow.