Truth

So yesterday was Easter - the holiest day of the year for Christians. 

I haven’t called myself a Christian in decades, but that doesn’t mean I don’t believe in God. It just means I don’t think that Jesus was the one and only son of a white-bearded robed white guy sitting on a cloud, but maybe I’m wrong. I could be wrong. I’m certainly open to being wrong, because how do you really know? And don’t say “because the Bible tells me so.”

I only know what I’ve seen happen in my life and I can’t deny there is a higher power at work. Take this very recent example, for instance: A few weeks ago I was laid off from my teaching job and almost immediately a way to work from home and pay my bills landed in my lap, allowing me to have the flexibility to be available for my special needs children when I need to be. This new gig also might save the life of a micro-managing school administrator bent on following Common Core to the letter of the law. One never knows, but I digress.

You might call these recent events coincidence, but I prefer divine providence. 

You can believe whatever you want to believe and I will respect you for your conviction. I have nothing but admiration for the faithful who live their life according to their convictions, particularly when those convictions involve loving other human beings regardless of perceived differences. I don’t know all of life’s answers, but I’m pretty sure love is one of them.

So yesterday was Easter - and on Easter I saw so much ugliness and intolerance in social media that I had to shut my computer off. Well…  put it to sleep, really. I rarely actually shut it off.

I saw people posting hateful things about Christians and I saw Christians posting hateful things right back and I wondered why. If you’re rejoicing about Christ rising from the dead, then rejoice. Go ahead and rejoice over the interwebs. I can’t fathom that anyone finds the phrase “He is risen” offensive, but like I said, I could be wrong and apparently I am. I don’t understand. Why can't you just let the man rejoice?

If you want to write posts about your lack of belief or your different belief, then by all means, post away. Rejoice in your own truth. 

I just don’t understand why anyone feels the need to attack someone else’s belief. No two people believe the same exact way, even among those of the same denomination. 

These are my truths: 

In my life, I have seen evidence of a higher power. 

I know your truth is different from my truth.

I love you because you are my brother or sister, no matter what your truth is.

In the words of the great prophet Paul McCartney, “Live and let live,” because “in the end, the love you take is equal to the love you make.” 

Go love. 

And have some wine. For God’s sake. Have some wine. He invented it for a reason.

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert

A Dry Spell

There is nothing to writing.

All you do is sit down at your typewriter and bleed.

                                   Ernest Hemingway

On those rare occasions when I have more then three unscheduled minutes in a day, I think about writing and that I should be doing it. If not working on a novel, then at the very least I should be writing a blog post. 

But I don't know what to write about anymore.

For a couple of years there, every day of my life brought some new level of ridiculous drama and I had what seemed to be a never-ending supply of ideas.

Here's the interesting thing: I still have a never-ending supply of uncertainty in my life, but what I have now is someone who makes me happy in spite of the drama rather than someone who at times made me incredibly happy but was also a perpetual font of drama.

In the last 8 months since the drama-font and I split, I have dealt and will probably always be dealing with my daughter's mental illness. My divorce was final. I lost my job. My childhood home was leveled by an F-5 tornado. 

And I met someone new and wonderful who somehow makes me believe everything will be okay.

It's nauseating, really, the two of us. Two old people, kind of crazy about each other, hanging around in bars, hanging on each other in bars...  I'm sure the patrons are as grossed out by our behavior as they would be if we were their parents.

And we could be their parents. We're that old.

Maybe there's a story in there, but it'd probably induce nausea. 

Hell, what do I care? I'm old. If I want to write nauseating feel-good stories, then I will. 

But, ewww....  the thought of that even kind of makes me want to puke.

We'll see.

You can follow me on Twitter: @CeceliaHalbert