There's a little Mormon apostle
inside my head. He says,
You didn't try hard enough; you didn't pray long enough.
You let Satan deceive you; you didn't endure to the end.
You knows it's true; we know truth by what we feel.
Read the Book of Mormon; it has all the answers.
I'm sorry, little apostle. I gave it my best.
Or maybe I didn't. Maybe you're right.
Maybe the answer was just around the corner, just a little farther,
and I ended up settling for a mess of pottage.
My life is a mess. Life is messy. All your answers
work for some, the Chosen Few. Meanwhile, Whatever-It-Is-That-Is-Out-There
continues to love me, and to bless me, and to help me.
She blesses the Buddhists; He tells the Muslims the Qu'ran is true.
He sends visions to the Baptists; She smiles on gay parents who love their children.
She cheers for the atheists trying to make the world a better place.
The Great White Shark and the tiny Forget-me-not
continue to eat and to bloom.
What horrors and what beauties does this Earth bring forth!
What wrenching agony and grief still lie ahead for me?
What peace and equanimity?
If the world is to end, let us go down believing in love,
in goodness, in helping each other up when we fall,
and in what brings us deep joy.