I thank all who have loved me in their hearts, / With thanks and love from mine. Deep thanks to all / Who paused a little near the prison-wall / To hear my music in its louder parts / Ere they went onward, each one to the mart's / Or temple's occupation, beyond call.

A young girl came into the store today, alone. She had long, gorgeous hair, very dark brown, and big dark eyes, with one of those faces that looked wise beyond her years even though she was probably about five years old. I knelt down beside her and asked her where her mommy was. Instead of answering, she reached towards my neck and grabbed ahold of my necklace and asked, "Do you go to church?".

"Uhhh...", I stumbled, not knowing what to say. She still had her tiny hands on my necklace, the one I never, ever take off - a gold chain with a gold charm of an oulined cross, which I bought in Italy somewhere near the catacombs.

"I have a church necklace too, but it's at home. My Auntie gave it to me."

"That's nice," I said. "Is your mommy around here somewhere?"

At that she let go of my necklace and looked at me with a somewhat scrutinizing gaze. Her eyes darkened, if that were even possible, and her brow furrowed. And then she asked me again, "Do you go to church?".

Be honest with a five year old? What's the harm. Keep it simple. "I haven't been in a very long time."

"Why not?"

So that got me thinking. Why not? Yeah, why not? What is your reason, Krista? Why do you wear a Christian cross around your neck that you won't take off, and why do you pray to God at night, and why did you carry a gold crucifix around in your pocket when you were suicidal? I thought you weren't Christian, I thought organized religion wasn't very sensible anymore, I thought the Bible was just a bunch of bullshit someone decided to write one day, I thought you didn't believe people could walk on water, that rain could turn to blood, that the Holy Spirit is in a dove, and that one man could heal the blind, the deaf, the ill, and that confessing your sins would save you. If you don't believe in Hell, why do you pray every night that you will go to Heaven? Where else would you go, huh?

Arguments, opinions, twelth grade essays ran through my head. Essays I wrote attempting to justify why exactly I didn't believe in God. How could I have been so selfish? I backed out on God when my life was great, when I didn't need to turn to Him for help. As soon as everything came crashing down in a matter of a week, I was at His doorstep begging for help, begging to be saved. I started reading the Psalms again and I started re-reading my favourite passages from Matthew. As I cut myself I lit candles and asked God to please, if he really existed, show me in some way, blow out my candles. I layed in bed with tears streaming down my cheeks whispering please, please take me now, please kill me right now, this is what I want, I promise.

Feeling like an extremely hypocritical monster of a Christian now, I turned my eyes up at the young girl, who still awaited an answer. Just as I opened my mouth, her mother ran through the door, scolded her for wandering away, and dragged her out by her shirtsleeve, and all the while her eyes didn't move from mine, they just stared questioningly, until I couldn't see her anymore.

I stopped going to church a long time ago, but why don't I go now? Why not? Do I really believe in what I say I believe in, even now? Why not, Krista?

So I answered myself, all alone in the store once again. And I kept it simple.

"Why don't I go to church? Well...I really don't know."

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