I remember talking to a young lady in our rental office a while back, who identified herself as a devout Christian. A lot of tough things had happened in her life, seemingly one right after the other: financial troubles, an unexpected pregnancy, employment issues for her husband, emergency surgery, etc. But after running off the list of everything that had been going on over the last year, she sighed and said, “if I weren’t convinced that this were all part of God’s plan for me, I just don’t know how I could handle it all.”
So it gives comfort. I can certainly understand that. Hell, on some days, I wish I could just sit back, put my legs up, and take a nice deep breath, knowing that the Man Upstairs has everything worked out for me. But I can’t. It’s comforting in the short term, but I can’t see it as anything more than a fantasy we use to get us through to the next crisis … or a way to defer grief when someone dies since they’re not really gone.
She said she felt sorry for me when I told her that. Strange, since I actually feel a little more grounded knowing I’m not basing any hope on something so totally removed from reality.
Still she does seem pretty happy …