Out of God’s Control by Courtney Davis

I grew up the daughter of a missionary. From a very young age, I was told what was right and what was wrong. The world was very black and white- Don’t lie, cheat, or steal. Be kind to your neighbor, help the poor, read your Bible every day. I’d wake up each morning and see the world as a series of tasks to be completed; a list of “Dos” and “Don’ts.” And there was a real sense of validation when I looked back on the day and saw that I handled every interaction in the way that I was taught to.

I’ve been a natural worrier all my life. It’s 3am and my brain decides that’s the best time to go into hyper speed. I’ll be fast asleep, and suddenly the neurons will just start bouncing around up there. They remind me that I forgot to send that work related email. They force me to painstakingly go through each word that came out of my mouth at the last social engagement, and how it could have been misinterpreted by the recipient. Or they fixate on that crack I noticed in the wall a few days ago and whether it looked bigger yesterday.

When I was younger, my mom used to read me different bible verses when I had a hard time sleeping. “I am more valuable than a sparrow;” “god knows the number of hairs on my head,” “everything is in his control.” These are all things I’d recite to myself to stop my brain from spinning out. And for the most part, it worked. There was a release in knowing that I couldn’t fuck things up too bad. That god wouldn’t allow me to steer too far off the path and if something terrible happened, there was a hidden purpose behind it. “Everything happens for a reason,” as the old church ladies would say when you shared with them about a family member dying or a recently lost job.

Each worry would get neatly filed away, knowing that it would be taken care of in due time. That as long as I kept on doing the things on the “do” list and not doing the things on the “don’t” list, everything would work out just as it was supposed to.

But now I’m 36 years old and every time I run my fingers through my hair, 2 or 3 hairs come out. I know there is nobody out there keeping track. I’ve come to realize that a lot of things happen for no reason at all. That at any moment, something very tragic could occur and there isn’t anybody up in the sky magically stringing those moments together, helping usher me into my ultimate source of meaning.

It’s an unexpected journey of personal growth. Most nights I still wake up at 3 am. I try my best to push back the thoughts that come flooding through. But even if I end up sitting on my couch, as my bloodshot eyes watch the sun slowly rise over the houses across the street, there’s a deep sense of satisfaction in knowing that sometimes things occur for no reason at all.

Life can’t be sorted into lists of dos and don’ts. It can’t be neatly tucked away into files, or strung together so that you can see the meaning and purpose throughout. Sometimes life is just fucked up. Sometimes bad things happen and that’s it. Sometimes you do what you think is right and it’s not right at all.