This is a short piece I wrote for my personal journal back in 2007. At the time, my granddaughter Borden was 11 years old. Today she is a beautiful young woman, studying Nursing at the University of Alabama.
The reader should understand that my image of God is that of a pleasant-faced middle-aged matron, very much like my Aunt Peggy. (See For They Shall Inherit)
Hey, God. This is Tom.
Well hello, Tom. We haven't talked in a while. What's on your mind today?
My granddaughter, Borden, had sinus surgery yesterday. She had a really tough time of it, and is quite uncomfortable still.
It's always hard to watch a child suffer. It makes you feel so helpless and frustrated.
Wait a minute. Are you telling me that you feel helpless and frustrated? I thought you ran things. Don't you decide when and how someone will suffer? Isn't it part of some master plan?
You must think I'm some sort of monster. Do you really think I would choose to make a sweet little girl like your Borden tremble in fear and cry for her mother because she hurts so badly? That is definitely not in any master plan of mine.
Well, who is to blame, then? Who decides that children, or anyone for that matter, have to experience pain and fear?
Facts do, Tom. You know that. The facts are that Borden had a blockage in her sinuses and it was affecting her energy level and interfering with her life. The blockage was something that was probably part of her genetic makeup, possibly inherited from you. The facts are that in the current state of medical understanding, the most effective and humane means available to relieve her condition is the procedure she had yesterday. The facts are that her parents are fortunate enough to have medical insurance that will pay for that type of surgery. If she had lived in an earlier time, or if she had been born to less affluent parents, she might have struggled with the effects of the blockage for her entire life. As it is, there is at least a chance that she is rid of it.
You're telling me to deal with it and move on, right?
If you're ready to...
Hello, God. It's Tom again.
Good morning, Tom. How is Borden doing?
Thanks for asking. She is getting stronger; but the progress is a little slower than I expected. She's still shaky and uncertain when she stands up, and wants to hold someone's hand just to move from the bedroom to the bathroom. This is a little girl who does double back flips in gymnastics competitions.
I'm curious, though. I thought you see all and know all. Why are you asking me how Borden is doing? Don't you already know how she's doing?
Assuming that I am omniscient (which is something I have never claimed, by the way), by asking you I not only find out how Borden is doing; but I also find out what your perception is of how Borden is doing.
And, I suppose that you know that it is good for me to talk about things that trouble me, and to know that someone else is concerned about them also. That's why I said "Thanks for asking", isn't it?
Perhaps...
Since we last talked, I've remembered the time when Borden's mother was a little girl, and developed a pilonidal cyst. As soon as I saw it, I convinced myself that it was a cancer, and I was absolutely frantic with worry.
What happened?
Somehow Aunt Peggy found out about my panic, and she called me at work and talked me down from it.
How did she do that?
She explained to me what the cyst was and how it started and how they would treat it. She told me that a cancer would never create an open sore in that way.
Facts. If there were more Peggys around, I could take more time off.
Thomas R. Borden Waugh, Alabama March 3, 2017
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