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Dear Father Sam (Elf wrote). Everything I have God has given me. When I feel most autonomous, no, indeed, at that precise moment in fact, the power I feel is God's power. The release, the freedom, the autonomy -- whose are they but of God.
Father Sam (Elf wrote), I am in love. I cannot stop thinking about the one I love. A teenage insomnia from too much love. A song on the radio that lasts for hours.
Father Sam (Elf wrote), I think there is a chance that even a piece of crap like me can become a -- whisper that word -- a Christian, Father Sam. Maybe God will work this strange effect in me. I can't say not, how would I know that?
Maybe, Father Sam (Elf wrote), my parentage will not determine the rest of my life from now on. After all, the devil is not *really* a parent and never engendered anything. Except in a manner of speaking. Which is a manner I wish to renounce.
Father Sam.
Father Sam, Father Sam. Why did you never mention this joy, not once, not even in passing? It is the feeling of being on track -- or at least on track to being on track. Not to be but to be on the way to being.
Father Sam, I stopped resisting. I walked in and sat down. And there they welcomed me or seemed to. Now I am one of those stereotypes, a "churchgoer". How very strange.
Father, how I wish you were here with me. I am so sorry that they have dismissed you yet again.
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Father Sam, pray for me. That I can be the thing that I want to be. Not a finished person but at least a yearning. (And what was I before?)
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