Over recent years, a melting pot of stark existential episodes have seriously diminished my faith in a higher power. These seemingly endless imposters dinting my belief in a holy trinity and, after a series of poor performances, rugby team Wakefield Trinity.
Although my dad wasn’t religious, my mum brought my siblings and me up to accept an actuality of the Father, Son and the Holy Ghost. Something we adhered to with regular church attendance in childhood; although, it has to be said, that habit dissipated when we arrived at a train station named adulthood.
I can’t speak for my brother Ian and sister Helen, but for most of my ageing process yours truly’s wanted to believe in god. However, with disconcerting incident after disconcerting incident striking my close family in recent years, that faith’s been gradually eroding over the past decades.
Since turning 50, I’ve pleaded with god to just give me a sign of his existence. An episode that’d give some reconciliation for the predominantly joylessness I’ve endured over the past few years.
Something like granting me a pardon for stealing segments of my brother’s Christmas Terry’s Chocolate Orange in 1976. Or, an assurance actor Vin Diesel will one day be carbon neutral.
Anyhow, at a juncture where my faith had almost petered out, today god led me down a supermarket aisle I’d no need to travel. A meander where I was stopped in my tracks by white illumination emanating from a chiller cabinet.
This celestial light intriguing yours truly; consequently luring me toward it for further investigation. Upon arriving within a foot of the chiller, I witnessed the single most magnificent sight I’d ever seen…… Well, apart from Trump lawyer Rudi Giuliani’s head melting during one of last weeks humiliating press conferences.
What lay in front of me was a product incorporating, not one or two, but three of my favourite foodstuffs. This culinary whizzbang containing, in no particular order (apart from alphabetical), cheese, crumpets and marmite.
Although overjoyed with the find, before placing the packet into my basket, I muttered a few words of apology to the Lord. GJ Strachan uttering a prayer of contrition for doubting his maker would come through for him.
When I say a prayer of contrition, in reality it was a half-assed adaption of the Lords Prayer which played out as follows while kneeling in reverence beside the open refrigerator system:-
Our Father
Who art in Marks & Spencers
Hallowed be thy marmite crumpets
Thy kingdom come
Sorry I’ve been so dumb
Forgive me my lack of faith
As I forgive those who prefer Bovril
For thine is the kingdom
The power and the snack glory
Forever and ever
Amen
Upon completing this act of worship, a bemused store assistant offered a helping hand to elevate me so my feet were once again securely on terra firma.
“Is everything ok, sir?” the young fella inquired as I picked up and placed the product in the half empty shopping basket.
“Never better!” I hollered. Prior to raising my arms, leaning back my head and exclaiming “God is good!”…… A move which resulted in disapproving glances from fellow customers, apart from an elderly couple who smiled before informing me they subscribed to my sentiments.
The apparently religious duo then joined me in a chorus of ‘Kumbaya, My Lord’, before I hurriedly paid for my comestibles and dashing home to sample god’s bounty.
