Under the light, I can see why people find Jesus intimidating.
The statue of him glows under the light, radiating an aura that must make others desire nothing less than to grovel at beneath his feet.
I stand outside of the church’s courtyard, boots barely touching the gravel that line the entire area. The statue of Jesus depicts him nailed to the cross, skin and bones. I watch it for a while, chin tilted slightly upward, hoping he would talk to me, but there is nothing but the silent buzzing of the night and the occasional cars.
The lights are still on inside the church. A gentle warm light seeps through the mosaic glass distorting the rays. I stand and just watch the way the lights twinkle as I sway on my feet. I imagine myself inside, among the pews, on my knees.
I imagine myself raising my head, just like as I looked upon the statue of Jesus, gazing up into the mighty eyes of what the common man thinks god looks like, and feel as though there is nothing else to be worried about.
There was a time that it was true. There was a time when god was the answer for me and I had felt content.
Things change and even though there is no more god in my life, I am not any less content.
Still, I yearn for the simplicity of having faith, of having something else other than the disappointment of reality to believe in.
Maybe there was a way to go back to that time. I stand outside the church and I wait.
I want to believe again.
There is a journey that I must go through in order to find the faith again but I remember what I’ve seen and what I learned and I decide that it is too childish for me.
But I think about my parents and how they raised me in their faith and their friends that surrounded me with theirs. I remember finding happiness and friendship with the help of the church and routine in a religious school.
It’s so simple. Yet I still cannot bare to walk down the path to see the light once more.
The lights inside the church are orange and the one on top of Jesus’ head is white. I stand out there for a few moments more before I continue to walk down the road, pretending that I have no seen him at all.
Categories: a slice of life, realistic fiction, short stories
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