I recently posted this on a FaceBook page with a limited audience. The topic was God’s Will, and it reminded me of my task to publish Harold’s book, which is almost ready:
This novel contains two novellas, the first about the Plague, other wise known as the Black Death; the second is a similar story about the beginnings of HIV/AIDS. These two novellas were written by the author in 1996
Copyright 2016 Orlando Harold Warwick
Soon enough, I’ll get back to this, once I am sure Trump is not going to start a nuclear war.
But I did want to keep this comment I recently made elsewhere, about:
Just a comment about atrocities and God’s will. I worked in cancer treatment for 43 years, and I saw all manner of trauma and misery. I worked before the advent of oral meds for pain control, and even when those medications finally came, while they quell the suffering, they do not come close to ending the suffering. The people who expressed some interest in God’s interaction with this dreadful disease were church leaders, priest, chaplains, pastors, and religious evangelists, visitors to the patients who suffered. It was rarely the patient themselves.
Only twice do I remember an experience where a patient expressed trust in religion as a source of comfort. One was a Jehovah’s witness, over twenty years ago, who died refusing blood transfusions which could have saved him until the oral medications I put him on for chronic leukemia had a chance to take effect; he would have survived many years, but he died in hypotensive shock when his hemoglobin reached twenty percent of normal. He would be alive today. I tried everything, even that old story of the man on the roof during a flood who declines every attempt to save him by those around him, only to be told after his death, by God, “What do you want? I sent a truck, I sent a raft, I sent a boat, I even sent a helicopter.” Yes, I lied. I told him perhaps God had sent me. You have to work with what you have.
The second was a Carmelite nun who stopped me in the hall, in joyous rapture because her breast cancer had come back, and she would soon, “Be taken by God.”
While my heart goes out to these people in their personal hell, I remember reflecting on the fact that not one of them had any idea what their decisions to resist treatment were doing to their doctor. Now, my trauma was minuscule compared to theirs, even after 25,000+ patients in my career (the vast majority who suffered while taking the correct treatments). But apart from these rare ones whose deaths were contributed to by their beliefs, I took great solace, as did some of my patients, to understand that there was no god doing this to people. God did not hate them, because He did not exist.
Were God to exist, I would have to conclude that He hates me.