I cannot explain the choices I make in the middle of the night, when suffering from a bit of insomnia and flipping through the channels on television.
Just a couple of evenings ago, I landed on a program with a preacher who had a Georgia drawl, explaining why he was not afraid to die. He became very emotional, citing that he knew he was going to go to heaven and spend eternity with Jesus. Surrounded by the dark room and feeling very impressionable in my nighttime skivvies, I nearly believed him.
I wondered why I didn’t feel that way.
I don’t want to die.
I don’t think it sounds interesting.
I get teary-eyed thinking of a world without me.
I can’t imagine how my friends and loved-ones will survive. (Maybe that’s why the Pharaohs locked all their cats in the tomb with them.) I digress.
I cling to life.
I am not a hypochondriac, but if one is needed, I can do a pretty damn good impersonation. Why? Because every breath, every pain, every trickle in my system makes me suspicious that it is the precursor of a wave of destruction.
I think it’s foolish to say you believe in a God who made a beautiful Earth and then to be in a hurry to get away from it, thinking that the upgrade will be an improvement.
I like Earth.
I like people–even when they’re unlikable, because then they’re a puzzle.
I like being around.
I like what happens when I’m around.
So I cling.
Whatever seems to be full of energy, vitality or just the general circulation of the blood, I support with all my heart.
It is time to admit that I am an Earthling who will need to be evicted to get me to leave my particular duplex. Perhaps my Creator has set aside a place for me in a spirit world which is beyond my comprehension. I cannot cling to that.
But I can cling to faith, hope and love.
These are the three things that matter. These are the three things that make Earth sweet.
And these are the three things that make me so glad that I’m still alive with people like you.