Here in Columbus, August is blissfully temperate, and the evenings have a pleasant autumn chill. A release from summer’s heat and humidity. Here is a poem for all seasons, a dialogue about faith and doubt, certitude and loss.


You Always Have an Answer


When I say:

I think God visited me in a dream last night

you say: So what was it you ate for dinner?


When I say:

I think that God may have a perfect love for you and me

you say: Wishful thinking.


When I say:

My grandfather spoke to me from heaven

you say: That was your brain chemistry talking.


And when I say:

Maybe, just maybe, we’ll have life eternal

you say: Where’s your evidence?


I’ve heard your answers for so long now

I think they must come from a broken heart

come sit with me for a while

let us put aside all these questions, all these opinions.


Maybe infinite love will touch us

maybe in silence He will cherish us

maybe there will be no more need for

my doubt, your certitude, our terrible loss.