Wrestling With God

[please note: this poem is dedicated to those who take neither the Divine nor its absence for granted.] For almost half a century I have wrestled with God. Our unseen match is daily, in my bed before I sleep, at the table after a meal, sometimes while driving along a lonely, desolate road and always while watching the evening news with its graphic proof of humanity's stupidity and wickedness, over and over and over.... I try to pin Him, to keep Him in one place, to hold Him just long enough to see, to know, to understand. Sometimes I think I almost have Him but no... He always, always slips away.... Of course it is not a fair match-- my little brain that can hold but one lonely thought at a time, my hands, once powerful, now arthritic, with crooked fingers still trying to grasp at Divinity... but even when young and strong I could not hold Him--still, we wrestle, God and me, and sometimes I suspect He wants me to win, but mostly no: I know I'll never pin Him down-- not in this life, not in this world, yet still He lets me try.... I think He likes it when I try.