I feel like I have spent most of this last week on a variety of buses – some of which are lovely, comfortable and don’t smell, others of which resemble steel-framed bacteria labs. But the point is that all this time on public transit has afforded me a lot of leisure to think.
I hate to say it, but this week my thinking took a path towards the discouraging, to the point where Friday night – on my way home from a Czech language/baking lesson – I ended up asking God, “Really, what’s the point? Why am I here? Why are any of us here?”
In order to explain how a good girl, brought up in the church and spoon-fed catechism and theology from a wee little age, could possibly question why we even exist, doubt God or doubt his eternally divine goodness, I need to take you back to Tuesday.