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I Could: A Prayer of Frustration and Thanks

“Where did you come from, God?”

Before I emerged,

before we all emerged,

there was you.

Shall we simply

chalk this complexity

up to mystery?

“Don’t try to outthink God,” the older folks say.

“Don’t let learning destroy your faith,” they warn.

I have been forbidden by my elders

from even entertaining the question.

It’s as if my inquiry marks me as an outsider,

marks me as having been cursed with

being too smart for my own good.

Yet, I’ve never felt, God, that when I speak,

especially when I ask questions,

that you are afraid or offended

or too small. I’ve never felt, God,

that my curiosity is somehow

a threat to your sovereignty.

I could, of course, avoid asking.

I could play it safe.

I could check my brain at the door.

I could cease caring.

I could dismiss wonder.

I could.

But your existence is




So, I won’t.

And so it is with prayer,

this dance of listening to you within,

responding, and listening again,

this conversation-response ad infinitum,

is complex and not at all

simple or simplistic.

Like you, it has never not been and

most insane of all: you invite me in.

I know the so-called “correct” answer to

“Where did you come from, God?”

is something like

“Nowhere. God has always been.”

Okay. Fine.

But that only raises more questions.

And I shall keep studying

and asking

and praying

and searching.

Because I’m thankful for such questions

and how you’ve always used them

to draw me deeper into

your mysteries

and the mystery that is you.

Thank you for such gifts.

I know where they come from, God.

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