Dear God of Lampposts

Dear God of Lampposts
Oh! How tall and how bright you are!
As a child, I looked up to you.
Now, as an adult,
I still look up to you.
From your perspective
it must have seemed like I was small
and then, all of a sudden,
I was still small.

In church they told me
that God would hear my prayers
in Heaven,
even though it was far away
and my voice wasn’t very loud.

I imagined Heaven as bright
and shiny like a lamppost.
Maybe every lamppost has a heaven
inside of it.
You can’t see Heaven,
but you can see lampposts,
so I prayed to the lamppost
outside my window
as though it was God.

A lamppost, though, is more reliable than God.
You can stop believing in a lamppost
but it’s still there, refuting your logic.

It’s funny
how you can lose a god,
then find a god,

Then lose god again.
I only recently rediscovered you,
dear God of Lampposts,
by driving my car directly into you.

How graciously you accepted
my automobile’s hug
while standing there
as you always have
shining your light down upon me
so that all could bear witness
as I drunk stumbled from my car
to assess the damage.

After walking a line
and standing on one foot,
the cop said I was free to go.
I knew it was your grace beaming down upon me.
Literally,
beaming down upon me.

Everyday I walk by you
on my way to the bus stop
and you just stand there
upright, unbending
as though nothing happened at all.

I guess
that’s how people stop believing in gods

I would say Amen right now
but I hate you
and I don’t believe you exist.

Amen.

 

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