two hundred people

“two hundred people”

At my old church we had this couple who attended

They were both mentally challenged

They were newly married and working out their new life together

The woman had a baby – a little girl

                Who was just under a year old

The baby lived with her father

                Who was NOT mentally challenged

And this childlike couple wanted custody of this baby girl

To raise her together in their home

In their new life that they were building

I remember that they came to the church for prayer one day

Asking that the communal “will” of two hundred people be lifted to God

                On their behalf

So we did

Countless arms and hands crisscrossed upon them

Touching, shaking, squeezing with signs of empathy

And countless voices asking, speaking, muttering

Pleading for this child to be placed in the loving care

of these two well meaning, mentally challenged people

Somehow we were supernaturally swinging the gavel at the custody trial

The day came and with sobs and smiles

                The woman declared that yes, they had won!

The child was in their home

In their care

Under their roof and safe, in their protection

You can only imagine the level of celebration that went up over this

I think now, more because of the pride that fooled us all

                Into thinking, “yes, WE did it; I did it..”

Our prayers, my exact words – had set this little girl

                This nearly one year old baby girl – free

Some time passed and the couple wasn’t around at church any longer

Busy with life, I figured

A little more time passed

And one day I heard that the little girl had died

The Goodwill had placed the mother in some sort of fitting occupation

And while the mother was at work one day – The husband had sex with his baby step daughter

               And killed her in the process

Babies just aren’t built for that

Babies are built for bottles and pacifiers

And soft blankets

                And jammies that cover their feet

And toy keys and lullabies

And being held closely and spoken to gently

You can imagine the sense of disappointment

Disappointment so deep that I couldn’t talk about it then

And haven’t really since – until today

Why couldn’t any of us tell that something was wrong there?

The day we pawed over these fucking retards and asked GOD to give them this child?

The day we PUSHED to kill this innocent, baby girl?

It all meant that if God heard the prayers

                And answered them in kind

That it was our fault, my fault

                That this piece of shit destroyed this innocent life

I remember that I hoped that he was put in regular prison

Not a special prison for the mentally challenged

If he was awake enough to approach that baby girl this way – then he was awake enough to suffer in the general population

And why, why did God allow this to happen in the first place?

Who cares if two hundred narrow minded pawns all spoke and supplicated at once?

Just don’t do it!

How could you?

Why would you?

And you were there the entire time

When the thought came to his mind

When the urge was sneaking up his back and into his ear

                And down his throat – into his belly

                And connected to his soul and made it impossible to stop

When his cock became hard (how could it become hard?)

When he unzipped her jammies with the feet

While he pulled off her diaper

Couldn’t he see that the proportion wasn’t right?

What DIDN’T stop him now???

While she cried

While blood poured

While she screamed

                Probably vomited

Could he tell that it was over for her?

What does an infant even do when their body loses the spirit?

How could you?

Why could you?

I’ve questioned everything about you that I know

                Think I know, should know

Have said that I know

Know that I know

You let me down that day and I’m not sure

                How to forgive you for that

I want to know more about this

And I want to know nothing about it at all

I still remember the look on his face

“thank you, thank you..” he said through that thick mustache

                In his thick, mentally challenged voice

I wonder now if during that time of grateful expression

                He was planning this out

My faith has been nearly destroyed from being part of this

One of the manic boys spearing Piggy on the island

                I am

I can’t cross arms with another one of these types again

And it won’t matter

If you’re the God that you say you are – then you don’t need two hundred people screaming your name

To do anything at all