God is a Deserter

I wasn’t born to God. I was not raised in the Lord’s home, nor did I enter it and stay. Instead, I believe my life- the very pulse rushing blood to and fro this body of mine- serendipitously occurred on a cold winter night. The Bible finds my belief absurd, it preaches that the Lord himself wrote my name in his book and planned the very words I write at this moment on an even colder eternal night a universe ago. I’ve always wished this were truth. My mother is a different woman, however. She grew up in a Godly home, fasting until prayer every sunrise of her youth. This was true until God killed her parents, or so the Bible leads us to believe. Orphaned at 13 poses a spiritual dilemma to even the most loyal of Christians. She ran away from the Lord’s home that day and has yet to return since.

She did not raise me in these ways, and for years I’d resent her for it. While this is the God who orphaned her, the God who saw her infinite misfortune, the God who forsook her, he is also the God who forsakes me. It is much easier to curse God than serendipity. When serendipity saw that I lose three years to a man who would shout profanities at me, bruise my pale flesh, and rip my hymen to his pleasure, I begged for God. I resented a mother who forsook the God that had forsaken her, because now I was forsaken of a sky to shout at, a Bible to cry over, and a church to cleanse me.

I never elected serendipity, God had forsaken me from my very creation in my mother's womb.