It's been some time since I posted on this blog. Life has been good, but not really monumental enough to make me think so much, until now. I logged in this evening, believing that the words would flow forth like a stream. But sitting here now, I don't know where to begin. I usually don't have a hard time putting thoughts into words, but in moments like these, I'm terrible at it. I generally like to organize my thoughts before I post anything; it's just the perfectionist in me. But I'm confused this evening, and every attempt I make at planning out this post seems in vain. I guess all I can do is just type...
My uncle passed away this morning after a long battle with pulmonary fibrosis. It was horrible watching yet another family member slowly passing away, and knowing that there was nothing any of us could do to stop it. It seems like that has happened far too much in our family. Cousins, aunts, uncles, my mother...too many people who've had to deal with horrible illnesses. We've had family members whose passings have been sudden, and I wonder sometimes if they're better off. Not that I don't miss them; I miss all of them dearly, but I think the fact that they were spared from pain and suffering is a good thing. Yet with each of their deaths - both the sudden and prolonged - there's an inner struggle that gets harder each time.
We live in a world of terrible people: murderers, rapists, drug dealers, etc. Only a few minutes spent watching television or reading the paper reveals the horrible demons that exist in the minds of men and women. With so many disgusting people, I can't help but wonder: Why are good people made to suffer, and why do good people die? It's a question that parents try to explain to their children, as my father tried to explain to me when I was younger and anyone I cared about died, but I have yet to receive a definitive answer. I know it's an unlikely scenario that good people would live forever. The planet couldn't provide enough to support the human race if some people didn't die eventually. But why, with all the horrible people in the world, do those who live a good life have to die? That leads to another, perhaps more important problem.
How does one maintain his/her faith in such a world? When something like this happens, faith doesn't seem to provide the comfort it once did. Rather than comfort, I feel anger - anger that this supposedly benevolent Creator would allow good men and women to suffer so horribly. And after such a long struggle, their lives are snuffed out, like their fight didn't mean anything. It's not the first time I've questioned my faith. I've done so on several occasions, and I usually find my way back to it. But when I finally feel that I'm comfortable with trusting God, this happens, and my faith is once again shadowed by doubt.
People have tried to explain these things to me in different ways, and I dismiss each explanation. None of them seem good enough for me. Like I said before, I'm a perfectionist, and I like having answers. But I've tried over and over to make sense of suffering and good people dying, and have yet to find one explanation that makes perfect sense and is acceptable to me. I've heard from atheists and Catholics, the entire spectrum basically, and no one can give me the solace I need when a loved one dies. I learn to move on of course. I'm not the one who died, but I still don't have an answer. The worst part is probably that faith becomes more and more elusive each time our family has to go through this. It feels like my faith is hanging off a bridge, and I'm holding onto it with a rope. Once in a while, I lose my grip. I'm able to grab the rope just in time, but each time, there's less and less rope to hang on to. Eventually, I wonder if that rope will slip through my fingers, and I really will lose my faith completely.
I still want to believe, but it's just not as easy as it was. If God is truly benevolent, then I don't know how pain, suffering, and evil could exist. I've been told it's not my place to question His plan, but not questioning the unknown goes against my nature.
Maybe God doesn't exist, or if He does, maybe He just doesn't care as much as we want to believe.
