For every "The tomb is empty" Easter, there is a "Why have you forsaken me" Good Friday.
For all the adorable children at mass today, there was one who appeared to be receiving chemo.
And for every joyful Alleluia, there is someone with Friedreich's ataxia who God stubbornly refuses to fix.
I am not forsaken. I am sure when I meet my maker, God will claim, "I was with you. I sent your mom and dad and whole family. I sent you friends. You were actually very lucky."
Given that I will be dead and likely incorporeal, I won't smack him ... probably.
Saying my family and friends are gifts from God seems to ignore their own kindness and my ability to attract loving people.
And God doesn't appear too busy. That would be one thing. If God were like Superman thwarting evildoers, I'd be OK with FA. Clearly, he is too busy, I could say. But evil grows bolder by the second, and God doesn't do anything.
I know Jesus triumphed over death. I know I will have eternal life. Right now? That does not seem like much.
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