God does not have Netflix

Before you start flinging insults or accusing me of lacking faith, I demand that you read this entire article so you can actually understand my perspective. And if you still feel the need to comment afterward, take your rant over to my X account—this post is live there too.

Over the years, I've rubbed shoulders with scholars, teachers, preachers, and die-hard believers from every corner of faith. When our conversations get real, these so-called experts don’t engage—they just hurl labels like "nonbeliever" or "atheist" at me. But the truth is, I’ve been on a relentless hunt for blind faith—something so absolute that I wouldn’t have to question it, where if the teacher says “jump,” I wouldn’t hesitate to ask, “how high?”

Make no mistake: my belief in a higher power is rock-solid, whether you call it God or something else. While “faith” might suggest a leap into uncertainty for some, my conviction is ironclad. Now that you know where I stand, let’s rip into the real issues.

One of my favorite pieces, “God Does Not Have Netflix,” first caught my attention a few years back when Nurse Pamela at JPH passed it along. I might not remember every detail, but its message struck me hard—and I’ve never looked back since.

Why does this matter? Because I’m convinced that God must have far more interesting things to do than micromanage every scrap of the universe. Human lives, by contrast, have become a chaotic, overproduced reality show—a cosmic Game of Thrones where every twist ensures that nothing ever goes smoothly. Think about those moments when you’re forced to choose between a miracle solution and a messy, complicated path: it’s as if the universe is determined to watch you fail.

Just look around—celebrities, your friends, even those closest to you are tangled up in issues that seem to emerge out of thin air. It’s not merely human error or idiocy at work here; some other force is pulling the strings.

And that’s exactly why I don’t waste my time bombarding God with constant prayers or begging for special treatment. Trust me—you don’t want Him zeroing in on you like you’re the star of some convoluted TV drama. I’d much rather be an off-screen extra in this cosmic mess, free from divine favoritism and its messy complications. But let’s be honest: escaping His all-seeing gaze isn’t as simple as we’d like it to be.

I've got a ton more to say on this, but let's see how this version lands before we fully commit to the idea.