God’s ways are strange. So much so that they can even be accused on being cruel. But the poor dear isn’t left with many choices after the way he fashioned human beings -- us, ungrateful creatures, who take for granted everything that is given to us. If having begged and pleaded for long, something comes our way, we kiss His hand once, and then go on living like we deserved it anyway. And, if something happens to come by free, then all that our smug little faces have is mighty arrogance. In short, gratitude just isn’t our thing and therefore, He has to sometimes use cruel ways to nail us into the ground.
For every curse I mumble under my breath, for the discomfort I'm in, God makes me read a story of loss. Rather insensitive, I daresay. But if I didn’t keep stumbling upon these tales, would I remember to thank God that the story is not mine? Would I remember that in each waking moment, death is but a hair’s breadth away? Would I be saying “Kick, my little love, kick, that I may know you’re well”? And would I be grateful to God for another day, another life?
