by Brandon Hale
“Wow,” Earl said. “They have contests?”
“No,” Lauren said. “He was just being nice.”
“Idiot,” Liz said. “I worry about your sugars. You keep a close check on things, you hear.”
Here it comes, Lauren thought.
“My grandmother,” Liz continued, “died because she had the sugars. You‘re young and pretty right now, so you might not think it‘s a big deal. But later in life, it’ll get mean.”
Lauren was very used to these types of conversations. Everyone that knew she was a diabetic wanted to offer some sort of support. Usually, they showed empathy by telling her some horror story about a relative that had diabetes. Lauren had to constantly remind herself that their intentions were good.
She just smiled at Liz and said, “Oh, I know it, Liz. I was diagnosed when I was five, so it has taken a very big toll on me already. I had three laser treatments on my eyes the year before we moved here. I certainly respect the damage this disease can do.”
“It’s sad,” Liz said. “Sometimes I wonder why someone as nice as you would get cursed with something like that.”
“I find the good in it,” Lauren said. “My diabetes has turned me into a very responsible person. You have to be when your life depends on it. It also gives me a very good perspective when it comes to appreciating every minute on this Earth, as well as helping me to be a good counselor to folks that get diagnosed with various conditions.”
“God works in mysterious ways,” Liz said. “You start to question things, then you get shown how it’s part of God’s plan.”
“I’m not sure diabetes is part of God’s plan, Liz,” Lauren said. “I think some things just happen.”
“Wouldn’t expect that view from a minister,” Earl said. “You don’t think God has a plan?”
“I didn’t say that,” Lauren said. “I just said I don’t know if my having diabetes is part of it.”
“Not sure I follow you, dear,” Liz said.
“I believe God has a plan for us, Liz,” Lauren explained. “I believe that with all my heart. I’m sure humanity was put on this Earth for a reason. I’m just saying that I’m not sure we should just write off every good or bad thing that happens to us as being part of that plan. Things simply happen in life. And it’s up to us to make the most of those things. My diabetes is a good example. I don’t think it was some intentional decision God made. It’s not a predetermined test, but I’ve chosen to take it as such. I’ve chosen to treat it like it’s a test of my character and my strength.”
“Interesting,” Earl said. “I’m not sure all of our members would agree with you on that one.”
“Let me ask you a question,” Lauren said. “Did you give your kids vaccination shots?”
“Of course.”
“Well,” Lauren said, “if you believe that diseases are part of God’s plan, shouldn’t you have let them get whatever diseases the vaccinations prevented?”
“I suppose,” Earl said. “Never really thought of it that way.”
“I can tell you this,” Lauren continued. “If they ever find a cure for diabetes, I’ll be in that line to get the cure. And if I believed my disease was some part of a greater plan, it would mean I’m going against the wishes of my God.”
“Unless the cure is part of the plan as well,” Arthur said.
Lauren looked at her husband. “Thanks for making this harder to explain.”
Arthur smiled. “Just trying to help.”
Lauren looked at Earl and Liz. “You think he has a point?”
“Maybe,” Liz said. “It could be part of the plan.”
“Then answer me this,” Lauren said. “What possible plan could God have where he gives us a disease, and then expects us to get the cure when other people develop it? Are you suggesting that God let millions of people die over a disease, just so it would cause scientists to have to think hard enough to cure it?”
“Maybe,” Earl said. “But more importantly, I don’t think we should be questioning God’s plan.”
“I disagree with you there, Earl,” Lauren said. “I hope God is impressed with us when we question his plan. We can’t understand the plan if we don’t evaluate it and seriously think about what the plan might be.
“It’s like the old joke. A man is drowning in a flood. After a few minutes, a boat comes by and offers a rescue, but the man says, ’No thanks. The Lord will save me.’ The boat moves on. Later, another boat comes by. The water is up to the man’s chin by now, but he still passes on the rescue, saying, ’No thanks. The Lord will save me.’ Later, he’s swimming and getting very tired. A Helicopter comes down, but the man yells, ’The Lord will save me! Move along!’
“Well, the man eventually gets too tired, and he drowns. He was a good man, and he goes to heaven. In heaven, he meets God and he says, ‘Lord, I don’t understand. I was drowning, but my faith never faltered. I believed with all my heart that you would save me. And yet I drowned.’
“The Lord looked at the man and said, ‘Geeze, man. I sent you two boats and a helicopter. What more do you want from me?’”
Earl laughed. “Why haven’t I heard you do a sermon about that?”
“Because,” Lauren said, “it’s not something I think I’m qualified to teach. It’s my personal belief. Nothing more. But the man in my story died because he refused to question God‘s plan. He never asked, even for a moment, how God was going to save him.”
“So you don’t think life’s little things are part of God’s plan,” Liz said.
“No, I don’t,” Lauren answered. “But please don’t think I’m saying you’re wrong if you do. I have nothing to back this up except my own person belief structure. And it doesn’t matter either way, because I treat life’s challenges as tests. Whether they’re intended to be tests or not, I treat them like they are. It makes me a stronger person. What we’re talking about here is just my personal opinion on the meaning behind those tests.”
