I Didn't Tell You

-->A Poem By Me

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

at first

that I stopped believing.

           

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner

that I wasn’t paying attention

to the sermons and lectures and tirades 

about miracles and modesty and gay marriage.

I wasn’t paying attention

because I was reading Ephesians

where Paul says we're chosen

to be like Jesus.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

that I didn’t feel chosen.

You would have explained

that faith isn’t a feeling,

it’s a choice,

like love.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner

that I got angry in Sunday School

when someone said, “Pray for my sister.

She’s started drinking.”

I got angry because I didn’t see

how we had the right to look down

on people with different standards.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

that I hated all the rules.

You would have explained

that being chosen isn’t for everyone,

it’s for the separate,

the beloved.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner

that I stopped reading my Bible

and started writing poems in my journal

and pretending to look at the verses.

I stopped reading because I wasn’t

experiencing a personal relationship

with the words not with Jesus.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

that trying to read it made me sad.

You would have explained that

sometimes God is silent for a bit

to test his children,

to test their faith-choice.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner

that I thought God must be evil,

if he’s really in control,

and there’s so much bad that happens.

I thought God was evil, because

he SAID he would never leave me,

but I FELT so goddamn forsaken.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

that I couldn’t see the beauty in the world.

You might have told me sooner

about the time our family was too broke

to buy milk and bread, and an angel

left groceries on the porch.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner

that it’s easier to believe

that there is no God,

or He’s too far away to trouble with humans.

It’s too hard to believe that tragedies

like Katrina and Nine-Eleven were planned,

caused by a person with a

“greater purpose” in mind.

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you

that I didn’t care about a God who didn’t care.

You might have protested,

but it wouldn’t have made a difference.

You see,
somewhere,

I stopped believing.
I wish I had told you sooner,

but I guess I couldn’t have.

It happened too slowly,

like an engine

running
out
of steam.