Our Father

Last night I prayed the "Our Father."

I don't say it often. I am not really a fan of God's work. I find God full of loopholes. We praise God for the good things in life, but are told that God bears no responsibility for the bad things. (I do not accept this, however, and let God know it.) God makes us "in his image," but again is not at fault when the DNA God made or the brain matter goes wrong and leaves us struggling to sit. (Again, I hold God responsible.)

This is all to say that when I pray, I usually go to Mary or a saint. Let them deal with God.

Last night, though, I went to the source. I was so mad, and I wanted to make sure God knew it.

I fell, transferring from my chaise to my chair before bed. I was hurt not at all, but it was late and everyone else had gone to bed.

So I tried to get up, several times. I succeeded in scratching my back really painfully. And I had to call my sister for help anyway.

She got me up and I went to bed. While waiting for the Advil to kick in,  I prayed the "Our Father."