*I had written this during my lunch break at work and now that I re-read it, I realize I left out at least one important word. So if you happened to read this before 6:22 pm, that wasn't exactly what I meant. I also fixed the "plethera" of spelling errors. I hate deadlines.

Yesterday, At Work.

On my way to the restroom, I came upon a cart stacked almost to the ceiling with a plethora of processed snack treats. Surely, the great Cheebus had seen my energy-depleted body and sent me a boon of sugar.

I overcame temptation and left the treats unmolested. I concluded my business in the restroom and returned to work.

I could hardly believe some of the stuff I came across.

Apparently, a student at Dixie college burned down his apartment. He had been barbecuing out on his patio. A little while after he had finished eating, he took out the coals, put them in a cardboard box, and stuck them in the storage closet.

Of course, coals remain hot for quite a while.

I doubt this guy is going to make the Dean's List.

The mail got even stranger. I read a police report about a group of clowns that assaulted two girls.

The clowns had been working at a nearby haunted house. They confronted the two females, pinned them down, and told them they wouldn't let them go until the girls made out with each other.

Let this be a lesson to all of you out there who mock those who fear clowns. They're just bad news.

The next piece of mail I read has been occupying my thoughts since I picked it up yesterday.

It was another police report. A handicapped man had been beaten to death while he was sleeping in a motel room.

There were pictures accompanying the report. It showed the crime scene shortly after the man was taken to the coroner's. He had been attacked with such ferocity that blood had splattered everywhere. It was on the floor, the walls, even the ceiling.

I didn't investigate the document any further. I marked it, stamped it, filed it, and went on to the next piece of mail.

But I still thought about it.

For the past few days, I've been discussing aspects of Christianity with some of my friends who are of that religion. There was a lot of discussion of the requirement of faith, the willingness to suspend your disbelief and just trust.

I tried to imagine applying that principle to this situation. I tried to imagine myself walking up to this man's family, putting my hand on their shoulders to console them. "Don't worry," I'd have to say cheerfully, "It's all part of God's plan."

Your son, brother, father or friend was just obliterated by another human being while he lay helpless. Yes, sounds like everything's going according to plan.

There was also a lot of rhetoric about how I won't really understand what people feel when they receive the Holy Spirit until I experience it for myself.

And yet, what I experience when I come across such an atrocity is that this is wrong. This is evil. This is not supposed to happen. And my instinct then is not to blame a god for it.

It was a man that did this. Just a man.

There is no Loving God, there is no Vile Satan. There is just Man, just us and what we make here.

I don't need the patience to wait for the afterlife to find Heaven, to find Hell. They're both right here.

With us.