I hate bad endings — I always feel violated and like someone owes me an apology. I paid admission, risked a late fee at the library or wasted life by listening to someone forget the point of their own story while they are telling it to me. It’s a worse feeling when I look at the story of my life and suspect that maybe Someone authored me into a tragedy, or a drama, or an R.R. Martin novel. What if God doesn’t know how to end the story right?