Like anyone on Earth, I had my secrets that I dared not share with another soul.
I had guilt and shame, but refused to allow them to ruin my day to day life.
I believed in God and would often read stories and watch movies with Him in, interested but admittedly afraid...I wasn't a church goer, often finding the whole experience awkward, but I did know the scriptures and the laws.
I thought I knew God and honestly, it was enough to scare me - God would hate me, or at least be very angry with the stuff I'd pulled.
So, I kept my distance, respectfully keeping out of His business and keeping on track with my own life.
I had done a bit of care work for a few years, then moved on to palliative care in a hospice. I loved it, as backwards as that sounds - there was something beautiful about seeing someone at the end of their life. An honour to wash their bodies and get them dressed. A final dignity and farewell...that was all good and well for the elderly clients we had.
What did hurt was seeing younger people fighting through cancer - people don't tell you that when they're really sick and can't move, they get sores...their bodies break down and they look like hell.
I could just about cope with that.
What I couldn't cope with, after a time at least, was the children.
They did not deserve to die, let alone in the level of pain and discomfort they were in. And their families...oh man...
At first, I'd silently pray next to them, certain that God would hear me for a sick child, even if He didn't necessarily want me.
But as time went by, and more and more children passes through our doors, I couldn't even bring myself to pray with the parents. I could scarcely be in the same room if they were calling on God to heal and comfort their child, knowing that no such grace would be given.
That, coupled with an experience with one girls father, was the reason I looked for something new.
I wrote about my experiences and wrote my side of the debate for assisted suicide- it got attention, and that's how I ended up becoming a journalist.
And so a few years passed and I read an article called "interview with God" - I read it and had to smile as the author found salvation and had his marriage fixed by a man he interviewed claiming to be God. THE GOD.
I shook my head though, not convinced.
It was a lovely article and well written, but I believed it to be a work of fiction.
"Would be very interesting to see what you'd have to say to ME..." I muttered
