Holding onto God

 Sheen and James sat on a park bench, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows across the grass. Kids ran past them, their laughter ringing through the air, but Sheen barely noticed. She was staring at her hands, fingers intertwined, as if trying to hold herself together.

James, always attuned to her shifts, nudged her gently. “You okay?” His voice was soft but steady.

She let out a breathy laugh. “You always ask me that, and I never know how to answer.”

“That’s fair,” he said, smiling slightly. “Try me anyway.”

Sheen glanced at him, then back at her hands. “Sometimes I feel like I touch God. Like, really touch Him. Not in a metaphorical way—like I can feel the divine inside me. Everything makes sense, and I feel… infinite. It’s beyond beautiful.” She hesitated. “And then it fades. And when I crash, I feel like I’ve lost something sacred. Like I was holding the truth in my hands, and now it’s just—gone.”

James was quiet for a moment, absorbing her words. He didn’t rush, didn’t dismiss. He let her sit in the weight of it.

“That sounds…” he finally said, searching for the right word, “incredible. And painful.”

She let out a bitter chuckle. “Yeah. It’s both.” She glanced at him. “Do you think I’m just delusional? That it’s all just my brain tricking me?”

James shook his head. “I think your experiences are real. Just because something is influenced by brain chemistry doesn’t mean it isn’t meaningful.” He leaned forward. “What if instead of thinking about it as something you ‘lose’ when you come down, you thought about it as something you carry with you, even when you can’t feel it?”

Sheen frowned. “How do you mean?”

“Well,” James said, gesturing vaguely, “what if the connection is always there, but when you’re in that heightened state, it’s just more visible? More intense? And when you come down, it doesn’t mean it’s gone—it just means you’re experiencing it differently.”

Sheen considered this, biting her lip. “So you’re saying I shouldn’t chase it? That I should just accept the quiet?”

James hesitated, then nodded. “Not accept it like giving up, but accept it like… trusting it’s still there. Like faith, I guess.”

She snorted. “Faith. You’re throwing my own spirituality back at me.”

He grinned. “Maybe a little.”

She sighed, rubbing her temple. “I just wish there was a way to keep the good parts without the crash. Without losing myself.”

James’ expression turned thoughtful. “What if we found a way to ground you? A way to keep a piece of that feeling even when things slow down?”

Sheen raised an eyebrow. “Like how?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe journaling? Meditation? Something that reminds you of what you felt, even when you don’t feel it so intensely.” He gave her a half-smile. “We could experiment. Find something that works.”

She studied him, the warmth in his eyes, the genuine care in his voice. “You really think there’s a way to hold on to it?”

“I think there’s a way to honor it,” he corrected gently. “To make peace with all of it—the highs, the lows, and the quiet in between.”

Sheen exhaled slowly, some of the tension in her shoulders easing. “That… actually doesn’t sound terrible.”

James bumped her shoulder playfully. “High praise.”

She chuckled. “I guess we can try your little experiment. Just don’t get all ‘self-help guru’ on me.”

James grinned. “Deal.”

As they sat in companionable silence, Sheen felt something unexpected—hope. Maybe she wouldn’t always feel the divine in that all-consuming way. But maybe, just maybe, she could learn to trust that it was still there.