God Where Are You?

I'm highly skeptical that there is a god. I'm putting the odds at 1 in 10. The problem is, I want there to be a god. I want it in the worst way. It's a selfish thing, really. Plain fact is, I yearn for an afterlife. I have a tough time with the concept of an eternity of nothingness. I find is scary. Terrifying. When I envision death, it is like a prolong term of acute boredom. Tied to a theater seat during a continuously playing David Spade film. As I see it, the only way to avoid the endless darkness is via God. I have to suck-up to God. But see, there's the rub. I don't think God is out there. I could cover my bases and pretend I'm a big God fan, but if God is anything like people claim him to be, he'd know I was faking it. All the prayers, the kneeling, the sacrifices during Lent, all an act and the Guy'd know it. He'd probably be less pissed if I didn't acknowledge Him at all. I can't make myself become a theist any more than I can make myself eight feet tall, or a country music fan. What a predicament.

The other day I was sitting back in my recliner and staring up at the ceiling in thought when it entered my head that there's actually somewhere near a reasonable chance that some kind of thinking entity created the universe. He, or she, or it, would have put together all the various forms of matter, concocted the rules of physics, and kicked the whole thing into motion. For a while I thought I might be on to something. Maybe my problem was on the verge of being solved. But as much as I pondered I just couldn't make this "being", if it's even there, be even remotely similar to the God found in various religious literature. I figured that this hypothetical "being" may have created the universe, and both the Earth and man are byproducts that came into existence through a combination of a lot of time and a fair amount of happenstance. No I could not convince myself that this creature even knows we are here. I couldn't come close to buying into the notion that it is looking over us, critiquing our lives for moral content. In short, this mild revelation I recently experienced didn't help me negotiate my dilemma with the hereafter.

People have said that God has spoken to them. But if I'm standing right next to one of these individuals while God is communicating I know I won't hear a thing. I think God needs to come out in the open. That's the only answer. I'd start a global petition if I knew where to send it. What's with all the secrecy anyhow? I've heard this thing about "faith" but in the great realm of human behavior, faith isn't actually a particularly positive trait. As deeds go, faith is kind of neutral. So why would God make it a requirement? See, it's just that kind of thinking that gets me in trouble. The standard response would be "Because that's the way he is", or words to that effect. Well, that's not the kind of logic that's going to sway me. And I want to be swayed!

If you see God, if he's sitting on your porch drinking a lemonade, send me an email and I'll rush right over. I'll travel at top speed because I'll want very desperately for him to be there... I mean really there.

My Cyber Mother (By Guest blogger Chet Mays)

My previous computer was over a week old so it had become obsolete. It worked okay so I decided to delete all the porn, and anything else that might seem objectionable, with the idea that I'd give it to my grandmother. She'd been asking about computers, you see. The old gal is about six hundred years old and has lived alone for a decade or so. So about a month ago I took the Compaq over to her little house to set it up for her. I actually find my grandmother's digs kind of creepy. Everything is clean enough but the stuff is just so darn old. She has this ancient highback chair that I think Lincoln was sitting in the night he was assassinated. She has this long, wooden table in her kitchen that I believe was originally built for the Last Supper. Her television is a Philco, circa 1955. Just about the only time she turns it on is to watch the Huntley-Brinkley Report, which explains why it still works.

Chet Mayes and Grandma

Anyway, the old gal didn't know a thing about computers. She was starting from scratch. She called the keyboard the "typewriter", and the monitor the "television". She was amazed that the television's picture was in color. An oversight on my part made it impossible for us to use the computer without typing in the password MrHung, a bit of inaccurate self-flattery. Following a split second of anxious thinking, I explained that Mr. Hung was probably the Japanese man who assembled the computer in the factory.

I showed her how the mouse worked, various keyboard functions, and so forth. I returned after two weeks and saw right away that the old dame was starting to get the knack of it. Too much so, perhaps. She had enough confidence that she wanted to go on that thing called "The Internet". After a few minutes of discussion, I relented. I figured that with my grandmother's advanced age, an old computer, and a connection with dial-up service, she would likely be dead of natural causes before the Net ever appeared on her computer's television.

I returned a few days later with the required software. Low and behold, we got her up and running on the Net. We visited some generic website. There across the top of the page were terms such as "Support" and "Log-Out". I told her that it would do her no good to click on "Support" if she suddenly lost her balance, and "Log-Out" had nothing to do with a bowel movement. For a few seconds she wasn't sure if I was kidding or not. But it was only a few seconds. She's not quite that bad. 

God help us, a mid-20th Century passenger just climbed on board the 21st Century.