I’ve had a fraught relationship with God for many years now. I want to believe in The Guy (or Gal) but it’s hard not to want to blame Him for my predicament. My polycythemia, a disease of older Jewish men, was diagnosed at 36. At age 54, I’ve had this life-threatening illness hanging over me for a third of my adult life.
Twelve years later leukemia revealed itself, followed by my near-death experience. The second diagnosis compounded my health anxiety, especially when my then-hematologist told me that the effective medications for my type of leukemia would fail because of my preexisting polycythemia. I ditched him immediately so I wouldn’t die prematurely of anxiety.
I never wanted to believe that any God I know would want to put me through a long, torturous trial like this. Sure, I could chalk it up to bad luck, but couldn’t He have chosen someone with the emotional resources to handle such challenges? I am not that person.
As I near death, I’m trying to open my mind to God. I’ve been meeting with the rabbi, although we haven’t talked about the Big Guy much, if at all. I do take comfort from the rabbi, who clearly has a better connection to the heavens than I do. He’s got to believe in The Guy or he wouldn’t have chosen this profession that suits him so well. He’s proven himself kind and compassionate and he’s supporting me gently through my impending death.
Maybe I’m a stereotype, the kind of person who seeks God as her days are numbered. I wouldn’t put it past me, opportunist that I am.
But over the past few weeks, He’s finally given me a sign that He’s watching and He cares. I’m talking about the annual hockey pool. Every year, J. selects a team for me and a different team for herself. I would have no idea who to choose, so I leave it up to her. Through the playoffs, we skip the hockey, but check our pool standings diligently every morning.
In past years, my players have started out near the top of the standings, but by the end I’m close to the bottom. And every year, for as long as I’ve been participating, one woman wins the pool by a long shot. She must pay for insider information.
The playoffs are three rounds in and not only am I still standing, I’m leading Ms. Insider by 6 points. Barring an unforeseen disaster, I am on track to win the pool this year. Not only that, I’ve left J. in the dust: she is currently 48 points behind me.
You do see the irony here, don’t you? I say I’m beating J., when in fact she’s the one who chose both her team and mine. Had she decided to switch our teams between us, she would be the one eliminating my chances and testing Ms. Insider’s invincibility. Too late for that, honey. It’s Annie for the win.
Although He may have beaten me down for many years now, I am grateful that in this, my final months, God has seen fit to allow me a victory, however unearned. I’ve finally found my compassionate God. Thank heavens for small mercies.