Dear God,
Okay, first, full disclosure: I don’t believe You are a You.
Of course, if I’m wrong and You are a You, You already know this—and everything else, for that matter. And if You really are the all powerful You so many people imagine, the one with long white hair sitting on a throne in heaven (wherever that is), maybe You’ve got Your finger raised right now, pondering whether to unleash that lightning bolt and smite me for being insubordinate.https://digitalcommons.butler.edu/onearth/1045/thumbnail.jp

Shoup, Barbara

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Butler UniversityDigital Commons @ Butler UniversityOn Earth As It Is1-1-2011Dear GodBarbara ShoupFollow this and additional works at: http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/onearthPart of the Creative Writing Commons, and the Religion CommonsThis Book is brought to you for free and open access by Digital Commons @ Butler University. It has been accepted for inclusion in On Earth As It Is byan authorized administrator of Digital Commons @ Butler University. For more information, please contact fgaede@butler.edu.Recommended CitationShoup, Barbara, "Dear God" (2011). On Earth As It Is. Book 37.http://digitalcommons.butler.edu/onearth/37HOMEABOUTAUTHORSCONTACTon earth as it isprayer as story, story as prayer   photo by matthew simmons Dear GodBarbara ShoupDear God,Okay, first, full disclosure: I don’t believe You are a You.Of course, if I’m wrong and You are a You, You already know this—and everything else, for thatmatter. And if You really are the all powerful You so many people imagine, the one with long whitehair sitting on a throne in heaven (wherever that is), maybe You’ve got Your finger raised right now,pondering whether to unleash that lightning bolt and smite me for being insubordinate.Or.Maybe You’re thinking, Right on! Finally. Somebody actually using the brain I gave them.And/or.Laughing because, the brain You gave me was faulty. On purpose.In which case, is this all some kind of cosmic game for You? Which would be pretty crappy on Yourpart. Still, I can see how You’d need something to counteract the boring, unrelenting goodness ofheaven.To be fair, I should say that, despite my deep reservations about Your existence, I make use of You.I tell my writing students, “Human beings are not only good or only bad. There are no pure heroes orvillains. It’s way more messy than that. Creating believable characters is like being God. ImagineHim up there in heaven, creating us one-by-one, setting us in motion. Not controlling us, just rootingfor us as we make our way through the world He made. High-fiving St. Peter when we do somethinggood and right.“Doh!” he says, covering his face with his hands when we blow it. When we’re stupid, mean,arrogant, stingy, unforgiving—or worse. Always hoping we’ll do better next time.Maybe this next thought is blasphemous, it probably is—and if so, I apologize. Seriously.But what if You’re just like us—fiction writers, I mean. What if You keep trying and failing to makethe world You imagine in Your mind’s eye here on earth?Like me using the faulty brain You gave me to trick some unanswerable question into a story, hopingagainst hope that the world I make with words will offer up some small thing that helps me betterunderstand the world You made.What if each one of us is a story-in-progress?What if writing a story is a kind of prayer?Not the kind that asks for favors, but the kind that asks a question—the question always being“Why?”For example, You may remember that my sister, Jackie, died of brain cancer a while ago. If you arethat all-powerful You, You decided this would happen to her.When she called to tell me about the diagnosis, she kept saying in a stunned voice, nothing like herown, “But I’m a good person. A good person.”And, as You know, she really, truly was.She was not a religious person. Nor was she an unbeliever. Just one of those live-in-the momentpeople who didn’t think a lot about such things. In any case, she didn’t have the personal relationshipwith You that some people describe, the kind in which prayer is like talking to your dad, asking,wheedling, promising to do…whatever if You will just…whatever.But lots people who claim to know You that way prayed for her.At first they prayed, “Please make Jackie get better”; then, when it became clear that You’d decidedagainst that, “Please don’t let her suffer any more.”During her long illness, at her funeral, they said:God always knows what’s best for us.(Brain cancer? Please.)God never gives us more than we can handle.(But Jackie so could not handle it, God. She lived in terror from the moment of her diagnosis till thehospice nurse gave her enough morphine so that she could finally just slip away. The rest of us didn’thandle it all that well either. We still aren’t.)God works in mysterious ways.(Total cop-out.)It’s God’s will.(Which, I have to say, made me freaking furious every single time and made me want to grabwhoever said it and shake the shit out of them, then get right in his or her face and say betweenclenched teeth, “That is the stupidest, most condescending, thoughtless and annoying thing you couldpossibly say. Even if it’s true do you actually believe it’s acceptable for God to treat my sister thisway—or anyone, for that matter.)It’s making me freaking furious all over again, writing about it now.Because, let me tell You, God, it will soon be ten years since I got that awful call from my sister and,as far as I can tell, nothing but heartbreak has come from what You made happen to her.Just last night I went to the wedding of the daughter of some good friends. We’ve known the bridesince she was a little girl, watched her grow into a gawky teenager, and rooted for her as shestruggled in those first years after college, trying to find herself, longing for love. Tall, willowy,radiant, she was a picture of happiness in her beautiful gown. After the ceremony, she danced thetraditional first dance with her new husband. She danced with her dad. I felt so happy, watchingthem.Then the groom danced with his mother.And it hit me. Jackie won’t be there to dance with her son Sam when he gets married this summerand, God, my heart cracked in a whole new place.I don’t know. Maybe You feel as bad about this as I do. Maybe when you were writing the story ofJackie, brain cancer just came into it and there was nothing you could do. (That happens withstories, I know.) Maybe you watched it all come down just as I did, hoping for a better, happierending even knowing how unlikely that would be.But all this is no more than a flight of imagination because, as I disclosed earlier, I don’t believe inYou.I believe if there is such a thing as God, He, She, It is nothing like us at all—but so vast andamorphous and truly strange that wouldn’t even have a name. Nothing in our experience of beinghuman would make it possible for us define it.Here I am talking to You, though—and I have to admit it does feel like I’m talking to Someone. Gofigure.As usual, wrestling with that faulty brain has left me in a muddle. As usual, I conclude that all I cando is to keep on writing stories, keep on hoping that each one of them will answer some part thequestion, Why?If You are a You, please receive them as prayers.If You’re not the kind of god equipped to receive anything from us, personally, or if there’s no godat all, nothing but us, and life is no more than some random quirk in the universe, I’ll keep writingthem anyway.Because I can’t not write and stay even a little bit sane in this crazy world.Because one of the few things I believe absolutely is that what we learn, what we share telling storiesabout life on this earth matters more than we can ever know. Barbara Shoup is the author of six novels and co-author of two books about the creative process. Hershort fiction, poetry, essays, and interviews have appeared in numerous small magazines, as well as in TheWriter and The New York Times Travel Section. Currently, she is the executive director of the Writers’Center of Indiana and an associate faculty member at Indiana University-Purdue University at Indianapolis.<---Next Previous--->   Copyright ? 2010 by On Earth As It Is.

Dear God

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