I am starting to write for Provoketive, an online magazine, and this article will be published there tomorrow. I’m really not supposed to post the same thing here therefore, I’ll leave an excerpt but direct you there…for your commenting pleasure. I’ve never really felt a need to prove that God exists. Before today that is, when my tawny-headed, freckle-faced son looked up at me with his enormous blue eyes and cried If God is real, Mom, why doesn’t he stop all the bad stuff? Why Mom, why?
Feeling like I’d been slapped hard across my face by the earnestness and veracity of his question, I realized I don’t want to even touch that question.
Honestly I try not to dwell on that now as I sit here with all my advantages – I enjoy my life, drinking my expensive coffee, in my warm house, sitting in my comfortable chair, at my computer that is connected 24/7 to the world. I try not to think about my fortunate life or those that have so much less.
No I don’t want to touch those questions. But sometimes that awareness aches inside me and makes my comfortable life not — so – comfortable. I cannot escape the world when I turn on the radio or television or get online. It is there that I find out about people being beheaded. Women who had acid poured on their face. That going for firewood in some places in the world will get you raped or assaulted. Or that being born a girl is still something unwanted in many places in the world. much less and more importantly why God put me here. Why I am so seemingly blessed? And others appear less so?
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