Dinner at God's House by Todd B. Lieman

Author:Todd B. Lieman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798989454112
Publisher: Wellness Writers Press
Published: 2024-02-23T06:03:04+00:00

CHAPTER TWELVE

A woman finds a lost wallet that contains a “Dear John” love letter written sixty years earlier. She tracks down the woman who wrote the letter and the man who lost the wallet. They live in the same retirement home.7

I was struggling to believe that our lives were predetermined. Or if not predetermined, dramatically influenced. Which events were the result of Fate, and which were the result of free will? For that matter, how did God play into this equation? What was his role? Did he really give up that kind of control just to amuse himself? Could Fate, did Fate, influence free will by altering the path that I took? If I decided on my own accord to go left, and it turned out to be the greatest decision I’d ever made, couldn’t Fate then drop an obstacle or person in my path, which would then force me to change directions and potentially end up going the wrong way? I guess what really bugged me was that I felt like I wasted so much time struggling to be happy. I spent most of my life feeling like I didn’t belong. Feeling like an alien. If it’s all just scripted, why would that happen? “God’s will” was the answer to some of the most complicated questions, but was “Fate’s will” just as prevalent? Fuck.

When things weren’t going right, I had on many occasions asked, “Is this some kind of joke?” The fact was that maybe, just maybe, it was exactly that. And the joke was not just played on me, but on all of us. It was more than I was prepared to handle. Or understand. How was I supposed to process this? Where were Jond and Ira? Did they know this was going to be happening? They must have.

I just wanted to go back to the woods with Blondie. Back to my virtual reality. Who cares if that meant I wouldn’t meet God? I didn’t know what that meant anyway, right? It’s not like he was walking around the table, asking us all how we enjoyed our meals and refilling our water glasses. Plus, if I thought that God was the sum of my experiences, then I already knew him, her, them, it, anyway. I was working overtime to justify my desire to get out of this house. If leaving meant I could have some peace and make the questions stop once and for all, or if I could exist in this “happily ever after life” with the little bit of romance in which I still believed left intact, I didn’t need to meet God. I didn’t need to learn more about the true meaning of Fate.

The problem was that this wasn’t exactly the kind of dinner party from which you excused yourself with a fake story about not feeling well. Presumably, our assumed host could literally see right through us. I could see through myself. No. I knew I wasn’t going to leave until I was dismissed. I was in for the duration.

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