Jukebox God
I used to believe myself to be an amazing Christian. After all I am a tither, a virgin, a person who never tasted neither drug nor alcohol. I appreciated the crucifixion of his son, Jesus the Christ as long as Father God understood that one cross was enough. The deal was that Jesus would die on the cross for me honestly because he created me without my approval and so because I don’t want to be here; he were to be nailed on the cross so that I could escape a lake of fire I was destined to burn in…
I wanted a jukebox God. As long as I had the coins his job was to play whatever life song I craved. I desired a genie in a bottle. I was looking for a parrot who would repeat whatever I spoke back to me. We were best friends… As long as my whole family was intact.
My mother was a “ride or die” Christian. She would praise God through all of it. She was an Apostle Paul of sorts. She took her tribulations soberly and with class. Mom loved Christ through illnesses I am not comfortable to speak of out loud. She took physical beatings from other family members and always remembered to say hello to the Holy Spirit every single morning.
Mom was a song clapper, a worshiper, a kisser of the feet of Jesus. I’m not half the Christian that she was… I never desired to worship him and I did not do it either. I did not kiss the feet of Jesus, pour a years’ salary of perfume on his feet and I…
