Letting go and letting God

I've been pretty honest about several things: A) I'm not a saint. B) I believe in God. C) My faith is, at best, shaky. (I know. B and C contradict each other.) I believe in God because it's all I've ever known. I grew up attending Catholic schools. I've been brainwashed like every good Catholic child that came out of the 60s - in other words, I know NOTHING about the Bible but know that God is watching EVERYTHING I do - a daunting concept if there ever was one.

(True confession: Way back in 1997, I saw the movie Contact and it threw me, headfirst, into a years' long faith crisis.) 

Because I spend a lot of time with my parents, I spend a fair amount of it thinking about death. Not to be morbid, but we know that's around the corner for them. I hope it's a long, country block and they won't get there soon, but I'm nothing if not truthful with myself about the future. My job here is to make that journey around the block be safe and, hopefully, happy.

In any case, I sometimes daydream about the "ever after." Other times, I daydream about the "here and now." In both cases, I have what feels like no control. Once we're dead, it's out of our hands. Here, on earth, especially in my current situation, I often feel like life is spinning wildly out of control and my only best option is to do laundry and dishes.

And so I pray. I don't pray like my mother-in-law prays, but I spend a lot of time talking to God. I ask him for guidance. I pray that he tells me what the right thing to do or say is in an awkward situation. I ask him for patience and wisdom, because I feel woefully short of both. I ask him to hold me back from wanting to kill my father because, honestly, sometimes he drives me flippin' crazy. I beg that he will give my Dad motivation to get up and out of the chair and turn off the damn TV. I ask him to forgive me for not having the grace to spend more time talking with my Mom who wants to chat about the most boring things ever. Sometimes I remember to thank him for the tiny blessings - the smiles, the funny stories, the good days and the meals shared. And every day, several times, I say softly to myself: "Please God, help me do the right thing, whatever that is."

This is where the doubt creeps in. Who's on the receiving end of those prayers? Who is God? (Whoa. Sorry you started reading this?) Does he really answer prayers or simply listen, kick back and say: "Yeah, that's not going to happen." I honestly have no idea if the 51 years of my faith life have all been a nice idea, with not much substance or the truth for which so many people search.

And yet still, despite all of the questions that plague me, I find myself continuing to nag God on a daily basis.

Some days, no most days, when I have ZERO idea what I'm doing. I give it all up and give it to God. Because sometimes that's all I have.