I gave in. I started a blog. Now I won't bother my friends with philosophical text messages at midnight, I'll just furiously type away an abundance of words into the inky blackness, a torrential outpour of my endless stream of questions that have always been a constant in my life. Oh well, we all start somewhere.
To be honest, I enjoy the idea of having a blog, even though I'd never mention that to any of my friends, afraid of pretentiously being a hipster wanna-be. Not because I have fooled myself and think people will read it. No, I am not that delusional. Actually, it's the contrary. I have a little space that is all my own. I can think. I can vent. I am free to be stupid and wrong and confused, because any idiot can write a blog, right? Just "tap tap tap" away and say whatever I want, whatever I think, be it politically correct or incorrect or nonsensical. Yes. I am a fan of that.
And to be perfectly honest, I think I need that. Because lately, life has become a little more than I can neatly package up at the end of the night. It keeps me up, staring at silent walls that offer no solution except ominous continuity, which everyone knows is not comforting. I cannot comprehend the information I receive sometimes, and it overloads my brain until I wake up and realize I have spent an hour looking at meaningless facebook status updates about someone's hair, makeup, hookup, breakup, fixup or opinion that I care nothing about deep down. I just want something to distract me from the awful realization that something in this world is desperately wrong. We are hopelessly broken people that pretend with each other that we are fixed. We are a society that is falling apart from the inside while we crookedly smile at the world, faking our competence. And all the while, as we play our game, people suffer. People die. People trudge on without any hope or any light, content to stumble in the dark because they aren't aware it could be any different. Are we to blame for being broken? Perhaps not, but we are to blame for pretending we don't need to be fixed.
I am frustrated with God at the moment, if only because He is intrinsically so far above myself that I do not understand Him. Kara is in the hospital battling a leukemia she did not ask for. Sadie is going through intense chemo because life saw fit to slam a 6 year old with cancer. Japan is hit with an earthquake. I recently read a story of a little boy who was abandoned and locked in his room for so long without food that he started eating the drywall. I heard of a baby being beaten to death by it's mother's boyfriend while the mother was at a party. When the mother was called to come be present so the doctor could pronounce the baby dead, she told them she didn't want to and to "get rid of it". I feel as though life is broken in the wrong places and untouched in the undeserving ones. Why does God allow bad things to happen to His children? In many instances, His children who are just trying to love Him. Why do the wicked go unpunished? Why does God choose to step in in some cases and step back in others? And why, when I am trying my best to follow Him, am I still subject to life?
But I answer my own question within my question. This is life, not separate but in it's entirety. I am reminded of a conversation I had not long ago while being walked back to my dorm. Job was the most righteous man in the land. He was upright. He was blameless. He was blessed. And he was struck by calamity. He lost children. Houses. Family. Wealth. His wife's support. Everything but a sackcloth for his back and a sickness. God does not work within our warped sense of justice and fairness. He created justice, He makes the rules. Can the clay know the potter? Only in an extrinsic sense.
Even so, I will continue to question until I get an answer, and I will wrestle with God until He makes me lame that I cannot. I am glad God is ok with me being obnoxious
No comments:
Post a Comment