So, I'm thinking about my friend's daughter, and how she is deaf, and how she smiles, and laughs and plays in her silent little world, but still manages to touch the hearts of everybody who is fortunate enough to meet her, and I think about her cystic fibrosis, and think about the years in her life, and think about how she will be lucky if there are ten of those.

Then, I think about god, and how screwed up the whole plan-if there even is a plan is, and then I decide to think like I think god would think, and I close my eyes and reach out with my mind and make what I think is a conscious contact with a higher power, and I sense some heavy dissatisfaction there.

I'm pretty sure that he told me that contrary to popular belief, he is not perfect, and he did the best he could, and sometimes little girls have lungs that don't work, and wives are unable to walk, and people die in fires but every one of us is given the spark of life, and whether it flickers for a little while then goes out, or burns brightly for eighty or ninety or a hundred years has a lot to do with luck, and fate, and simply the imperfection of the best that god could do.

And then I realized what a jerk I've been, and I decided to help my wife walk, or carry her if I must, and get to know that little girl, and enjoy the little time that we do have, and to stop blaming something that I don't even understand, and then slow down and breathe in, and breathe out, and then do it again, and again and keep doing it till I stop.


  • Mr618 says:

    Back in the 1970s, Allan Sherman (of "Hello, Muddah, Hello Fadduh") wrote a book called "The Rape of the A*P*E*" (the unofficial history of the sexual revolution). In it, he describes God as the painter of the sunset, carving out Grand Canyons and building mountains, who is too busy making sure no two snowflakes are alike to worry about us and our petty problems. His general claim was that God is here, but we'd better not bug him about the petty crap… and for the most part, it's all petty crap. On the other hand, once in a while He manifests Himself in other, more subtle ways… like guys who spend 20 or 30 years helping others, running into buildings everyone else is running out of, or spending a little extra quality time with old folks forgotten by everyone else, sometimes being the only one left who gives a damn for the homeless, the afflicted, the forgotten.
    They can be in Providence, or San Francisco, or Louisiana, or DC or anyplace in between. They can be in Canada, England, Scotland, Ireland, the Middle East. They can be Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Baha'i, Hindu, agnostic.
    They can be anywhere, and fortunately, they're usually there when you need them most, when you're having the worst day of your life. That quick hug, that simple touch, that's the give-away that you're dealing with a Chosen One.

  • michael says:

    awsome Mr.618, thank you.

  • sarah says:

    awsome post as always, thankyou for reminding me to count my blessings.
    and thank you Mr.618 too.

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