God/No-God

It was a rough morning, being awakened by whining in a non-stop toddler voice, clear and pure and sudden right next to the bed.

Up the stairs and a cup of cold coffee later, the iPad is opened to CNN.  Headlines are scrolled through until one pops out, it’s so horrible, the page is opened.

Children Raping Children in Africa, the headline reads. She’s 3 years old and she was raped by another child, the first line informs.

Tears come hot and steady, building slowly into rivulets. Then sobs, though it’s not wise to let the heart go there. Eyes rubbed, feeling the horror in this world. The horror in this world. Prayers are immediate, even “dear god,” while it is simultaneously understood that there is no god that cares about this. There is no god because this happens.

By the time they walk into the living room, the rivulets have been wiped away and the residue is drying. The pools directly beneath the lashes are gone, yet he sees and asks, “What’s wrong?”

Something horrible in the news.

“Oh.”

And then her, “Mommy why are you crying?”

(A new tab is opened on the iPad.)  I just read a sad story, but now I’m going to find happy music to feel better.

“Ok, mommy. It’s ok.”

I scroll through Dead show archives looking for a good soundboard version of an ‘80s-era show, something with my favorite songs. I feel her watching me. This is good I think, this is an opportunity to teach her that it is one’s responsibility to find a way out of the devastation of our crushing reality, and one of those ways is with music.

There is no god because this happens. There is no god because this happens.  

Great, here it is. 1982, "Bertha" opener, this will be great. Time to go.

The stairs to the car are climbed, the show is queued up on the iPhone, headphones are installed, Jerry Garcia begins to sing and the horror dissipates.

“I had a hard run
Running from your window
I was all night running, running, running
I wonder if you care?”

His voice is high and perfect and beautiful, and a deep, warm smile replaces once salty streams.

“Bertha doncha come around here anymore.”

How does this magical sweet sound happen and so does that? How can this be a sign of god when there’s that? How can that mean there’s no god, when there’s this?

“I wonder if you care…”