In light of Friday’s tragedy in Connecticut, my complaints about shoveling snow and blowing my newly started diet at the office’s holiday party don’t seem important. In fact, I refrained from Instagramming multiple whines about having to shovel snow.
It is what it is: I cleared the sidewalk between the house and garage, then walked to my office for the party — and to pick up my car. When I got there, I started off with a plate of turkey and green beans … all Atkins-friendly. But I’d soon moved on to the chocolate cake, cherry pie, stuffing and veggie lasagna. Too much Chex Mix was also involved.
It was a very clear case of pushing that damn button, turning on something I didn’t have/couldn’t find the power to turn back off.
Huh. I was about to type “Thank God tomorrow is a new day.” But events like the massacre of 20 innocent children make me wonder if there IS a God.
People — including my mother, when she was alive — keep saying everything happens for a reason.
Really? What kind of plan calls for the murder of 20 kids at Christmastime?
I’m not new to the crisis of faith. My parents, who were both forced to go to church, didn’t want to do that to my brother and I — so I went infrequently, usually when invited by a friend. My spotty attendance continued when I attended a private, Methodist-affiliated university. I went to the campus chapel from time to time, and read widely from the Bible and other religious texts in my three semesters of World Cultures classes. Nothing really stuck.
I’m a good person: Honest, kind, caring, and I live by my own moral code. I just don’t have much use for organized religion. And yes, I wonder about the existence of some higher power. I’ve long said I’m more agnostic than atheist. I want to believe.
I was even starting to believe, thanks to the convenient timing of the hazard lights’ operation the night the Boyfriend and I got stuck on the side of the road. But happenings like this make me wonder all over again.