Where is god?

🛑 Adult content, language, drugs, abuse (multiple forms), please read with discretion. May be a trigger for some readers. Reader discretion advised. 

This story has massive amounts of adult content. So much out of my wheel house, here’s to something different.

Our prayer group has been reading about Habakkuk. You might fly right past the book of Habakkuk if you’re not careful. It’s only 3 chapters long. Between Nahum  and Zephaniah in the Bible. 

Who was Habakkuk? Habakkuk was a prophet, and yet he still had some questions for God: “Does God care? Is God fair? Is God there?” But instead of running away from God with his questions, Habakkuk brought his questions to God, and he wrestled them out in prayer. And God answered Habakkuk every time. It was not always the answer that Habakkuk expected or wanted, but God answered his questions and led him steadily along the journey from doubt to faith.

Where is god?

Where do you hide a body?

There was no need to knock on Maggie’s door. She saw me standing on her porch. Stomach in my hands. She always greeted me with a smile, food, shower and clean clothes. 

When I was 9, I stole a car and hit her house. Instead of turnin’ me over, I worked out the cost of fixing her property. I wonder, whatever happened to that car? 

She’s the closest I’ve ever had to a friend. 

After dinner, I left. Strollin’ down the road, in the dark, listenin’ to the crickets and frogs. 

The old beat up trailer that I called my home was pretty much a space out of the rain. My drug addicted abusive parents couldn’t be bothered makin’ me a real home. 

How many times as a child did I watch him beat mom? Rape her. Do horrid things to her. 

When I was 12, they were both high on something. Mom was freaking out. Seein’ stuff that wasn’t really there. She was fighting air. Screamin’ at ghosts. Dad stumbled over to her; with one punch knocked her out, then proceeded to rape her. While mom was still out on the couch; two of dad’s buddies came over. For the price of beer, both had their way with her. 

Did he not know I was there? Alive? Could see everything? Did he care? I wasn’t angry. I was numb. 

At dusk, mom finally woke. I was tryin’ to fix a can of beans for dinner. She beat the shit out of me ‘cause I allowed the can opener to fall on the floor. Now, I was mad. With one swift motion, I sank a butcher knife through the top of her head. A small stream of blood ran down her forehead, then her nose. Dripped from the tip to her chin. Rolled down her neck staining the hem of her tank top red. I sat at the kitchen table watchin’ her die eating my beans. 

Did she deserve better than being a pile in the kitchen floor? Blood being added to the variety of stains already on her tank top: beer, cum, piss and shit. 

Dad was still passed out on the broken down picnic table outside. Would he notice?

I looked out the dirt covered windows. Under a tree, was the frame of a car. How many times had I fallen asleep in that car? Wait! That stripped down car was that the car I wrecked? Why can’t I remember?

Where am I going to bury her? In the car? My outdoor bedroom.

In that moment, I had no idea what this action would do to me. Truthfully, I should have known. But I was too naive to think about the future. 

Where would you hide a body? No. She wasn’t going in my space.