Embracing the Child of *OD

The blog has a groupie. Well, more detractor than fan, but a regular visitor nonetheless. Someone who dug up the blog on a search or saw it on someone else's blogroll or knows someone who knows someone who knows a friend of mine with the blog address. Some distant, cyber out-there, writer who is determined to save me from me.

The blog groupie believes everything happens because God planned it to happen that way. He's mightily worried that I mostly don't think it's a plan at all, but rather a perfect storm of God-gifted free will which lands any one of us where we are at any given moment.

I moderate comments the blog receives so Mr. *OD'S Plan gmailer hasn't gotten any press here. I even stopped publishing posts for a while thinking the lack of content (apparently the lack of relevant content wasn't a deterent) would send him packing. Hasn't happened so I'll be posting again and probably going back to publish those weeks of unpublished posts.

I love that the blog groupie doesn't write "God," he writes "*OD". He thinks it offends God when people write G-o-d. He filled multiple comment boxes with a dissertation urging me to repent and be a "child of *OD."

I'll continue to risk my salvation, and possibly yours, by spelling God with a "G" and wondering out loud if He doesn't agree with me that some people could benefit greatly from a sharp twack on the noggin.

To be honest, I'm tickled pink that my commentor cared enough to do a daily drive through. He's been more consistent about visiting than I am about posting. He's also missed the fact that I am completely and dangerously bored most days and find him even more entertaining than the 4-footed window peepers I encouraged this time last year.

I'm going to embrace my inner Child of *OD. It's so me. I'm think of putting it on a t-shirt.