On Bad Mouthing God

God is good. I admit it.

I say it out loud publicly.

God is good and faithful and present. Even when our insides rail against such an obscene claim.

But it is true. And I can’t pretend it’s not. Forever.

God is. Good. Truly. Good.

God speaks words. I hear these words. I believe them.

Even when I don’t.

God is trustworthy. I trust God.

Even when I don’t.

God is patient. I want to learn to be patient with God.

God forgives. I forgive God. For silences. For false starts.

Will God forgive me for such things?

I blaspheme. I bad mouth. God.

I start rumors of how God disappoints. The word spreads like fire.

I want the fire of the Spirit to catch me. Again.

Or just a flame. Above my head. Like a refining halo.

This is my confession. I have loved you as I have loved myself.

I hear God say, “Praise Me.”

I praise God.

I have praised God.

I will praise God. Now. When my tongue is tied and my lips are clamped. And my mouth is dry.

I will praise God in the hollow spaces

And the sound might reverberate.

I will say “Holy, Holy, Holy,” and I will kneel with angels and scoundrels.

And I will say, “Thank God, I am not like them.” The angels.

Who haven’t known what it is to long for God while turning from God.

And I will advert my eyes from theirs. The angels.

Who see through my thick skin, my stubbornness, my callousing heart.

And I will ask God, one more time.

Where I should look to find God, to face God. And live.

And God will say,  one more time, “Open your eyes.”