A Riddle

What strange mysteries surround
Our mere existence!
The thought that God is someone real
Prevails, and in persistence.

But what's He do, She if you like,
As we contend with Life?
We oft take credit on our own,
But with Him share our strife.

One strain of Christian worship
Says He's part of everything.
Through prayer they conjure up His will,
In all His praises sing.

It's their belief He's in control
Of health, of love of sin.
Evangelistic stories flow
That lives are changed within.

Another group in search of faith
Aren't sure it always works.
To them, less sanguine possibly,
Life's full of puzzling quirks.

And then there is the Devil's deal,
The wicked one, the bad.
To some a concept, to some He's real,
To some He's just a fad.

On the other hand some people feel
That Life is accidental.
To them a god is quite unreal,
A concept purely mental.

In Life's affairs I usually find
Extremes are hard to trust.
Inevitably they polarize,
Proclaiming, "Think like us!"

My experience and my mind
Make room for compromise.
If something is one-sided
It's rare, and a surprise.

I've built my life around this,
To seek the middle ground.
It's often quite rewarding
and bridges gaps I've found.

But no so with religion.
The in between is out.
It seems that one must take a stand,
To something be devout.

The riddle is outside of Life
And baffling to my thought,
Since intellect seems useless;
It simply goes for naught.

It's hard for me to understand
That, given all our senses,
We must decide without their use;
Our minds are only fences.

The Riddle goes unanswered
For me, I must confess.
The only progress that I've made
Is God is there--I guess.