“I think it’s because you have to,” Earl said. “If you believed everything was part of God’s plan, you’d end up resenting him for giving you diabetes.”
Lauren laughed quietly. “I’ve wondered that myself, Earl. And you might be right.”
Earl began preparing another hotdog. “So what makes you so sure God even has a plan?”
“Logic,” Lauren said. “And gut instinct. My gut tells me it’s true.”
Arthur reached across the table and picked up a bun. “Mind if I fix a hotdog?”
“Honey, it’s a picnic,” Liz said. “You’re expected to fix a hotdog.”
“Thanks,” Arthur said with a smile. “So, I understand the gut instinct part,” he said as he sat back down with his food. “But the logic part is intriguing. Why is it logical that God has a plan?”
“Here we go,” Earl said. “The atheist is about to start some crap.”
Lauren laughed.
“I’m not an atheist, Earl,” Arthur said. “I’m agnostic.”
“I’m still amazed you two get along well enough to be married,” Liz said. “A preacher and an ath--agnostic.”
“Sometimes we don’t get along at all, Liz,” Lauren answered. “But I don’t think I’d be much of a minister if I ignored the obvious good in someone just because they don’t see the world like I see it. Besides,” she added with a grin, “he’ll come around eventually.”
“That’s a good hotdog,” Arthur said.
“I’m curious about your answer to his question,” Earl said. “Why is it logical that God’s got himself a plan?”
“It’s complicated,” Lauren said. “And probably boring.”
“Try us, dear,” Liz said.
By this point, Lauren noticed that many other people at the table were listening to the conversation. For a moment, she considered changing the subject. Her opinion on this matter wasn’t traditional, and she didn’t want to do anything to shake the relationship between her and the church members. She eventually took a deep breath and decided
to answer. She knew that shying away from her beliefs went against her decision to be a minister. If those folks were going to trust her to lead them, they had every right to know her opinions about God. Even the opinions that weren’t part of her Sunday sermons.
“In order to answer that,” Lauren said, “we’ll have to get into an area that has traditionally been pretty controversial in regards to religion.” When nobody ventured a guess, she explained. “I’m talking about evolution.”
“You believe in evolution?” Earl said.
“Earl,” Lauren said, “I think we pretty much have to accept that the basic principles of evolution are sound. The mistake most people make is in the belief that they have to choose sides on that debate. Believe me, you don’t. Evolution and creation can very easily co-exist. To me, creation is the what. Evolution is the how.”
“Makes sense,” Arthur said. “But what does that have to do with God’s plan.”
“How can you be married to her and not already know the answers to these questions?” Liz asked with a smirk.
Lauren laughed again, but this time she felt a hint of embarrassment. “We typically stay away from deep philosophical discussions, Liz. I think it’s because he doesn’t like being wrong.” She looked at Arthur and then around the table. Even more people were listening now. “My answer to his question involves the specific evolution of human beings.”
“What about it?” Arthur asked.
“It doesn’t fit with the evolution we see everywhere else,” Lauren answered. “A giraffe evolved to get a long neck. Cats evolved and now they have claws. But the evolution of almost everything on the planet is purposeful and it’s subtle. And I don’t remotely buy the trial and error aspects of evolution. Mathematically speaking, if it were truly just random mutations it would take billions of years for the plants and animals of this planet to get to where they are today. I don’t just believe evolution can co-exist with the belief in God. I think it supports the belief in God. And--in my mind--man’s evolution is the strongest evidence of God on the planet.”
“You’re getting technical, there, preacher,” Earl said.
“Sorry, Earl,” Lauren said with a smile. “I warned you it was boring.”
“How?” a young man asked from one of the adjacent tables. “How does man’s evolution support God?”
“Well, Nathan,” Lauren said, hoping she had correctly remembered his name, “I think man’s evolution was pushed harder and faster than any other evolution on the planet. Other animals can take centuries to develop a sharp canine tooth. In that same amount of time, we developed sky scrapers. And then you have to look at what scientists refer to as our cousins.”
“Apes,” the young man said.
“Yes,” Lauren said, relieved that she’d apparently gotten his name right. “Apes. Chimps. Gorillas. We had all the same opportunities and were in identical situations. Yet we created the internet and they created sticks to dig out termites.”
“That actually supports the random mutation theory,” Arthur said.
“On the surface, maybe,” Lauren said. “But when you look deeper, it just doesn’t make sense. When I see a chimp, I see what we would have been without God‘s decision to push us forward. They seem to be the natural progression of evolution. They match the speed and subtlety of natural evolution. When I see human beings, I see a species that got a little nudge. We were chosen to evolve in a different direction.”
For a moment, it looked as though Arthur was about to say something else, but decided against it.
Lauren was relieved. “Look,” she said to everyone. “I’m no scientist. But to me, nature is proof of God’s influence. It just seems too directed. And the evolution of human beings tells me that we were chosen to become something more. And that makes me believe God has a plan. I don’t think we’re just a science experiment for God. He chose us for a reason. What that reason is, I have no idea.”
“So,” Nathan from the other table added, “you think God needs us.”
