He stirs me round and round with his spoon I am his coffee cup.
He calls me and I fly to where he is I am his baby robin he has pushed me from the nest. I am the chief unbeliever at large.
I am the principle skeptic. I should push God from my nest from his fixed point I should cut away these parts of me that must needs believe.
I will rip away the lining of the coat and walk south to a place very warm and much too comfortable for God. I will speak to myself in a loud voice and no, no, no, I will not farm for you. No, no, no. I will not sit at your feet and adore you. No. I will not suffer this world I will not bear fruit I will not bare myself before your awful judgement.
I am struggling deeper into the coat I am stirred round and round and do look up at you, you perplexing annoying frustrating mean by turns tender by turns magnificent by turns tender by turns altogether ass hat.
I cannot help my belief I cannot undo it. It is done.
You knit me inside my mother.
You called to me and I swam the great distance of the heavens until I came to where you are, sitting beside a still, glass lake. I have cast down my crown.
And I will crawl up into your massive lap. And sing you a song I made up myself and pepper you with questions you refuse to answer and I will kick your shins with my toddler feet oh brought so low so quickly how can I, how can anyone endure a God such as you are?