Do You Pray? Why? and What For?
A treatise for an exhausted Deity and what to do about it
The small line of childish items sat on my narrow window sill, right next to where the dense, thick fragrance of the gardenia bush floated through the screen and into my small bedroom.
I had laid them out when I had gone to bed, just for God. If there was a God, I thought, He would take these things and they would be gone in the morning.
As the night progress, from my twin bed I could see the bluish moonlight touch on my little things. They weren’t my best things. They were a test offering.
I wanted to give God a shot. See if He would take my gifts, the way you might entice a squirrel to come to my hand for a few peanuts.
In truth I wanted God to show up and land in my hand like Tinkerbell.
God failed the test. He didn’t bite. My cracked marbles and the busted Barbie head lay where they were placed, now with a thin film of Florida dew.
I knew that God didn’t exist because He couldn’t be enticed to take my second-best offerings.
It would be while before I figured out that at least for me, an Invisible (WHITE MAN) in the sky was a very effective scam, and that most organized religion was even worse. Something was afoot.