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I don’t even believe in you,
but I feel safe here.
Safe under your wing, so to speak.
Leaning against the stained glass.
Jesus Christ stands right in the center,
arms open.
Are they open to people that don’t believe?
Are they open to me?
Door’s locked.
Does that answer my question?
I clasp my hands in a knot anyway,
set my eyes on the yellow street lamp
illuminating the church
in the 1:00 AM darkness.
The light somehow makes this November night
not so cold anymore.
Sitting on the welcome mat
I start to pray.
A prayer can be heard from inside a church
and beyond its doors, right?
I tell you I’m ashamed and I ask you why,
“Why God, why can’t I be satisfied with my life?”
I tell you exactly what I don’t want to hear,
“God, I have everything I’ve ever wanted.
Only a year ago I was alone in my bed praying to you,
praying that love would find me.
Praying to find the strength to stop the pain.
I know, very well, that I have everything I’ve asked for.
I attain it ALL.
And more.
So, please, God…
please help me understand why I am STILL unsatisfied.
I am SO scared I’ll never be happy with my life.
I’m scared I’m ungrateful.
And I’m not sure what feels worse;
being alone, feeling so hopeless toward happiness,
wishing and praying everynight,
through sobs and tears,
that someone, ANYONE, will come and save me…
praying someone will love me,
truely love me…
Or
attaining exactly that…
and still feeling hopeless.”
I half expect a loud voice to tell me that I am,
indeed,
ungrateful.
But there is no voice.
Nothing and no one says anything to me.
Only silence answers my cries.
Silence and the sound of soft rain trickling on the cement around me.
I am, once again, left alone with myself and my thoughts.
And though usually I would feel disappointed and empty,
I find comfort in the silence.
I feel relieved that no one is telling me what they think I should do.
I feel relieved that no one is trying to give me advise
on what they’ll never understand.
And I feel comfort with realizing that the only person I was ever praying to,
this entire time,
was myself.
Right now I feel safe.
I tell myself,
“Remember reading, in a novel, that Liz discovered something special?
Something special and simple.
She discovered that even after everyone has left her,
when she is alone and doesn’t know what to do,
when she feels hopeless and has no one to talk to,
no one to comfort her or love her,
she can always rely on one person to always be there for her
when she needs her.
She believes that there is a wise and fulfilled woman
who has already gone through everything that she is now confronted with.
She believes that this woman can be reached at any moment,
at any time for whatever reason.
She reaches this woman by simply talking to her.
This woman always replies with assurance and encouragement,
and this woman always loves her. 
She believes this woman is herself.”

And that is exactly what I am doing now.
I am praying to myself.
I realize that I don’t need anyone to say assuring and
encouraging words to me,
I can say them to myself.
I can call on myself whenever I need to.
I can ask myself for advise because I really am the only one
who truely understands how I feel.
Only I know what I need to do.
Why would I ask anyone else?
I understand it is not fair to expect
anyone else, other than me, to make me happy.
It’s not fair to expect anything from anyone.
I know I need to lower the people I love
from the pedestal I hold them on.
It’s not fair to assume they enjoy the view from up there,
and also a little cruel to keep them there
even after I’ve noticed
their discomfort.
It is a choice for someone to be with me.
A choice for someone to stay with me.
A conscious choice.
At this moment I feel privileged
that someone has made the choice to love me.
I am nearly asleep on God’s doorstep
when “a voice” tells me to go home
to the person I hold highest.
I rise to my feet and turn to face
the man trapped inside the stained glass.
I tell him,
I don’t even believe in you,
but I feel safe here.
And now I’m going home.