If I hear one more person quote Romans 8:28 (…all things work together for the good) today in response the the Oklahoma tornado tragedy I’m getting out a club and soon will start swinging.  You’ll note my face will be distorted with an evil grimace refleting an inner breaking point has now been met.  My zombie like gait will let folks know I’m coming for them, I won’t be stopped.

Seriously, I struggle with understanding God in times like this.  I ask many questions and find the answers elusive and inconclusive.  Maybe this isn’t a time for questioning, at least some will tell us this, I disagree.

Listening to well intentioned people say God blessed them by sparing their family and friends from the midst of horror… while I understand their appreciation, I can’t help but consider what they overlook.  If your belief allows you to have gratitude and praise for lives being preserved it must at some point focus on the converse.  What about those that weren’t protected, especially those innocent children?  Did the same God not feel it important to protect them?

I find it hard to acknowledge these thoughts and putting them down in print almost seems like I’m shaking my fist at God.  I hope it’s not interpreted that way by the Almighty.  I just don’t understand.  I don’t have the pre-programed faith to just willy-nilly say it’s all part of God’s plan and we just have to accept it blindly.  Offering praise for those who lived and not voicing anger for those who did not doesn’t allow my spirit peace in these challenging times.

I would hope the response to such horrific times as these would draw us close to each other in support.  Either through actual physical help offered or in financial resources for others to help in our place.  Cheap pithy statements of faith offer no comfort in these moments.  Only true actions of love and concern make a difference.  God will be found in the rubble not in the rhetoric.



Intense slumber, not a single movement,

face deeply impressed in the pillow.

Sleep too deep for dreams,

transported to blackened nothingness.

A safe and tranquil place.

An unnatural sound, too loud to excuse,

bursting forth outside my door.

Sleeping dogs spring forth to alarm and protect,

my Zen now over.

Illuminating the night, a dark figure appears,

a fiend tossing my garbage can about.

Undisturbed by my arrival he looks at me,

holding an immaculately clean jar of jam.

So this is the way of life,

we agree to not change a thing.

Letting me see such a noble creature up close,

I gladly accept cleaning his mess in the morning sun.