I was unhappy during that period, personally, professionally, and emotionally, and my life was feeling like a failure on all levels. As I'd been in a habit for years of writing my thoughts down in letters (which I usually never delivered), I picked up my trusty yellow legal pad and began pouring out my feelings.
This time, rather than another letter to person I imagined to be victimizing me, I though I'd go to straight to the source, straight to the greatest victimizer of them all. I decided to write a letter to God.
It was a spiteful, passionate letter, full of confusions, contortions, and condemnations. And a pile of angry questions.
Why wasn't my life working? What would it take to get it to work? Why could I not find happiness in relationships? Was the experience of adequate money going to elude me forever? Finally -- and most emphatically -- What had I done to deserve a life of such continuing struggle?
To my surprise, as I scribbled out of the last my bitter, unanswerable questions and prepares to toss my pen aside, my hand remained poised over the paper, as if held there by some invisible force. Abruptly, the pen began moving on its own. I had no idea what I was about to write, but an idea seemed to be coming, so I decided to flow with it. Out came...
