Sunday: Prayer
Aug. 26th, 2009 01:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spongetastic"...You know when you pray, you are heard, if not by God, then by yourself. When you pray, you tell yourself what you truly want, what you really need. And once you know these things, you can do nothing but go after them."-Helen Oyeyemi.
The last time he stood at an altar was when he was a teenager. The moment he graduated and went off to college, Peter slowly drifted away from the church scene. He still held onto his beliefs; he just didn't observe them in a public forum. But for a long time now he felt lost. He could think of no other place to go for direction than a church.
Peter stood before the altar, eyes lifting up to look on the face of Christ. He lit a candle and made the sign of the cross just as he was taught. His mother was sitting in a pew with her head bowed. Peter needed to be closer when he talked with God. Maybe then, he would be heard.
"I asked to be extraordinary," he said quietly. "But I promised I would use my powers to help people. So when I got the chance, I lived up to my end of the bargain. I think it's about time you live up to yours. Just... show up, okay? I've been fighting for so long and I'm tired."
Peter closed his eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath. When he was a child they taught certain prayers. The Hail Mary, the Lord's Prayer... even back then Peter didn't believe those held nearly as much meaning as ones made from the heart.
"Are you listening?" Peter asked, his eyes moving back up to Christ. "Do you even care? Can't you see them out there? They need your help! Are you just going to watch them suffer?" The anger boiled in him the longer he talked. And he felt he had every right to be angry with God. Why would God give him such an amazing ability, only to have it be torn away?
God's Word said that if someone had faith as small as a mustard seed, you could say to a mountain "move" and it would do so. Maybe he didn't go to church every week but surely his faith was strong enough?
"Please," he whispered. "I'm tired of all this. I'm tired of fighting; I'm tired of running. I'm just... tired. We need you down here." It wasn't like he was expecting a bush to burst into flames or for a giant finger to write on the wall. But Peter didn't even feel that peace in his heart that sometimes came after a prayer.
"If you're not going to do anything, then I guess it's up to me," Peter said. "Someone has to be the hero."
The last time he stood at an altar was when he was a teenager. The moment he graduated and went off to college, Peter slowly drifted away from the church scene. He still held onto his beliefs; he just didn't observe them in a public forum. But for a long time now he felt lost. He could think of no other place to go for direction than a church.
Peter stood before the altar, eyes lifting up to look on the face of Christ. He lit a candle and made the sign of the cross just as he was taught. His mother was sitting in a pew with her head bowed. Peter needed to be closer when he talked with God. Maybe then, he would be heard.
"I asked to be extraordinary," he said quietly. "But I promised I would use my powers to help people. So when I got the chance, I lived up to my end of the bargain. I think it's about time you live up to yours. Just... show up, okay? I've been fighting for so long and I'm tired."
Peter closed his eyes for a moment, taking a slow breath. When he was a child they taught certain prayers. The Hail Mary, the Lord's Prayer... even back then Peter didn't believe those held nearly as much meaning as ones made from the heart.
"Are you listening?" Peter asked, his eyes moving back up to Christ. "Do you even care? Can't you see them out there? They need your help! Are you just going to watch them suffer?" The anger boiled in him the longer he talked. And he felt he had every right to be angry with God. Why would God give him such an amazing ability, only to have it be torn away?
God's Word said that if someone had faith as small as a mustard seed, you could say to a mountain "move" and it would do so. Maybe he didn't go to church every week but surely his faith was strong enough?
"Please," he whispered. "I'm tired of all this. I'm tired of fighting; I'm tired of running. I'm just... tired. We need you down here." It wasn't like he was expecting a bush to burst into flames or for a giant finger to write on the wall. But Peter didn't even feel that peace in his heart that sometimes came after a prayer.
"If you're not going to do anything, then I guess it's up to me," Peter said. "Someone has to be the hero."