Forbidden Prayers

The texture of the cherry wood pew comforts me as I begin to think of life and you dear brother. Red candle holders make me feel at ease as I begin to take out my Bible. My knees ache and crack as I try to kneel and bow my head. Trying to forgive you Tiger Woods is like playing games with the devil. There is little hope for you. You are stuck in denial; knee deep in unconformities and sin. I will pray for you. I sit, I stand, and I kneel for your healing and saving. My eyes draw shut for my prayer in a foreign tongue, and I praise God for the saving of your soul. But, I am afraid that you cannot be save my dear Tiger. You are not a child of God. As I walk gracefully down the aisle to light a candle for your condemned soul, soft whispers penetrate my ears like jack-hammers. “Is that you Lord,” “Yes my child,” the manly voice of Morgan Freeman whispers back. I am at ease when hearing his voice, the rise and fall of his breath brings peace to my mind. He tells me to pray for you, to light one hundred candles for you, but I seem to have forgotten my matches, oh and my lighter. Do I really want to see you in Heaven? Do I want to witness to you, you lost forgotten soul? After what you have done dear brother I do not know if I am even allowed to pray for you. Oh, but I must… Would you rather spend eternity in Satan’s circus, yes I think you would. Do not kid yourself, there are no peanuts and cotton candy there. Clowns shoot poison out of their breast flowers Tiger. The devil will fool you, you know. He will become your friend in eternal damnation. Brother I am telling you to repent, to ask for forgiveness. Your sin of choice rips thoughts of you through my energetic brain, you being gnawed to death in hell, and then being brought back to clean up your mess. Unforgiven souls of lust are sent to Satan’s circus. Wind will blow with hurricane forces to destroy you, the waves of dense sin will taunt your appendages like bitter wind in winter. Those poor women dear brother; did you not think your past would win this race? Dear Tiger of mine you will never finish first. The deep canyon like voice whispers again to me, “My child, you shall not pray for this lost soul. I will take care of my fellow black man.” I want to respond to this voice, I want Morgan’s autograph; but I must listen to my Father, and I must obey his commands. I have been forbidden to pray for you my brother. The Lord does not welcome you into his Kingdom. I will go to hell for praying for you. I pray for you Tiger. As I kneel for the last time, Morgan lights a smoke and blows a black cloud of disappointment in Tigers face, and my dear brother slowly descends into Satan’s circus…he gets to clean elephant butts.