Small Sips From Many Cups
Along with many Americans at a distance from the hellish events in the Deep South and Iraq, I feel sad and angry and hopeless and, and -- generally at odds with my humanness.
Maybe it's survivor guilt. Why them? Why not me? Why can't I do something? Why can't I do more? Why them? Why not me?
To me, it's a blessing -- although I guess some would curse me -- to be a theological dilettante.
I attended a Catholic elementary school and received early, rudimentary education in that faith -- some of which -- particularly a love for the Virgin and the saints -- has never left me, testament to the strength of that indoctrination.
I was a Protestant minister's daughter (let's make that stepdaughter, and this one I fought all the way) forced to attend services for years (ask me about smoking in the choir loft and that hit-and-run in the church parking lot).
I received two years of rabbinic instruction in Judaism before my Reform conversion more than twenty years ago.
I've had a lifelong affinity for Buddhism, with its instructional unanswerable questions.
Add a healthy respect for quantum physics and a mind open to "intelligent design." (Although, please. I still choose evolution over the First Seven Days).
So I have many cups to drink from when I'm in pain. And I took at least a sip from nearly all of them this week.
My point? I'm still hurting. Along with everybody else. My faith isn't strong enough to forestall it.
All I can do is suspend myself above this, remind myself that I can take care of those close to me ... and hope that there is some meaning to all this, some meaning we can't grasp as we gaze through this glass, darkly.
edit: after more hours of watching coverage of New Orleans' suffering, I'm so aware of how precious this post could sound and how I've got nothing to say about pain. Pray to God these people get the help they need, and soon.