Poetry by Gil Estel

I argue my point.

Passionate,

Enthralled.

They can't accept,

Or even let me maintain my perspective.

Why do I try?

They say to me

I'm going to Hell.

What is Hell?

The place where children go

When they're bad?

A pit of fire?

God's not there.

I know that much.

That's what makes it Hell.

I say how could God do this?

They say He just does.

They point me to books by others

Who supposedly have experience.

I have experience.

I'm young, yes.

I'm ignorant, yes.

But I can think.

I want to be like them.

The perfect Christian.

John 14:6

The only way to God is through Jesus.

That's the way it is.

The Bible tells me so.

That's why I think

I could be wrong.

I may be wrong.

That's what Mommy says.

Daddy too.

I'm a little girl.

I should accept.

I should obey.

I should believe

What I'm told.

No! I CAN think.

I WILL stand for what I believe.

I read what they tell me.

I study what they tell me.

I pray what they tell me.

It doesn't work.

As I meditate on the opinions

Of old men and women

Who don't know me

And care for me even less,

I see an old man.

Perfect.

Loving.

Everything he should be.

On his death bed.

Oh how he loves God

More than anything else.

He's Roman Catholic,

Or Mormon,

Or a Jehovah's Witness.

Not saved by our standards.

So many;

So many.

Going to Hell?!

Still this old man,

About to die,

Knows for a fact

That he will see his Lord.

For he loves Him

More than life.

And he knows God,

His loving and compassionate God

Loves him even more.

He dies.

He goes to Hell.

I can hear him in my dreams

Calling to his Lord,

"God what did I do to make you hate me so?"

He didn't do one thing.

The most important thing.

No!

I can't believe it.

The God that made this world,

The God that loves us more than anything,

The God that has held my hand through all my troubles

Would do this.

He wouldn't allow it;

He wouldn't.

Would He?