Throughout my life there have been several times when I have had serious discussions with religious individuals about my spirituality. I always ask the same question, “If there is an ever-loving God out there, why was I born with this disease?” Every single time, the religious person has replied that they know it seems difficult to understand, but God just has a bigger plan for me.
I’m not going to get married. I’m not going to have kids. I won’t get to see my brother become an adult with a family of his own. In thirty years, my whole family will sit down for Christmas dinner and I won’t be there.
So yes, it is difficult to understand. Please don’t think I am being melodramatic, I’m just telling you the truth.
I used to say a prayer to my ceiling every night that I would wake up and hop out of my bed and run outside and my brother and I would go skateboarding. After a few years of these prayers, all the while my body was getting worse, I developed a confusing relationship with God.
At the same time, there are too many unbelievably great things about life to deny the existence of a greater power. (For example, McDonalds Sweet Tea.) I could not live with myself if I traveled through life believing there is no God just because I have it a little harder than some people. You guys already have seen a glimpse into the reasons that I am absofuckinlutely in love with life. I fell out of my wheelchair and landed on my head and came away almost unscathed, I don’t think science alone can explain that. I have fought off many cases of pneumonia that should have ended me.
For now, I will say that I am still searching for answers. I want to believe there is a God and a bigger plan, but that image of my family at Christmas dinner won’t leave my fucking mind. Lately, I’ve been trying to not think about the subject too often.
I keep ending posts by saying I don’t know, but I keep feeling that way at the end.
Last night I had a dream I was riding a horse on a baseball field. There, now it’s different.