Ar-bi-trar-y, so much of life is ar-bi-trar-y. 

How does one believe in bene-vo-lence

of any kind, no less the divine sort when

the ar-bi-trar-y hits hard, fast, down and

dirty and so, well, ar-bi-trar-il-y?  It’s

hard, so hard, especially when a parent

dies young, poof, in a heartbeat and the

children feel clobbered upside the head

for years and years and flinch in their

very, wary hearts at the very, maybe out-

rage-ous, notion of a bene-vo-lent God

who really cares even as they sit in the

pews listening to the preacher who hap-

pens to be their dad.