Him

Prose and a sort of... Improv bit of writing, I suppose.

I went to church today. The thought has struck me, and it won't leave. Imperfection. That He is not all powerful. That He makes mistakes. Because I don't see the point of perfection. Perfection is boring. Perfection is inhuman. Why would a perfect being care about us? 

I used to be Atheist. For a long time... Nine years? But it won't leave my head. Imperfection. And I don't know exactly what it means, and I don't know how it will change who I am. Maybe I just need a rock? Because though He's imperfect, He loves us for who we are. So I don't want to disappoint Him anymore. 

I haven't told my family. Not even Dad. I don't even know if I truly believe what I'm thinking. I've only told my closest friends... 

I must be an idiot, writing about such things. But I thought if I put it down, it might become clearer. The clarity only reveals all the grey, though. Some clarity! It only makes me less sure about the way I perceive Him. About my lifestyle. About my habits. About myself. 

I just want something to strive for. And I'm reaching. But I'm afraid if I lean too hard on anything, it'll crumble beneath me, like ash. Like a barn who's timbers have rotted through. They say He is their rock. Is He my rock too? I don't know. How can I ever know? 

I thought - when I was an atheist - that it was because I hated Him. And I didn't want to hate. But now, he's no longer omnipotent. There's Imperfection. But there's love too, endless love. Boundless love. And a hope that comes with that, too. I feel like... Like he's actually my father. Like I want to make him proud. 

I don't know if He will crumble to dust, or if I will be travelling the right paths. I don't really know what defines me anymore. But I suppose I have a rock of sorts. And Imperfection. Lots of Imperfection.