Hello, God. It's me, Mara

You know, dear Lord, as we grow old and our hair turns gray, what’s in the future for us of clay? Gone are the days of vigor and vim, our limbs are weak and our eyes are dim. Where’s the excitement of yester-year, where is the future that once was clear? We sit all alone, all the live-long day, are we just waiting to pass away? For some of us, Lord, our loved one’s gone, we’re sitting down here just waiting for dawn.

Lord, we ache with every kind of hurt, empty and lonely and lower than dirt. Most of our colleagues are dead and gone; why, oh why, Lord do we linger on? Ravaged by fi...