It’s me again. I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing. Also, I wanted to ask you to do something about this crummy weather. It’s overcast and pitiful.
There’s no hurry. I know you’re busy. I imagine you deal with lots of headaches, and the last thing you need is me whining about a few clouds. This whole COVID business hasn’t been easy on anyone, least of all you.
So I guess it’s a good thing that you’re a divine being. That must make things easier. Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe that makes everything harder. I don’t know. I’ve never been divine.
The closest I ever came to holiness was when I played the role of Joseph in the school Christmas pageant. I got to hold the hand of Amber Hodges who played Mary and also looked like a high-school senior. It was great.
But anyway, I’ve been feeling blue ever since this whole coronavirus thing started. Some days I’m in a great mood; other days the sunshine hides behind clouds and I get sad.
This dark period the world is going through is no laughing matter. I read yesterday that suicides are on the rise because people feel more isolated than ever. Alcohol and drug abuse are at an all-time high. For America, this is one of the toughest years, mentally, since the Great Depression.
My request for sunshine must sound petty in light of all that.
But then, why am I telling you all this? You already know this stuff.
Actually, you know more than we humans give you credit. Humans can be real dipsticks sometimes. I know this because I’m usually the biggest dipstick of them all.
The truth is, I went through a long period of not knowing how I felt about you. I’m not proud of this, but I’m only being honest.
I wasn’t sure if you were real or some pie in the sky idea for babies. As a boy, I thought maybe you were a vague, unseen force that made grass grow, and chose the winners for the Florida Powerball. But that was about all you did. You weren’t concerned with regular kids like me.
When my father died, I decided not to bother with you. I was thinking, “What’s the point?” After all, you never seemed to bother with me. And you sure as hailfire didn’t prevent daddies from dying.
I’m ashamed about all that now. I had you wrong. But do you know what I like about you? You don’t hold it against me. Not even when I act like—I think I already mentioned this—a complete dipstick.
By the time I was an adult, I’d been through a lot of bad things. And some of them got me to thinking about you. That’s when I began wondering about stuff. Big stuff. Life stuff.
Mostly, I started to notice little occurrences happening in everyday life. Tiny things I’d always thought were coincidences.
Over time, I started to realize that life itself was just millions of these overlooked coincidences all leaned up against each other. That’s when it hit me.
If all these coincidence happen multiple times per day, multiple days per year, multiple centuries per Bronze Age, then they aren’t coincidences. Because coincidences by definition are rare flukes. And there’s nothing rare about miracles that happen every couple seconds.
Take yesterday. I was walking through the supermarket, wearing my mask, reading my wife’s shopping list.
For some reason, I started thinking about my old friend, Greg, from grade school. His mother died and his brother raised him. Greg walked a few miles to school every day, and he bought his own groceries with food stamps.
I hadn’t thought about Greg in a hundred years. Then (bam!) out of a clear sky, Greg calls me in the supermarket. I don’t even know how he got my number. I’m guessing you did that.
And that’s just one example of an incidence that was definitely not an accident.
So if there aren’t any coincidences—stop me if I’m wrong here—then this means everything in the whole universe kind of works together. Like an enormous celestial symphony.
And if THAT’S true, then it stands to reason that there must be a musical score all the instruments are playing.
A few years ago, I went to see a philharmonic play Beethoven’s Symphony No. 9. The conductor let me into the orchestra pit for a tour before the concert.
It was fantastic. I couldn’t believe how meticulous the written music was. His pages notated every millisecond of the symphony. Every note, every beat, rest, movement, crescendo, glissando, and every breath. It was all outlined ahead of time. In fact, it was all planned by Beethoven himself back in 1822.
During the performance, there were times when I thought the whole choral symphony was falling apart, but somehow the conductor brought it all together. It was nothing short of magic.
That’s what you do, I think. You bring it all together. The sting of living, the pain of loss, the thrill of romance, good food, the warmth of sunshine, poetry, and love. You make it all work somehow. I give you a lot of flak, but I’m sorry. I know not what I do.
So on second thought, don’t worry about the weather thing I was asking about. Except of course that you already have. All of a sudden the weather has gotten very sunny outside.
What a coincidence.