Watch Maker’s Entropy

Sitting in my third year philosophy class, I had no idea that the questions could be so real at 35.

Is God a watchmaker then? Is he the a priori creator of the universe, the omni, omni who called the world into being, caused it and made it and then spun it off into the heavens, where he watches us, from afar?

Or is God a tinkerer? A sort of paternal mad experimenter who pokes and prods, oils and greases the workings of the universe, listening for a gear out of tune? Does he watch us, with a dirty leather apron, smelling faintly of engine grease and sweat?

I prayed between the inducement and the birth of my son. I prayed like I have never prayed before or since. I do not lie when I tell you that it didn’t occur to me to ask God to save my life. My son. My baby. My good Friday to Easter Sunday, not triumphant. I prayed and prayed and God said  no. My son died in my arms. I prayed for the babies I carried for just a bit. I prayed over all those cycles that yielded nothing. I used to believe that God was a tinkerer.

It didn’t occur to me to ask God about the MS. My old faith said that God was a tinkerer and there was a never a moment that he couldn’t save me and change the course of well, everything. This time? When would I have prayed? By the time I was in the MRI machine the lesions were there or not. By the time I got the results it was a done deal. Prayer – this time I have realized – was never about saving me anyway.

I have to tell the younglings on Friday. I have to tell them that I have MS and things are going to change. Maybe now. Maybe not. I kept saying that it wouldn’t be that bad – at least I said this in my head. I told myself that I wasn’t that important to the younglings. It’s not like I was their mother or even really their aunt. Mr. Spit tried to suggest that I might be under estimating my importance. The minion told me that the my idea was “bullshit”.

I can tell everyone else, and it won’t be fun, but they are adults. We have a more equal existence. We move between the bonds of friendship, giving and taking.  My job with the younglings though – that’s different. My job is to pour into them so they become adults. My job is to love them where they were, to help them make the next step. My job is to believe in them so strongly, with such fierceness that they have no choice but to believe in themselves. My job is to be that very last bridge between almost-adulthood and adulthood.

So last night I laid awake and I bargained with God.

You can’t bargain with a watchmaker.

I want to not be important to them because I feel a very real risk that I will fail them. This one last thing I have to teach the younglings – trying to show them grace in the face of hard things. I’m ok with that. Right up until the point when it hurts them. Right up until the point when I can’t do something that I want to be able to do.

God is a watchmaker and he’s not going to save me from MS. The most he will ever do in this world he ordered is give me better strength to bear it. (I should point out, I’m not doing well at this right now). But last night, as I lay awake I wished he could be something else. Or, at least I wished I could believe something else about him.

Call me small, tell me that it’s because I don’t like appearing weak. Maybe. I think it’s a bit more. Hurt me as much as you want, God the watchmaker. Throw that world into being and let entropy take over.

Just please, this – can you keep it from the ones I love?

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7 Responses to Watch Maker’s Entropy

  1. a says:

    Your job is still your job. It may be more difficult. It may be more rewarding or more discouraging. But it’s too late to keep it from the ones you love, because they love you back.

  2. Ms.Fab says:

    Part of your helping the younglings transition into adulthood is allowing them the chance to fiercely love and protect you. To allow them to practice their caretaking skills. To show them it’s alright to be scared, mad, frightened, angry. To not have all the answers. To see and understand that all these things are part of adulthood. To show them you have faith they can deal with this. To allow them to help you deal with this when you sometimes cannot. And for you to draw strength from them as they continue to transition into their adulthood.

  3. Mr. Spit says:

    Gotta agree with Ms.Fab here.

    And I do believe that you do underestimate yourself and your value and influence on those you deal with.

    Not least of all, me. I adore you.

  4. Reese says:

    Life lessons are hard. It’s rare when it comes with the grace that you inherently have. They will learn grace from you and love you all the more.

  5. Jacquie says:

    If you ever want to talk (when you are ready) I will lend an ear.
    Hugs Mrs. Spit.


  6. Maureen says:

    I agree with the Minion and Ms. Fab. I really can’t say it any better than she did.

    I don’t know if I agree with this being your ‘last lesson’ either. I see many lessons still to come. Both from you to them, and them to you.

  7. Amel says:

    I’m sorry to hear about your condition. I really hope sooner (than later) they find cure for MS.

    When it comes to God, what helped me the most was reading this: if He thinks it serves His purpose more to give me something, then He may just give it to me. If He thinks it serves His purpose more to take something (health for example)/someone away from me, then He may just do that.

    Love what Ms. Fab wrote. I think sometimes when showing our vulnerability, it will become a great lesson for others. Ad you know what? All the important people in my world have failed me on time or another, but still they mean so much to me.

    I wish you find more peace. It’s OK not to feel OK. Something that will change your life forever does have that kind of effect. God understands that, too. (((HUGS)))

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