Just In Case
a message in a bottle
One day, you may find God is no longer there. You’ll hope it’s just that thing on the beach where God is carrying you, but eventually you might settle on a different answer. One that will leave you confronted with the pain and loneliness of human existence.
I hope this doesn’t happen to you.
I hope it hasn’t happened to you in the past, and I hope it isn’t happening to you right now. But maybe it will, and if it does, I want you to know you’re going to be okay.
You’re not alone.
I’m also here.
Maybe you’re thinking to yourself, “How do I know David is even real?” but as I write this, I’m nearly certain I am. Real. If I’m not, then I’m enduring the pain of existing for naught, which is an unbearable thought.
I already know the unbearability of its negation does not make a thing true.
I am here, and I you are here. We’re both here. Together-ish.
In your earlier metaphor when you looked down the beach and didn’t see any footprints because yours had already washed away in the surf, I was just around the bend. My voice didn’t carry, but I was shouting.
“You are not alone!”
“I’m also here!”