Find God essay by Cody Davis

I hadn’t stepped a foot in a church in over three months. I didn’t practice as a Presbyterian, but I never really learned what all that means anyways.

I’m not sure what I was waiting for.  For a moment, I thought about crying. I’d take my hair between by fingers and think of the worst possible outcome. I clenched my toes and tensed my arms, but I couldn’t do it.

I then tried to pray. I got out something of an exaggerated, “God,” but couldn’t sort out the next words. They were in an alphabet soup, and I was eating with a fork.
It’s funny to me that 10 hours after I sat in the front pew before a floating golden cross, that 10 hours after I was asking for God to speak to me, that I hear him while I am sitting on my couch, when I should be sleeping, and watching a self help telethon for public television.

I did not have some existential epiphany about how my entire life is exaggerated beyond what it needs to be, as my mom revealed to me on our way home. I did not simplify my situation by putting a Jesus mask over it, sweeping the dust under the rug. I did not have some hallucination of a burning bush and have not been visited by an angel.

It is awareness.  I am where I am in my life at this moment. There is no changing where I am; there is no controlling where I am.

Each morning as you wake up to go to class, or work, or to make a bowl of Apple Jacks, the cereal of champions, you are living a scene in a play. You play the role that you have been given, and you play it better than anyone else could. We are actors and actresses in a bohemian masquerade, wearing masks, and gowns, and smells.
"There will be time, there will be time/ To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;/ There will be time to murder and create,/And time for all the works and days of hands/That lift and drop a question on your plate" - The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S. Eliot 

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