Is There a God?
Dear Jane Doe,
Your letter touched me.
If you don't mind, I would like to share something of my own personal
experiences with you. I am going to send John Doe a copy too (and he
already has my permission to post anything I send him to the list.)
My father was a preacher. I was raised in a strict family. When I was
about 4 years old, I innocently used a word I had heard the next
door neighbor use - I went inside and told Mother that I had to go
to the bathroom and "shit."
When Daddy came home, he took me into the living room, then he had me
kneel down, and then he prayed and asked God to forgive me for my
sin. I was absolutely mortified, and the only time I can remember
feeling worse was the time he called me down in church, while he was
standing in the pulpit.
Those are not my painful childhood experiences - that's just to let you
know something of the way I was raised and learned to look at
church, prayer, sin, forgiveness, and deep inner shame.
For the last five years, I have been hit hard with some physical illnesses
on top of all the stuff inside me. I have prayed more, and harder,
than I ever have in my life. And you know what I get in response?
Cold, dead silence from Heaven.
Every once in a while, I have gotten so angry with God that it starts
spilling over. I start telling Him that if He wants to treat me this way,
if he wants to take all the talents and the intelligence he gave me
to begin with, and if he wants to p*ss them all away by leaving me on the
Trash Heap that my life has become because of being too sick to go
out and do my work and be part of society - well then He can do it,
because He is God. Nobody can stop Him. He is Boss. However, it that
is what he chooses to do, I can have no more respect for Him,
because I think He is wasting his own resources by keeping me so sick.
Then, I usually start cussing, and I tell him that he is one sick,
sadistic son of a bitch that can't love because he likes to TORTURE
little children who have never done anything to him.
And then, this great, enormous, silence descends upon me. I become
terrified. Just when I think I have done it, have blown it for good, and
that I am on my way to eternal flames for good, I feel a still, small
voice inside me, and it says,
"I've been wondering when you were going to tell me about all
Then I cry.
And if God was here, I would grab him and hug him, and then I would
probably lose my temper again and cuss some more, and He and I both
would laugh over what a silly little child I am. Then he would tell
me to get some worms and go fishing, to ease my mind. (And then, as
He walked off, he would probably mutter something about the apostle
Peter that I wouldn't quite be able to hear & understand.)
God cares. He just doesn't always do something about it. Sometimes He
cares enough to stand by and do nothing, while we fight our way out
of our own cocoons to become His butterflies. Even if He knows that it
will take every last single ounce of rage inside us to finally get
out of the thing, He still just stands there and watches our
struggles. I've hated Him for it, at times. But you know what? I don't
think I know anyone else who cares quite that much about me as He
does, to let me do it all on my own.
One day, when I'm all finished with my struggles, and I'm either a lovely
butterfly or a BIG ugly moth, I plan to stand right in front of His Great
Big Chair. I will stand up straight, shoulders back, head up, and I
will look Him straight in the Eye. I will say, "Thank You For Making
Me What I Am," and then I will bow my head, but only from
the neck. On that day, He can either take out His sword and
dub me as one of His Knights, or He can pull out His sword and
take my head off - I won't care either way, because He's who
He is, and I am who He made me into.
That's my experience, Jane Doe. There's just nobody like God. I
sometimes think He's just waiting for us all to grow up so that He
can throw us one Big Party and tell us all the things we ever wanted
Kathi --> This was a nice path,
lets choose another ^_^