Random 7

1. This is a random posting of a captioned photograph from http://icanhascheezburger.com/. I found it very amusing. It is so true; and I can think of so many human metaphors for this idea. But I'm not feeling deep tonight.

2. I am currently in a situation where it is practically impossible for me to have sex. I'm not going into details tonight, except to say that I might have to stop going to spinning class for the time being. The bicycle seat is becoming...distracting.

3. Beer makes me happy.

4. Sex would make me happier.

5. I am trying to figure out what exactly it is that has me so intrigued with the TV show House. It's an awesome show; but I am rarely drawn in the way I am with this one.

6. I am more intrigued with the show LOST; but I understand completely why I love it so much.

7. I'm looking forward to painting my kitchen this weekend.

Real post coming up soon; I just like to throw in a Random 7 every once in a while.

The Power of Prayer

I may be accused of baiting for Christian readers with that post title; but it is legitimately what this post is about.

Disclaimer to Christian readers: it is not my intent to offend you, but I have some very strong emotions and opinions regarding this subject. It makes me say fuck a lot. So if the word fuck bothers you, you may want to stop reading now. You've already seen it twice, and I assure you it will appear again. Several times. The word shit, too. (I told you to stop reading...)

My first husband was/is an atheist. He and I had many, many discussions and disagreements about the existence and sovereignty of God. His reason and logic were excellent, and a fair call of the debate would always judge him as the winner; but discussions with him never caused me to question the existence of God, or his absolute omniscience.

No. The first thing that ever caused me to question God was the true story of a little girl who had a terrible illness. I don't remember the details anymore. What I remember is that the little girl was in the hospital, and several doctors were working day and night to diagnose and try to find a cure for her before it was too late. The little girl's family issued a plea for everyone to pray for the child to be healed; for God's mercy and loving healing.

The doctors figured out what was wrong, administered the proper treatments, and the girl got better. Do you know where the family gave the credit for the healing? I'll bet you can guess.

They thanked all the people who prayed. Without those prayers, they were convinced that their daughter would have died.

What. The. Fuck.

So. You are telling me that God imposed a life threatening illness upon an innocent little girl, and would have let her die, except that lots of people begged him not to? And if enough people had not begged him to spare her, then too fucking bad! You guys are not groveling enough! The child dies!

Dude. Fuck that shit.

Honestly. Does that even make any sense, when you think about it? I remember always being told to pray for what I wanted/needed, but then add "but your will be done." I guess so God didn't think I was barking orders at him or something. I can understand that; I don't like people barking orders at me, either. But seriously, what good does it do to pray if you can't even say "I really want this; even if it wasn't what you originally intended?" What good is prayer at all, if this God of yours is going to do whateverthefuck he wanted to do in the first place? And how loving and gracious is this God if the single prayer of a frightened mother isn't enough to save her child? What kind of sadistic maniac requires a megachurchfull of people begging for the life of one little girl? WHAT KIND OF GOD KILLS LITTLE GIRLS IN THE FIRST PLACE?

FUCK.

I know what you are going to say. "We are God's children. Do you give your child everything she asks for?"

The first thing I will say to you is don't end a sentence with a preposition.

The next thing I will say to you is no, of course I don't. Sometimes I can't (an excuse God can't use, right?), and sometimes she wants something that is not good for her. Either way, I always take the time to explain to her why I can't or won't let her have what she wants. If she doesn't understand, then I try to explain it another way. If she still doesn't understand, I lock her in the cellar.

I kid. I haven't locked her in the cellar since we had to replace the door from all the clawing damage.

JESUS, PEOPLE! CALM DOWN! IT'S A JOKE! I DON'T EVEN HAVE A CELLAR!

Seriously, though. Even if I did lock her in the cellar, it's still not as bad as being cast into a lake of fire to burn for all eternity. Which is what we get if we piss off God.

But he loves us.


UPDATE: The difference in opinion regarding the existence of God was not what broke up my first marriage. Just so you know.

ANOTHER UPDATE: If I did have a cellar, I would keep wine in it. Not kids.

Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends; we're so glad you could attend, come inside, come inside...

I'm not starting this blog with an explanation of what this blog is about; because this blog is about whatever is on my mind at the time of my writing. This blog will be about atheism. It will be about sexuality. It will be about family. It will be about funny shit that happened on the way to the gynecologist's office. Just whatever.

Okay, so I lied. I did start the blog with an explanation of what the blog is about. But not really; because it was by no means comprehensive. So there.

I have recently come to terms with two very big things.

1. There is probably no God; and


2. I'm okay with that.

A year ago I would have never admitted that I had doubts about God's existence. Oh, the doubts have been there for much more than a year; but a human who needs comfort and solace can cling fiercely to denial. See, my dad died when I was 10 years old. I needed to believe I would see him again. In heaven. But now I wonder whether I really needed to believe that, or if I only clung to that hope because I was taught to do so.

Rather than go into a manifesto about how I came to disbelieve (don't worry; I'm sure that will come later), tonight I want to write about an incident that happened to me yesterday.

My 12 year old daughter (also atheist) and I were returning from a trip to the grocery, and I needed to make a stop at the liquor store to pick up a bottle of wine for dinner. It started to rain pretty hard for a while, but slacked off as we pulled into the parking lot. As I turned off the car, I glanced out the windsheild to see an obviously injured, soaking wet little gray mouse, hobbling and struggling to get off the pavement, onto the grassy median beside the parking space. It was heartbreaking to watch him climb the little concrete slope, only to slide backward because he had no use of one of his back legs. My daughter asked if we should help him, and I told her that there was really nothing we could do; even if he got onto the grass, that leg of his was not going to heal. She decided to wait in the car and listen to her iPod while I ran in and quickly picked up the wine.

When I returned to the car, there was an SUV parked in front of me. I could tell by the look on my daughter's face what had happened.

I asked her whether what I thought had happened, had happened. She said yes, with a tear rolling down her cheek. I explained to her that it was really for the best; that the little mouse was not going to get any better. He was going to be in pain and struggling until a predatory bird, or a cat, or some other carnivorous animal got him. Or else he would starve to death, because he could not move around well enough to get food. Being hit by the SUV was the quickest, most humane death the little guy could have asked for. Now he isn't in pain anymore.

My point here is that I did not have to make up a story about the mouse being in mousey heaven, or in "a better place," or "with Jesus" to give my child some comfort about the situation. Sure, she was still sad about the mouse getting squished, but she was able to accept that it is part of the life cycle; it is the way the world works. And she accepted it within the bounds of reality; not based on some superstition that she would later grow to doubt and feel deceived about.

I have now accepted the idea that I will never see my father again. He is not waiting in heaven for me. He is gone. All I have are my memories, which are wonderful and beautiful. He was a funny, talented, brilliant, kind, loving man. And that will have to be enough.