So why can’t I?

If he can walk on water, 

why can’t I?

Is it because I’m a girl,

or because I don’t believe enough?

They say it takes faith the size of a mustard seed

to move a mountain,

then why can’t I?

Am I lacking?

Doubting like Thomas

before he touched the wounds

after which he believed that Jesus had risen,

and wasn’t simply taken, or stolen, or lost.

I want to feel that too,

not the wounds,

but God.

Because sometimes I think it isn’t even there.

He isn’t there.

She?

Both.

Maybe at the same time.

Is this why the gift of faith 

is one I keep asking for,

grasping loosely in my fingertips

before it falls away,

time and time again.

Because I wonder too much.

I don’t need to see the spear that pierced his side,

or feel the holes inside of his hands,

I just think I need…

sometimes…

the gift of permanency.

Not faith.

Then I’ll feel safe.

Peter fell beneath the waves 

of a tumultuous storm but

God pulled him back up again and laughed and said,

“O, ye of little faith.”

Then he walked with the Lord.

Does he laugh at me too,

when I feel like I’m about to drown under

the waves of the storm that is life?

Or does he feel shame,

or annoyed,

or proud?

Peter asked Jesus if he could come to him,

walk with him on the water,

and He obliged.

So why can’t I?

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