You say there is no God?

Read this, and tell me that again.

And this and this and this...

And this and this and this ...

I call bullshit!

Here's one of many, many reasons:

I will never, ever forget the day my daughter & I were travelling from Vancouver to southern Alberat (we'd overnighted in the Penticton area due to a late start as ... I was in charge). We were... I think in Creston? BC (somewhere on the #3, anyway) and had shopped at a grocery store for a snack to picnic on. We stopped at the first "rest area" and chowed down. Meanwhile, my daughter (aged 7 at the time) pulled out her sketchbook and started drawing the multitude of gophers that were, apparently, fascinated by us (likely by our potential crumbs & trash, but whatever).

We finished up and it was time to go... we were on a schedule (slightly skewed, but perhaps speed could save the day?) and I was motivated. "Wait just one minute, Mommy, I want to finish my picture."

"Finish it in the car, you can remember...!" (parental angst/anger/frustration/but on vacation so must be nice)

"No, I can't, just one extra minute, pleeeaaaase?"

(Internal dialogue - "Let's go! Time out if she doesn't obey? Can you render time outs on vacation? Vacation? Wait a minute, if we're on vacation, does one more minute really matter? Whose timetable are we on here?")

"Okay, but just one minute! And you have to throw your own trash away."

Fast forward about 20 minutes. We're driving along, on vacation, looking forward to 2 weeks of camping with family we rarely get to see and a bit of Calgary Stampede thrown in for good measure. We're on a two-lane highway in the middle of the Rockies with very few exits or, for that matter, intersections. As we begin to crest a hill, a small pickup passes and I wonder what the hell the hurry is (quite smugly, having remembered recently that vacations have no timelines other than those self-imposed).

We crest the hill for me to SLAM on my brakes as the truck that was in such a hurry has done so (as I curse, under my breath, at the idiot, not seeing what lay ahead).

Immediately ahead of the truck (and I mean 15 feet) lay a ski-boat - one of those big, 50k babies. On the road, on it's side, not quite in pieces but not what I would call water-worthy, either.

At the most 20 feet from the truck, on the left side of the road, was a panel truck that had been obviously 'privatized' (it looked like an old FedEx van that had been "camperized") with the front completely smashed in. On the road in front lay a woman, crumpled.

I focused the next five minutes on (a) calming my child and getting her to NOT look out the front window and (b) checking to make sure that flares had been laid out behind us (as we were, after all, at the top of a hill).

A minute after that (give or take), the truck that had been towing the boat returned (having finally found a place to turn around safely, once they realized the boat was AWOL), with the occupants distraught - a tie or lug or nut or something had given and the boat had fallen off the trailer, in the path of the van. About a minute before we crested the hill, at best.

Unfortunately, the woman in the van (visiting from California), although choppered to Vancouver, didn't make it.

Had it been us, in our little Isuzu Stylus (great on gas but not so great on protection)? I doubt they'd have needed the chopper.

Sorry, you naysayers. There is a God, and I know it.

What you call a "coincidence" or "a good idea"? I call it "God talking." I've learned to listen.

And the gopher drawing is kept in a safe place, just in case I need reminding.