Yesterday on the New Year's Eve Fung Wah bus to NYC, I started sobbing to Nola about my doubt about my path, letting go of all parental concepts of appropriate emotional information. I'm very good at that anyway, being semi-inappropriate. She responded with a story about when she went to the Youth Theological Initiative at Emory University in Georgia when she was in 11th grade. It was a story about a kid, who she referred to as Southern & a little crazy, who told her, when she was struggling, to think about Jesus in his last moments on the crucifix, when he doubted his choices and actually had a moment where he thought ~ maybe I could have done this differently. God why hast thou forsaken me. Then she reminded me that the apostles were hanging around after he died, thinking, we thought he was God's son & now they put him in the cave. Dead.
Of course, a couple of days later, this all looked absolutely different.