I am losing faith in the Word.
The world has never been a playground for me,
no facts, no evidence,
no proof in what they preach.
My mind has been loud lately.
My father says, “Stop thinking. Just believe.”
But I have heard that too many times.
What exactly should I believe in?
Is it the silent hurt?
The pain that hides behind smiles?
The hatred passed down like old clothes?
Sometimes I forget the scars,
or perhaps my soul has hardened so deeply
that pain no longer feels like pain.
I doubt everything.
The truth of the Word.
The promise in the pages.
If it truly works,
why has it never worked for me?
They say I must be doing it wrong.
But what about the days I was diligent?
When I followed every rule
with all the sincerity I had left in my heart?
Still, nothing changed.
So why the effort? Why the faith?
Mother held on to His Word,
yet vanished into silence.
Mum lived by it,
yet was used, betrayed,
left with nothing to show for it.
What good is faith,
if those who wear it like skin
end up broken and forgotten?
I was told He blesses, favours, protects,
but I have only seen
the opposite of every promise made.
Perhaps He loves some and leaves others
to figure it out alone.
If He cannot guard His own,
if justice is not served at His table,
then why call us His children?
I need answers.
I need living proof of the Word.
The longer I wait,
the more time runs out on me.
Perhaps the proof will never come.
Perhaps I shall not find one.
Precious Chukwudi