A blogger I follow named Jayne, who posts at A Life Retired, left an interesting comment on my post titled Faith Versus Reason. She wrote, “After reading [that post] and the comments, I am left with a couple questions for all. In absence of faith, what happens after life? What was the purpose for living?”
Let me first say that I’m not in any way an authority on what happens after life or on life’s meaning or purpose. So what I’m expressing herein is nothing more than my personal opinion.
That said, one of the most common arguments I hear about disbelief in God is the idea that without God, life would seem to be utterly devoid of any real meaning or purpose.
From my perspective, a belief in God, in and of itself, is not what gives our lives purpose. We can find purpose within our own lives by achieving good relationships with our families and with other people, with our work, with the groups to which we belong, and with the deeds we do.
As to what happens when our lives end, I believe it’s the same as it was before our lives began. We didn’t exist. I believe that this life we live in this world, in the here and now, is all there is. And when it comes to an end, it’s over and out.
But rather than suggesting that our lives, therefore, have no meaning or serve no purpose, I see it differently. I believe that recognition of this inescapable fate makes our lives and the time that we do have in this world even more meaningful.
But that’s just my opinion. I could be wrong.
Isn’t it glorious when something works like it’s supposed to. As I noted in this post, yesterday’s WordPress one-word prompt was broken. I just checked and that prompt had 308 likes and 0 responses. Zero responses!
Today’s prompt, which is the word “glorious,” has, as I write this, 118 likes and 70 responses. So whatever it was that was ailing the prompt yesterday has been fixed today.
What once was broken has now been fixed. Isn’t that glorious?
Day 18: Did you like your childhood home? What did you like or not like about it?
As I’ve previously mentioned in this series, I was raised in the suburbs of Washington, DC. We moved to that area when I was five and our first house was a rental house. It was an older home on a fairly busy road, but it was large (or at least it seemed that way when I was five) and it had a huge backyard. My school was within an easy walk.
I thought the house was great. The only part of it that I didn’t like was the damp, dark, dingy basement. It was scary and there were spider webs all over the basement. I avoided going down there as much as possible.
When I was nine we moved into a newly built house in a development. All of the homes in the development were built by the same builder and they all looked pretty much alike. But it was new and didn’t have a scary basement, so that made me happy.
Best of all, there were a lot of families with kids around my age in the development, so I had tons of friends to pal around with.
Bottom line, I liked my childhood homes a lot, mostly because my family lived in them with me.
This post was written for Suzanne McClendon’s September Challenge, which is comprised of 30 questions (one for each day of this month) regarding your background and history.