The Opposite of Serenity
Becky Robison
I realized he didn’t love me when he wouldn’t hold my hand during the Lord’s Prayer. He held Jessica O’Neill’s hand, but not mine.

Our Father, who art in heaven — why have you forsaken me? Or have I forsaken myself, letting him touch me in all my hidden, holy places? Is it because we did it in the narthex? It was after youth group. I remember Mother Mary’s lily-white alabaster face peering down at us. I remember thinking how jealous she must be.

Jessica O’Neill. Jessica O’Neill?

Forgive me my trespasses — naivety, hastiness, idolatry — but never forgive him his. I certainly won’t. For his is my kingdom, and my power, and my glory. All I have left is regret and an empty palm.


First published: November, 2013
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