I don’t know how many other people engage in theology at 6:30 am on a Tuesday when they should bloody well be asleep, but….apparently I do. My guilty secret is that even though I loudly declare myself to be an atheist, I actually want to have faith in more than just the spirit of a fat man in a velvet suit who shimmies down the chimney once a year to leave presents for children. (I’ll spare you my musings on the existence of Santa for now).
I have been following a homemaking blog for almost a year now. I liked the author’s personality enough from the get-go to be willing to ignore how many times she interrupted her posts to talk about Christ (I normally find such behavior annoying). She believes in God for reasons that are solid and right for her. She spreads his word in her own way, not because she believes Christianity is the only true religion, but because she wants others to be as happy as she is. I can get down with that, honestly. I truly respect her faith, despite knowing that Christianity is not, and never will be, something I can get into.
In all honesty, I am ever so slightly envious of her ability to ride through life’s storms by clinging to the divine power that she believes in.
How different would the last few months have been if I had had that kind of faith? Would my heart hurt so badly if I had truly believed in a divine reason behind all the trauma? Would I have felt less alone if I had truly believed the Goddess heard me when I cried like a lost child, begging for a miracle? Would I have stood stronger and made better decisions if I had thought an almighty power had my back and would show me the way to a better life?
How do people continue to believe in a loving divinity when they are going through hell on Earth?
I really want to know.