Peter

He was a baby once. My mother held him in her arms. I was only two. I cheered for him as he came into the Earth. Another child of God was born. I was glad his name was Peter, because to me he was named after God’s Peter. I screamed “Eee!” At two years old, I remembered my past life as Daniel, and being in heaven as Daniel for one hundred years, and being water in heaven for a thousand years. I was happy to be alive. I was happy to finally have a form again, a body again. He grew up into a greedy, hateful person. He used to draw and paint and write, but when he graduated college he left that behind and spent his time looking for work, quitting, playing video games, looking for internships, drowning himself in science, wanting to be normal. He always wants to be normal. I have never understood normal. Deep inside we are all the same, and diversity is a blessing. He hates me and tells me to kill myself. Once he said, when we were talking about Jesus, “I don’t hate him.” Maybe he doesn’t, but he also doesn’t believe and know that Jesus is alive. I think Jesus talks to the back of his mind, and I am glad for him, because I know that Jesus can help him where I can’t. I don’t see any light in Peter’s life. I see boredom and depression and conformity. If he enjoys science, and finds meaning in it, I hope he can become a Godly scientist. I would be more happy painting. I would be more happy doing back handsprings. Neither one of them pays the bills. But I’m a citizen of heaven. Peter will be too. He feels lowly when his job is a service job. I would love to serve. He would be more happy if he was writing or painting. I just know it. I know someday he will want to become an angel. And I know in my heart that angels have bodies and heaven is a real world with grass and flowers and buildings and dormitories and cafeterias. I know in my heart that I dream of heaven all the time, and those dreams bring me hope, and heals my broken heart. When I was a teenager I thought I was in love with Peter. I wasn’t, I just confused my love for him as romantic love, and I didn’t realize it wasn’t romantic love until I met Damon Lythos and fell in love with him. I think he probably holds a grudge against me for that, for that night when we danced together at the elementary school dance when I was ten or eleven and he was eight or nine. He was made fun of, and let it get to him. I never let it get to me. In fact, I embraced weirdness as I grew up. I think he holds a grudge and doesn’t know how to forgive, but he needs to, because the bitterness is digging a hole in him. The bitterness that he has against me is only bitter to him, and it digs a hole into his wholeness, and it’s a hole that only God can heal. I want God’s love to wrap around Peter, and hold him as his soul lies in fetal position, seeking love and acceptance. When I feel empty and loveless I am drawn to food. Chocalate brownies and cheesecake and icecream invade my mind and healthy fruits and vegetables that I need are scarce. Peter escapes his emptiness with meaningless video games. How can he stand to live a life devoid of meaning? I don’t think he can. He tells me to kill myself and I tell him that I already died. I am waiting for heaven. He thinks I’m a burden, he doesn’t want my mom to care about me. I try to love all of them. But I don’t truly want to live with non Christians. I want to be surrounded with loving, forgiving, rarely angry people like the people at the church I go to. Angelic people that crave God’s light. An eternal flame is burning. My heart is still. It stops every now and then, and it’s okay, because I am immortal. God gave my soul and spirit a new body when I died, and let me stay on earth so I could become an angel.