complaint box

A few weeks ago, someone who has always been near to me expressed her general feelings about my declining health. It just doesn’t seem right, and it’s difficult not to be bitter. I understand these perspectives, especially things not seeming right. Not yet. Too bad it’s not up to me.

Bitterness is probably also normal, especially in her position. Anyone close to the situation certainly has the right to work through bitterness and grieve any way they need to.

Is it odd that I truly have no bitterness? No anger. No major regrets. The physical discomforts definitely drain, putting out various fires as we still attempt to tackle the primary problem. That frustration and tolerating those painful moments is what puts me in “poor spirits.” In those moments, it’s nearly impossible to think about anything else.

Where would I even direct anger and bitterness? Not-god, the formless void? The ever expanding entropy is not exactly looking for feedback, including anything near the notion of fairness. To expect anything at all is logically inconsistent.

Would I be disappointed by something like karma or vibes? To me, these have always sounded like a fuzzy disguise for the notion of an omniscient, unfathomable great judge and provider of values and justice that will one day redeem things. But it’s chasing the feels and benefits with no real accountability, service or sacrifice, which rings true of nothing in life.

What about the great “I’m Not Sure?” Agnosticism has always held some appeal to me. I mean, there are mysteries in life and especially in death, things that we truly cannot know or are not meant to know. Recognizing and admitting our human limits to knowing is a humble and simply honest position. I think we have to admit that many of the faithful, despite our best efforts, do put God in a bit of a box of our times and culture. Where there is a little mystery we fill it by pretending to know things that may simply not be for us to know.

But a few steps down the road of agnosticism begins to feel like a gift from the dollar store. You sacrifice the notion of some ultimate truth (which may not be entirely knowable to us, but does exist) and comfort of the soul for some flimsy intellectual comforts. There’s nothing at all worth hanging your hat on, meaningful for the stuff of life. This is certainly not Love. I don’t imagine history ever has or will turn on truly selfless, courageous acts of service done in the name of “Well-I’m-Not-Sure.”

That leaves God. Abiding. Loving with a peace that is not at all of this world. Yes. I have had (and usually hold) that peace! I try to trust these words and meditate on them while also still fighting this disease like hell. I think God would have me do both.

I wasn’t bitter at God just a short time ago when all-out launching into mid air and landing with my toes in the grass after a productive and fulfilling day of work. Far more joyous than that, I wasn’t blaming God as I had the blessing of five healthy children, a (to me) dream home to raise them in, and 20 years of marriage to the most beautiful person I have ever known. I’ve never complained to God about my loving parents, extended family, background, and being truly blessed with so many friends and even neighbors, and oh so many adventures.

I wasn’t raising my fist to God then. And I’m not about to now.

One thought on “complaint box

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