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Vacation's End
Something to noodle with should I decide to actually take writing seriously again.
Musing at midnight is always a dangerous thing isn't it? So I had a quick discussion about why I thought God was a d**k for granting prayers. This friend, I believe thought it might have been slightly humorous of me to say that. So says the agnostic heathen. I am kidding, this person isn't a heathen smilies/icon_wink.gif

So if people really cared to ask "Hey Amanda, why do you believe in God if you're such a cynical twit all the time?" I would answer,"Well because I have my damn reasons." As someone who went to a very Catholic elementary school, we were told that if we prayed to God, he would answer all of our prayers.

I was 9 years old when my family decided to move to New Orleans. Originally I had grown up in Maryland. My parents wanted to relive their memories of a time filled with fancy, love, and perhaps great sex. I have no idea, all I found out is that I might have actually been conceived in New Orleans before my parents moved back to Maryland. Well, when my family moved to New Orleans, my parents decided to enroll my sister and I into a private school in the French Quarter. Interestingly enough, my sister and I were 2 of 3 Caucasian students in an entire school of about 150. The students were very racist towards "white" people, and once I even had a teacher make a racist comment in my presence only to say "I'm sorry Amanda, I forgot you were here, I don't think of you that way."

Anyway, I was extremely unhappy so I thought I would actually engage in prayer. I would pray to God silently every night before going to bed. I would ask him to let me move back to Maryland because I missed everyone, and I was very upset. I did this for about 4 years until I was almost 13 years old. On Thanksgiving night something awful happened. I had to call the hospital for my father because he stopped breathing. Apparently he had contracted pneumonia from a cold he had, and was trying to just "get over his cold." He passed away 15 days before I turned 13.

My mother's family came down to New Orleans to move my mother, sister and I back to Maryland. I couldn't deny what those nuns had said. My prayer managed to be answered. I don't dare to pray as often now, but this is probably the sole reason I believe in a God, unfortunate happenstance? It was a turning point for a 13 year old to again get to relive a hell that would only restart once she reached Maryland soil. I was back in Maryland, but I was in a different county, my mother had become a different person due to the death of my father, and she couldn't look at me anymore. I found out that because I looked, and acted so much like my father, she felt guilty. She was contemplating getting a divorce before he had been admitted to the hospital.

My school was in a rural area, and I was more exposed to culture than my classmates. The teasing started all over again. I did miss something that was a detriment to many families in New Orleans. We moved about 7 months before Hurricane Katrina. My dad was stubborn, and while I think he wouldn't have had us stay in the French Quarter during that hurricane, I don't think it would have ended well had he lived. So yeah, It's probably one of the worst ways for God to answer prayers.
I'm defiantly happy, but It bothers me that if I was offered a chance to go back in time to change his death...I wouldn't. I have prayed recently, and I don't know if I should be living in fear, or living for hope.





 
 
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