Me: You know I have to sort of hate you now.

God: I know.

Me: It's nothing personal.

God: I know.

Me: It's the impersonality of death and suffering that makes it so blindingly infuriating.

God: I know.

Me: Makes it hard to believe you give a [bad word] about us.

God: I know.

Me: But I understand the necessity of death. I wrote Death is the Answer. I get it.

God: I know you do.

Me: I don't expect to be exempt from the ravages of death and its ugly cousins.

God: I know you don't.

Me: But dang, man.

God: I know.

Me: Yeah, you know everything. That's great for you. Meanwhile, all I know is that my wife might have cancer. If that's part of any freakin' plan of yours, count me out. Skip me. I'll pass.

God: I can't do that.

Me: I know. I know. I know.

God: I love you.

Me: I know.

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(Related: How My Unbelieving Wife Took The News of My Suddenly Becoming a Christian; After I Converted, the Terrible Way Christians Treated My Non-Christian Wife; Thanksgiving)