Where is your God?

In modern society, faith is questioned by everyone, be they scientists, priests, businessmen, adventurers or even young children. It is no longer accepted that there is a God watching over us, protecting and guiding us through everyday life. There are no longer intricate depictions of Satan smiting us for our sins or of Angel Gabriel singing ‘Hallelujah!’ on the walls of our schools. Instead we are turning to experiments, DNA, evolution, rockets sent out into space and the Big Bang for our answers.

Fact is becoming the new God.

I have been raised by parents who follow a religion and who made it a part of who I am today. I am proud of my faith. As I have grown I have strayed from the path of absolute doctrine and find my own answers to spiritual questions. If challenged, I will defend what I believe in-in spite of the ridicule or surprise I’m faced with.

But, as with anything in this life, there are times when even I wobble in my determined belief.

So what do we do when something happens to us that makes us question the very fundamentals of what we believe in?

With all the beauty that life presents to us, we are shocked when ugliness invades. It filters through our routines, worms into our thoughts and takes hold, spreading like black ink in a glass of water. We are left with something impure, polluted and shocking. And how can we be expected to stand steadfast in the face of evil and thank a God for our suffering?

Today is a day I can’t stand firm. Today is a day I can’t take comfort in a belief. Today is a day I will not be thankful.

Today is one of those days when it feels as though we are just tiny inconsequential beings with no real influence on the universe; we have no control over love, life or death. It seems impossible to believe in something with so much power and so much love having so little regard for existence here on Earth.

It’s hard to find the part of myself that looks within for answers and finds comfort from something bigger than myself. I know deep down that Fact could never be my God; I know that there are questions that could never be answered by science; I know that I have a purpose and that I occasionally lose sight of it.

Although I know all of this…

Today is a day I can’t stand firm.

But tomorrow is a day I could try.


Show me your soul

Children are blessed pure and untainted with the trivials of life.

When I was young, I had an imaginary friend. I used to dream of a grey man watching over me, clothed in a steamy ashen cloak, his shoes a silent supple leather. He had a scratchy wire beard that rested on his sunken chest and ocean blue eyes. Thin, papery skin settled over his bony fingers and wisps of fluffy white cloud swirled around his ankles.

You hear tiny children in the local parks playing with imaginary friends, feeding them invisible cakes and pouring them empty cups of tea.

But I found myself wondering today where these figments of the imagination come from.

Are they a reflection of our own emotions and, too young to comprehend, we morph them into something friendly and accessible?

Are they imprints of a character from a book come to tease us with wonderlands that are just out of reach?

Somehow these human explanations do not encompass the truth of who the Grey Man was to me.

So are they our souls? Is it only when we are young that we can glance in to our own selves and see what is within?

A soul has-as of yet-eluded a universally accepted definition. It is something so infinitely personal to each person that it is impossible to describe or point to. No scientist has discovered proof of its existence, there is no requirement to believe.

And yet, when challenged on the subject, I find myself ardently defending it, shocked and mystified at those who claim it is not real.

Show me your soul.

For there is a spark within us all, a jolt of life that jerks us from darkness into the light and gives us reason to get up in the morning. It makes us more than just robots, makes us swagger with an innate knowledge of importance.

You could call that a soul.

You could call that God.

But who’s to say a child is wrong if they point to their Grey Man?