Chapter 1
I tried to pray this morning, but the words would not come. I knelt, I folded my hands, I closed my eyes… but my thoughts scattered like dust in the wind. I used to think silence was holy, that the stillness between words was where God waited to meet me. But today, the silence felt empty.
I have been thinking again. Thinking too much, as Logan might say. He tells me that sometimes it is better to act than to dwell on thoughts that cannot be changed. But I am not like him. I do not have his strength, or his certainty. I only have faith. But faith is not so simple, is it? Logan tells me to stop thinking so much, but how can I not? How can I believe that God made me like this, with three fingers and blue skin and a tail, and still listen to those who say I must repent for it? If I was meant to be ashamed, why did He weave me together with such care? And yet, if I was meant to be proud, why does it feel like a sin to want to be seen?
I hear them whisper. Some of the other mutants, they do not understand why I pray, why I hold fast to You. To them, faith is a leash, something meant to keep them small, to diminish them. But I do not feel diminished when I speak with You. I feel seen. I feel loved. And yet, I hear the whispers from the Church as well. They speak of mutants as though we are abominations, creatures twisted by sin. Some say we should be healed. Others say we are a punishment.
I used to pray for healing.I would kneel on the hard wooden floors and beg You to make me normal. To make me human. I believed, with all my heart, that if I prayed hard enough, if I was good enough, You would fix me.
But You never did.
Does that mean You do not listen? Or does it mean You made me this way for a reason?
I want to believe the second. I want to believe I am as You intended. But that belief is heavy, and some days, I do not have the strength to carry it.
Perhaps it would be easier to be one or the other. A mutant, free of faith, without the weight of the Church’s condemnation. Or a Catholic, human and unburdened by the scorn of my own kind. But I am both. And so I am caught between two worlds, belonging to neither.
Still, I have faith. Or at least, I try.