It’s Gordon. Again. Um, you know my deal. Of course you do; I’m just saying.
Hmm. Okay. I’m the worst. I mean, I know I’m not the worst; I’m exaggerating. But seriously, I am the worst at some stuff. Definitely. All the little details I miss. Definitely not a detail guy. I would say I’ll try harder but I’m 53 now and we both know I’ve said that many times before. I might just be the sort of person who’s pretty sucky at certain kinds of detail-oriented work and related responsibilities. My shit is definitely not squared away. I know that.
So. Sorry about that I guess. Can we just move on though? Cause I’m getting kind of depressed thinking about it. On to bigger stuff.
And I guess the biggest thing I need to say is that I don’t have any idea if you actually exist or not. And a lot of the time I kind of feel like maybe you don’t.
I know I know. I agree with you. It makes me sad too.
But look, if you are in fact out there somewhere, I wish it were more obvious. Lots of other people seem pretty convinced though. Either on the God team or the no God team, but they seem sure. What are they seeing that I’m missing? But you know it takes a lot before I commit to actually saying I KNOW something. That’s just the way I’m wired. But I kind of think that’s on you a little. It’s a little bit on you. It’s my personality type. I’ve got to think some of that is on you for making me. Or I guess I’d say for making the kind of person that I am a type of person that people can be.
If that makes any sense.
To be honest though, right now, I’m too tired to think about your existence. Whatever. Can I just talk with you like in the old days? Just kind of hang out and chat? If you’re not there this still totally works for me. I like talking to myself. I’ll just sub in for you. And if you are there – listening – even better.
So how am I doing? An honest assessment? REALLY honest this time?
I don’t even know. I’m not doing any of the churchy stuff right now. I mean I go and everything. Maybe twice a month? But I just sit there mostly. Pew sitter. Probably I should do more but oh my God I just really don’t like the churchy stuff right now. I tried really hard to like it for all those years. So if that’s where I’m missing you, that I should just get more involved with church again, I’m gonna need some help. Motivation or something. But unless you like hit me on the head with a brick and make it really obvious, I think I might be tapping out of the church thing for awhile. I might hang out with the Quakers. Do some wandering. Maybe some writing.
Here’s the thing though. And this is THE THING. I never got over you. The thing that gets me is the idea of you. The idea that you exist and you love us and we matter in this universe. The idea that human beings matter beyond our small existence here on the third planet from Sol is such a beautiful idea. That idea just kills me. Devastating. I want it to be true so bad. It really is my favorite idea of all time.
So here’s what I’d like to do. It’s kind of a favor I’m asking. Can I just hang around on the edges of your stuff for awhile? I don’t need to be anyone important with an official title or anything. If I could just be near the edges of the stuff that matters to you. If I could just groove on the beauty of the Cosmos and the idea of you. Maybe talk to people sometimes. Not church people. Not that there’s anything wrong with them. But just regular people. Write stuff sometimes or talk about you with regular people who are also wondering about things like I am. Try to do nice things in your name, maybe every day, to say thank you for my life?
If I could just do that stuff for now instead of the churchy stuff, I think I’d do a lot better with that.
Just if you wouldn’t give up on me. Because I haven’t given up on you.
Ugh. Suddenly I hate everything I’ve said. Forget all of it. Pretend I didn’t say anything. I just want to take a nap. I want to close my eyes and not think about any of this. Except I do like thinking you might watch over me while I sleep.
Okay. I’m heading for the couch.
Goodbye then, from your wayward boy.