Losing My Religion
Oh, I searched for answers in college, even going so far as to spend my junior year in Israel. Eventually though it became apparent that I wasn’t going to find answers to my satisfaction, and I grew weary of chasing my tail. I satisfied myself with some vague sense of a life force connecting all of us, and tried not to examine it too closely. I suppose I operated on some sort of “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” policy with The Almighty. My focus was (is still) on being the best person I can be now, and I guessed I’d get those other answers when the Universe was good and ready. Fine.
So, I got cancer. And, I didn’t question God (further than usual).
So, I had 8+ hour uber-toxic chemo infusions. And, ditto.
So, I had relentless nausea, heart palpitations and myriad other lovely symptoms. And, still. No religious crisis.
But last night. Oh, last night. Last night I considered running for president of the Atheists-R-Us.
At 10 pm, due to severe nausea and “chemo constipation” (a whole different thing than regular constipation, I’ll spare you the details), I took a good dose of laxatives. Immediately after swallowing those laxatives, I discovered that not one, not two, but all three “facilities” in our home were on the fritz. At 10pm. On a Sunday night. What kind of benevolent being would allow this? More obvious than a burning bush, more terrifying than parting of a sea; if ever there were a sign that we are alone in this vast Universe, this was it.
I pondered further all through the night as my stomach roiled. I staggered, dizzy, nauseous, disbelieving, out to my yard to pee at 3 a.m. and looked up at the beautifully clear, star-filled sky. Suddenly, it occurred to me that it wasn’t pouring rain like the previous night, and I thought … wait, is that you, oh Merciful One?
Back to square one.