“Are you there God?
It’s me, Margaret.”
Those two lines have stuck with me for years.
From my Judy Bloom period, it has now changed gears.
Here was this girl looking for help.
She was crying for an answer.
Far from a yelp,
Yet as easily anxious like a fast-settling cancer.
I did what she did.
I sat in a ball.
Closed both eyelids,
And leaned on the wall.
“Are you there God?”
“Can you here me?”
Awaiting to be awed.
Forever uncertain of what I would see.
I sat there and pleaded my plea.
I used to do that years ago,
Mainly because it felt right.
I figured God would eventually bestow,
A light to brighten my night.
But who was I to expect some sort of sign?
We see that in movies;
We see that define,
Our very image of God.
No mater how flawed.
I don’t look at these two lines the same way as I used to.
I’ll sit up straight and talk to God.
And I tell him of what I’ve been through,
Even though he surely knew.
I don’t expect for my troubles to wane,
But I detect His presence in the midst of my pain.
So when I say, “Are you there God, it’s me Rebecca here,”
I know His presence when the thickness hits the air.