So, no Rapture, I guess. Turns out that Catholics don't buy into that nonsense anyway, so I had no skin in the game to begin with. Hey, if the Pope's not worried about the End Times, then I'm not worried.
Everything goes on as usual. The Mavs and Thunder will play Game 3 of the Western Conference Championships tonight. The grass will need to be mown at some point. The weiner dog I'm babysitting can go back to his mom tomorrow. Beloved Spouse will just have to let his recovery from surgery run its course - there's a reason God created Vicodin, after all.
When the end of the world does come, these are all the things we'll be doing. And I don't think we'll have any notice that it's all about to come crashing to a halt. Life doesn't work that way. We don't get a heads-up that terrorists are flying into our skyscrapers or oil rigs are blowing up in the Gulf of Mexico. Things happen, and we deal with the fallout. No convenient formulas for predicting them. No omens or warnings, except those that we ferret out after the fact. Ready or not, here comes...whatever.
Live in the moment - it's all you've got. If you must look down the road, look with hope, not dread. Dread has a way of messing up every minute it spends with you. Hope at least anesthetizes the pain to come, if it is to come. And maybe it's not. Who knows?
I don't know. But even though the May 21, 2011 Rapturing has turned out to be a bust, I do know one thing: I'm going to live today as if it really were the last day. It involves cookie dough and a spoon. If I'm going out, I'm going out happy.
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