In God's Hands, Of Course

About a month ago I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but I didn't start seriously questioning God until a week or so later, when the full reality kicked in. At that point, I removed my kippah and tzitziot (ritual hat and fringes, both traditionally worn only by guys) and stopped blessing my food before I ate it. I still said the prayer after using the bathroom--old habits die hard--and I continued observing Shabbat and keeping kosher, because I didn't want to shut off my way back. But the joy was gone.

Two weeks or so after that, I absorbed another blow when I learned that the medication that could quite literally save my life renders my bone marrow useless for saving other lives. MAny of my deepest held religious beliefs were shaken to the core. If I had dreamed of drinking alcohol (which I also cannot do on this medication), partying all night (bipolar people should not stay up late), or globe trotting, I could argue that God didn't want me to have those things because they were not in my longterm best interests. But all I wanted was to be God's hands in the world and save lives! Why would God make it impossible for me to do that?

I have walked around and around this issue, examining it from all viewpoints. I still do not have an answer, unless it is to teach me that life is not in my control. But the God I claim to serve (neither know nor love, for we cannot know God and we cannot love what we do not know) does not teach that vindictively. Neither do I think I sinned enough to deserve bipolar disorder as a punishment.

I am back to worshipping God now, simply because I missed religion too much. Yes, my religious behavior is entirely selfish, and I am not ashamed to admit that, because truly I think everyone's is. I have no answers, but I will close with a Hebrew phrase, "Gam zu l'tovah." This roughly translates to, "This, too, is for the best."

Or more colloquially, to quote Steven Curtis Chapman, "God is God, and I am not."