I made mention in the other post that I hate life. Not necessarily do I hate my life, I just hate life in general. What really gets under my skin is that my life isn’t particularly bad, particularly when compared to those who live in Syria or Nepal. Even my life today is better than it would have been say 100 years ago.
But none of that makes me feel better.
It’s weird going from ultimate purpose and no fear of sacrifice, to little purpose and no reward for sacrifice.
There is no pearly gates, treasures in heaven, or mansions on a hilltop awaiting for me when die. If I die poor, miserable, and lonely, I’ve only got nothingness to look forward to. I use to think that if my life ended in poverty and neglect, in some piss stank “nursing” home, I’d be ok. After all, I’d see Jesus and enjoy him forever so who cares how this life ended for me?
Now I’m starting to realize the financial mistakes I’ve made in my younger years may come back and bite me in the ass. If I don’t start saving money, my last experiences in the universe will be of regret and pain. Then poof…gone. I guess the “poof…gone” doesn’t bother me so much, I just want… umm…to…
I don’t know, what I want.
I want my kids to be ok. I want them to be loved. I want my wife to never experience loneliness. I’d rather live a torturous life alone than to even think that she’d have to do same.
I really hope she dies first…at the ripe old age of 1000.
….with a $1,000,000,000.00 in the bank, so she’d never have to worry about money.
But that won’t happen, because life sucks and then you die.
I really honestly don’t want to live. I need to live because I need my kids and wife to be ok. They are the only things I live for. Which breaks me out into a mad panic attack, because I’ve performed funerals for people who die too young.
Kids die. Mommies (and wives) die. And in a world where death is final, everyone dies too young no matter how old they are.
I talked with a friend yesterday who lost her husband of 60 years. She called me wanting to talk about anything and everything trivial because she just wanted to stop crying. I talked about babies being born in our congregation. I talked about my upcoming trip to Seattle to see friends. I talked my wife redecorating our home. We’d go about 3 minutes and she would start violently sobbing for about 30 seconds, then get ahold of herself and ask me more questions.
“This hurts more than I could have ever possibly imagined, pastor. I knew it was going to be bad, but this is way worse than I could have ever guessed.”
Finally she gave up trying to have a “normal” conversation, and we said our good byes. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks:
She will never see him again. She will never smell him again. She will never laugh with him again. She will never hold him. She will never be his again. There’s no place in the heavens where he is waiting for her. On top of that, there is no God to wipe away her tears. No Spirit to comfort her. No Jesus to intercede for her.
I’m sure for the millions of non-religious people out there, this isn’t news. But imagine you thought your friends all went on vacation and your expected see them in a few weeks only to find out “vacation” was a euphemism for death. They’re just gone.
Someday that will be me. In my deepest of hearts I’d rather die than be the one left behind.
I have a friend is also an ex-pastor turned atheist. His wife left him and his 1 year old baby daughter lives clear across the country. He can’t find a job in the same state as his baby girl. He told me about his daily struggles with suicide. If I were in his shoes I’m not sure I’d win that battle.
Here’s to hoping I won’t ever be in his shoes.
Sorry for the rambling.