A Piece Called ‘Chosen’ (Dated March 18, 2014)

I’ve been thinking about flight Air France 447 for days now, since I’ve heard about MH 370.

I wonder why God chose those people to die on June 1, 2009. Why were those pilots chosen? Why was that plane (out of many, many others, out of many, many days for that to happen) chosen to crash?

Thinking about Air France 447 has triggered other thoughts: Why are each of us alive? God knows each of us very well. God knows what’s going to happen to us. Is it about God knowing what’s best for us? I don’t know. I don’t know anything.

I feel like the people who have everything going for themselves (the people who are really good) seem to always die at a time when they seem like they shouldn’t. And I feel like the people who are hurt, damaged, losing everything in their lives, or can’t seem to stop suffering remain alive at times when they are in their really dark place.

I feel like I will live a long life full of suffering and broken heart after broken heart. I don’t feel like I’ll die anytime soon because I’m meant to continue to suffer.

I feel bad for the people who die at a time when they love life. Air France 447 was full of people who were set to lead wonderful lives. I’m sorry that their lives were destroyed. God knew that that flight was going to crash. I can’t figure God out at all.

I believe that all of us are chosen for something. I always wonder why. Why was a Moldovan girl who played hooky one day, kidnapped by a men in a car and was forced to sell her body for a year, in the time that the article that I read about her in was written? Why are so many people chosen to be modern slaves? Why do so many people live in broken homes? Why do so many people end up in prison when they haven’t committed a crime? Why are some people chosen to live the most pitiful lives, while other people can enjoy nice meals at nice restaurants?

And how are the people in our lives chosen to be in our lives? How are the people we encounter, or pass by in the street, or work with, or buy something from chosen to be in our lives?

I’ve always wished that everybody would just treat each other with unconditional love and kindness regardless of what we are chosen to be in the world. I wish that everyone in the world would give love to the people who lost loved ones who were chosen to die at a time when it only seemed like they shouldn’t, and not to give those people a hard time -ever.

Because we can’t help how are we chosen to be in life, or what we are chosen to do, all of us ought to be nice to each other. But life isn’t that way. And I’ve always been severely depressed because life isn’t that way.

We aren’t chosen to be one big family, a family of seven billion people and counting. We seem to be chosen to be only individuals who only care for themselves.