Dear God,
I don't know why You made me the way I am. Why You made me different from the other boys. I'd like to think I'm special. That maybe You have something waiting for me beyond the vail if I prove myself. Maybe, that "something" is a knowledge and understanding that can't be comprehended or understood here in mortality.
Every night, when I look in the mirror, I can't help but think what my life would be like if I wasn't so different. Would I experience the joys I can now only see in depths of my imagination? Would my life have deeper meaning? Would I feel purpose in my life? Would I hear the tender voices of my children while they played? Would I experience the soothing touch of a women who loved me? Who shared my same desire to raise our children in truth and light?
Even still, I am grateful for my childhood. Growing up, I did the things boys do. I played sports, built tree forts, collected baseball cards, got into trouble, and everything in between. I had an adventurous spirit and an equally active imagination. I can't thank You enough for that.
But as my peers and I got older, and we entered that long transition period where boys become men, that's when I noticed. That's when I noticed I was different. And while my friends talked of girls and engaged in lewd acts I hid under the guise of my religion.
I could feel a rift growing between me, and all the other boys I knew, especially my childhood friends. And that's when I started pretending and making up excuses. Half my life ago I starting lying. I never was a good lier and I think, eventually, everyone knew but were too afraid to ask. My mother would always ask why I didn't date. I think she just wanted to hear it from me--to confirm what her motherly instincts told her.
The kids at school weren't so nice about it. I was 14 by the time the bullying started. I grew anxious and socially insecure. My only reprieve was to escape into the woods near my house. This secret I had, this truth I--and apparently others--knew about myself (even though I admittedly denied) weighed upon me heavily. My teenage mind couldn't deal with or make sense of it. I drifted into a serious depression. Thankfully I got the help I needed but I emerged with my secret still intact, deeply buried in the graveyard of my consciousness.
When I look back at my life, I realize puberty was the beginning (and perhaps the cause of) my many sorrows. I do my best Father to focus on the good. I am very blessed and I thank You for that. And when that day comes, when I do return home, I hope there's an answer waiting for me just beyond the vail, letting me know why you made me the way I am. Until then, I won't pretend to have an answer. I trust in Your infinite mercy.
Sincerely,
Job
