I wonder if we do it to ourselves. "To death do us part", we say, as if that's supposed to be comforting.

Is it a curse or a prayer? 

I think back to the years of Bible-Presbyterian instruction - maybe a decade of it. If I had gotten a head start on all those ancient philosophers maybe I could have filled the rustle of the sanctuary with something other than a longing to fit in, at desperate odds with the building hum of something that came from within that wasn't Christ Our Lord and Savior, living in my heart. It makes me sad to think of how earnest I was, trying to focus on divine, inherent good as a seven-year-old. I wish I had seen through it, spent those hours considering what and who we were, how far the songs chosen, verses read, shaped the world. If I had considered that the inherent good that was spoken of was as solid as the Holy Ghost, if I didn't feel like the only person there this faith thing wasn't working for, as a fifteen-year-old. Faith like as small as a mustard seed was the standard. For years I believed, I walked with God, I prayed every day. I kept a prayer journal. 

Perhaps I had chosen the wrong words. If I had said, "Dear God, I was hoping you could tell me about love. Can you send me a sign that my mother loves me?" If he had said nothing, perhaps I would have believed in him and given him some credit. At least I could say he was merciful. The thought that cast me into some pigs and sent me off a cliff (see Matt 8:28-32, Mark 5:1-20, Luke 8:26-39) was this - God could be only be any two out of the three things that they said he was. All-loving, all-knowing and all-powerful. An all-loving god that was all-powerful but not all-knowing could let awful things happen. A god who was not all-loving but was omnipotent and omnipresent honestly sounded like the dude in charge, that I could buy. A god that was all-loving, all-knowing but not all-powerful would also account for the world order I saw as a teenager. It certainly made a lot more sense than the quick-fix "faith!" counterargument I was offered by adults and peers alike.

Things I didn't think in the pews that I think I would think now - What's the difference between a wedding and a funeral in this place? In a funeral, at least one person is happy. At the more upbeat event you get to drink indoors! Jokes aside, I wonder if they are just different unions.

I want to ask my dad "What made you think my mother was capable of giving and receiving love? At what point did you think you were most definitely wrong? Have you reached this point yet?" The truth is, I think he doesn't care any more. He has love to give, but no expectation that she can receive it, so it does not matter to him either way. I feel sad for my dad, but only because I think I have finally started to have extremely trusting and truthful conversations with him. He had texted my mother saying something like "I am weary of the world and I wish I was more optimistic", and she had confronted him and told him not to bother her with his troubles. Things escalated, he said, and only those who have survived rooms and conversations with her will understand just how exhausting, chilling and gut-wrenching it is. He said to her, "If I take my life, you can take the credit." 

In a different world I would be worried. In this one I know what he means. He says, he never would because he knows that there are people who would be sad. I tell him that when I was a child I thought of running away often, but never serviced that thought further because I knew my dad would be sad. He says he thinks of all his students, who would be traumatized at that news. We laugh about proximity and the law of torts.