I've been mad at God ever since Cloudy died. I asked him not to let anything happen to her but he didn't save her, and I got really, really angry. I did not want my cat to die, I did not want to never being able to see her again and play with her. I could not imagine not having her perch on the corner of the sink, watching me as I cleaned and chopped celery; or Cloudy coming down just as I am taking chicken out of the oven and walking over to her food bowl to wait for her shredded chicken. I wanted my life to remain the same.
I know it's not God's fault. She was too sick to be saved and it would have been cruel to prolong her life when the end was inevitable. I wanted her to live to make me feel better ... I didn't want to lose her this year ... making it an even crappier year.
God and I have been together since I first learnt to pray and to understand about faith. He let me have my little snit because he knew that I would come to my senses sooner rather than later. I could not survive without my faith.
When I was in the hospital this week I started to pray again. Not so much -- "let me be well again" but it was more -- "thy will be done." I know he has already cured me ... I have no doubt about that. I have been praying for everyone else -- so much in the world that needs to be fixed.
God and I are OK again and life is as it should be.
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