I have been saying my prayers religiously and indifferently for fifty out of my fifty-five years. It has become a sort of mantra with the words and sentiments having suffused into each other a long time ago.
The Lord’s Prayer features prominently as do prayers for the persecuted and those who are suffering. It’s another aspect of my Jesus complex, but one that I almost halted due to my recent loss of faith in anything remotely meaningful and potentially disappointing. I say my prayers now and feel a little more assured that they are going somewhere.
I ought to pray for the mad woman.
Her visage appeared at my door this morning and I had to turn swiftly to avoid having her gaze fall upon me. There is something terribly menacing about the madness which possesses her and it puts me on edge. I want to scream the demons out…
View original post 1,122 more words