“I hope so, Nathan,” Lauren said. “I hope so.”
“For the record,” Nathan said, “I love what you‘re saying here, and I agree with it. But surely you realize that everything you just said is easily explained without bringing God into it.”
“Yeah,” Lauren said. “It is. But the explanations are no more valid than mine. They are based on nothing more than idle speculation. And they don’t factor in one important detail.”
“Which is?” Arthur asked.
“Gut instinct,” Lauren said with a smile. “I didn’t add that part lightly. In my mind, the idea that all of nature is directed is completely logical. And in my gut, it feels right. If my mind and my heart agree on something, I accept it.”
“Interesting,” Arthur said.
“Now,” Lauren said, “can we talk about movies or something? I’m drained.”
Most of the table laughed. The rest of the day was filled with much lighter conversation.
“You sure about leaving your car at the park?” Arthur asked, for the third time.
“Yeah,” Lauren answered for the third time as she watched the trees on the side of the road zip past them. “It’ll be fine. I just wanted to ride home with my husband.”
Arthur sighed. It was a subtle sigh, but Lauren didn’t fail to notice. In fact, she expected it. “Did you have plans?” she asked.
“No,” Arthur said. After a pause, he added, “Well, sort of, but I can postpone them.”
“Take me back to the car,” Lauren said.
“No,” Arthur said again. “It’s okay. It was just a study session with some students. I can show up late.”
Lauren sat quietly and didn’t respond. She knew that anything she said would be venomous so she just didn’t say anything. She found over the years that this was the best method for avoiding painful arguments.
It didn‘t take long for the silence to create an air of discomfort in the car. “You know,” Arthur said, “I’m surprised you were so forthright with your church members there. You have enough strikes against you as a female minister. I was surprised and impressed that you let them see some of your less-than-normal theories about God.”
“I owe it to them to be honest,” Lauren said. “If I’m not completely honest with them about who I am, then everything I’ve chosen to do with my life is a lie.”
“Your theories are good,” Arthur said. “I was very impressed with your ideas and your hotdogs.”
“That’s funny,” Lauren said, “because I was very disappointed that you were surprised by my opinions.”
Arthur gave another one of his patented subtle sighs. “We don’t talk about religion, Lauren. That has always been our rule.”
“No,” Lauren said quietly. “That has always been your rule. I’m not afraid to discuss our beliefs. I’m not sure why you are.”
“Because,” Arthur said, “I’m not a fan of being judged.”
“If you think I’d judge you for your beliefs,” Lauren said, “you don’t know me at all.”
“I didn’t mean you,” Arthur said.
Lauren just looked at him for a moment, then said, “Why would you be referring to other people in a conversation about you and me?”
“It’s just a rule I’ve had for most of my life,” he said. “It’s because of reactions I’ve gotten from religious people my entire life.”
“That’s not it at all,” Lauren said. “It has nothing to do with other people. You don’t talk about it because you’re afraid of my reaction to the fact that you think the one thing I’ve devoted my entire life to is an absolute waste of energy. You’re afraid of what I’ll say when you finally admit that you don’t just disagree with organized religion. You stand against everything you think it stands for.”
“That’s an overstatement,” Arthur said. “You know it is.”
“Is it?” Lauren asked. “You think religion is the basis for every war in the history of man. You think it’s the basis for almost every genocid
e.”
“It’s not?” Arthur said.
Lauren could see that Arthur immediately regretted the question. She didn’t care, though. It felt good to finally talk about this. “No,” she said. “It’s not.”
“The holocaust. The inquisition. The Crusades. I could go on, Lauren.”
“I’m sure you could,” Lauren said, “and you’d be wrong.”
“Really?” Arthur said. “Religion wasn’t the reason those things happened?”
“No,” Lauren said. “Religion wasn’t the reason. It was the tool. Those things happened because certain people wanted more power. They simply used religion as the tool to take that power. If they hadn’t used religion, they would have used something else. Religion doesn’t make people corrupt, Art. And if people didn’t have religion as their tool, they’d find something else.”
“Can we change the subject?” Arthur said. “This is why I have my rule. These conversations create resentment and anger.”
Lauren smiled. “I’m neither resentful nor angry,” she said. “I’m not sure why you are.” Lauren felt relieved. This was a conversation she could handle. This was a conversation she was prepared to face. It was easy. It was nothing like the conversation she feared was coming.
“We’re home,” Arthur said.
He backed the car into the driveway of their small house. Their house wasn’t anything fancy, but by small town standards, it was a nice home. It had been provided by the church several months ago.
“Are you coming in?” Lauren asked. She already knew the answer.
“Nah,” Arthur said. “I’ve got to get to the study group.”
The frightening conversation had returned. Lauren considered getting from the car and just letting him go. She could read a good book, or get some work done around the house.
But Lauren wasn’t constructed that way. She faced problems, no matter how painful they were.
“What’s her name?” Lauren asked. Her voice was soft and sad. She was surprised by the lack of venom.
Arthur was silent. He sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the street before him. It was obvious that he was considering every possible answer to her question, true and otherwise.
