This way I feel, I’ve never shared with anyone but since we’re in the wake of Father’s Day, it feels appropriate. Even typing it I feel judged as though I’m dirty. Or a bad person. But here it goes:

God has never felt like a Father to me.

When I’m closest. When I actually feel God it’s not parental, nor distant, not someone watching from above. It’s personal. Intimate. Physical. The God I know holds me like a lover. Runs metaphorical fingers through my hair. Presses their presence into the curves and crevices of my body, not to teach me something, but to simply be with me in pleasure, in nearness and breath.The God I feel doesn’t instruct. They hum and moan. They say my name slowly, like they’ve always known it. They drip warm honey into my mouth and down the curvature of my chest. They caress the back of my neck like they’ve done it for lifetimes.This isn’t metaphor. It’s how I experience God. It’s how I know I’m not alone.The love I feel is sensual, but it’s not just about sensation. It’s about presence and recognition. Something sacred that touches my skin with no apology necessary.And maybe that’s why I’ve always had trouble connecting to God through the Father frame. That God stands apart. The God I know leans in. The God I know stirs in my belly and heats up my entire being.