God Don’t Care!

She broke my heart, this one. The first time I laid eyes on her I almost cried. Standing there in my non-slips cleaning up the patio at work — getting close to midnight, that forty-degree Texas winter — I saw her curled up in a little ball under a metal chair. The poor thing couldn’t have been more than a month or two old. I went to pick her up, and she ran, or at least tried to. Hobbled away faster than I could run around the chairs, the tables, the eventual bushes and cars. But I caught her. She bit me twice, once on each hand. And I wrapped the little rascal up in my jacket and headed inside.

Inside we fed the kitten chicken tenders. We found that she had only three legs, the fourth being nothing but a bone sticking out where a leg should’ve been. And seeing that bone and thinking of all she must have been through — I let my coworkers hold her while I stood by the dumpster outside, sobbing over my cigarette.

So I took her home, cleaned her up. And it was hard at first, it always is. Nobody wants to be saved, even when they desperately need to be. She wasn’t particularly fond of me for those first few days — She hissed at my approach, pissed on my walls. But we made progress. Slow, steady progress. And now she meows at me when she’s hungry so I can sit by her while she eats. She hobbles around on her three legs, following me around my room as I complete mundane tasks. She’s putty in my arms, and I am putty in hers. She’s the light of my life, and as much time and energy and money as it costs me to keep her around, I wouldn’t trade her for the world.

And aren’t we all in need of a savior right about now? Aren’t we all lost and afraid, cold and confused, hungry and too far from home? I know I am. And yet, we hobble through. We make it from one day to the next, all on our own, cynical of the idea that anybody’s help could be of any real use to us. But the moment somebody extends their hand, really wants to pick us up and give us a warm place to sleep — our sympathetic nervous system reacts! We’re in fight or flight mode! What do you think you’re doing? And what do you have to gain? No, I don’t want your help. I’m fine on my own, thank you very much.

But you gotta keep trying. You can’t just give up; you can’t just throw them out or lock them away the second they start pissing on the carpet! If you don’t help them in their time of need, and if you don’t help them in spite of the teeth they bare at your approach — who else is gonna help them?

I’ll share a little secret with you: Nobody else is gonna help that depressed friend, that dirty panhandler, or that three-legged cat. God certainly won’t help them. God don’t care! He hasn’t cared for a while! You want Jesus to help them? Jesus is dead! That hairy socialist has been in the ground for some two-thousand years. And he’s not about to pop out of the grave for your sake. God is gone, baby. Who’s gonna help you now?

For the love of God, for the love of yourself, for the love of everything you hold dear — You have to take action. You have to actually do something. You’ve gotta take care of the ones you love, and at the very least be kind to the ones you don’t. You can’t count on the rest of the world to pick up your slack. If Fran didn’t ask me if I’d eaten every day I would’ve starved months ago. And if Zoe didn’t scold me for smoking so much I’d burn through a pack a day. If you’ve got something to give, anything to give — you just gotta give.

Here’s to offering love in the face of fear and hatred. Here’s to giving everything we’ve got to the ones who matter the most. Here’s to an uncaring universe and an indifferent god.