A/N: This is me just trying to put my feelings into words

The room is filled with a tangible feeling of weariness and exhaustion, every person here emanates despair. We're tired, so tired, tired of the daily grind, tired of the constant fight and the struggle that plague our every day lives. Each of us are sick to death of the constant demands on our attention, the needs we place before our own , the thoughts that filter in and out of our heads unbidden and unwanted. My companions in this place come from all walks in life, besides me stands a teacher, weary with of her constant struggle to just save one, besides her sits a young single mother desperate for a single moment of peace. Each of them has different reason to be here, a need to fulfilled, a hunger to feed. The room fills quickly and soon the music starts, and in a strange way its like group therapy where no one has to speak. Our voices join with the young girl on the stage, tremulous and quiet as her sweet soprano soars above us, her voice like a balm on our souls, patching our little hurts, a distant reminder of goodnight kisses and lullabies. How many of us actually believe the verse we sing? How many of us believe in the words that swell over us in a wave of beauty and comfort? Do any of us? Deep down in that cold lizard part of us, where we know that to survive means to kill or be killed, to fight, and bleed in order to protect own, deep down in that part of our soul we keep locked away from civilization, does that part of us even understand those sweet words of faith and love and above all peace? Can we hear them, there in our cold heart of hearts in that place where we know that life is pain and to live is to suffer? I close my eyes and give myself to the song, to the words, I let them wash over me and for few moments I just let the constant struggle to survive, go.

As the music ends and the pastor takes his place on stage a hush falls over the room. We wait expectantly for him to speak; will he be able to give us what we came for? Will he be able to give us the hope and beauty our souls need to make it through another week of our daily grind?

"Let us pray" he says and soon we are all standing heads bowed listening to words of praise and pleas for forgiveness. As he asks God for absolution my mind races over all of the petty nasty little things I've done over the week. It's all very petty and little, I have murdered no one nor have I cheated on my husband or stolen any thing. But I've thought about it. In fact most of what I'm ashamed of went on in my own mind. The angry thoughts, the lustful thoughts, the nasty backbiting things I would have liked to say to my customers, my boss, my husband and I wonder to myself, which is worse thinking these things, or the way I smile, sweetly, as the run through my mind?

The pastor's voice begins to fill the room and suddenly I can see more than just a man who believes, and I can hear more then the sound of his voice. The room expands and a presence creeps in softly, like smoke, like fog, until it fills the room with the pressure of its presence. Right here, right now, in this moment I do in fact believe. I believe that there is an all mighty omnipresent God out there. I believe that his son came to earth to save us all and I believe that I am loved. I feel all of this for an hour and a half, then it's time to go and within an hour I find myself questioning those beliefs.

I don't know if it's all real, I don't know if there is or is not a God. I don't know if there is a heaven or a hell but I do know that for that hour and a half on Saturday nights I feel better than I do all week and for me that is enough and so I go back.