Reading Coupland

And so I finished reading Life after God. And so I went through some reality check. And so Douglas Coupland’s subtle pulling of metaphysical chords and brutal honesty did not leave me feeling miserable but somehow stirred up. And so the introspection. And the silence. And the confession. And the Prozac. No Prozac. And the prayer.

And this is what he had to confess.

Now- here is my secret:

I tell it to you with an openness of heart that I doubt I shall ever achieve again, so I pray that you are in a quiet room as you hear these words. My secret is that I need God—that I am sick and can no longer make it alone. I need God to help me give, because I no longer seem to be capable of giving; to help me be kind, as I no longer seem capable of kindness; to help me love, as I seem beyond being able to love.

And that is one honest confession. And I wonder when this generation will ever learn to look beyond Dr. Phil and Oprah for a sense of truth and meaning.