This will now be the third time I have attempted to post a blog entry in the past month. Each time, either the WordPress server has died or, as now, the computer has. One might be silly enough to believe God doesn’t want one to blog any more. And one might also have succeeded bravely to not cry, as one had written an entire page that had not saved at all somehow.
Oddly, one is not angry, either.
I take it as a sign that I was not supposed to publish that. I was working out some issues, and apparently, God or the computer gnomes decided nobody wanted to read that shit. So I got to thinking.
What DOES God want me to do?
I ask this a lot, mainly since, a little less than a year ago, I threw my hands up in the air and said “God, I clearly haven’t done anything with this hot mess of a life. It’s yours. Use me however you wish. Uncle.”
That makes me sound like more of a bad ass than I actually am. In actuality, I was sobbing, I was in pain, I was alone, and I was reading about Christianity by accident on the interwebz. I said, “God, I’ve been horrible to You. And I don’t deserve You. But I’m back. I’ve done nothing of use with this life on my own. Please take it and do with me whatever You want. If anyone can find anything to do with *this* [I think I pointed to myself], it’s You. Well, You’re the only one who can do anything with it. So. You know. *sniffle*”
Yes, that sounds a lot more like me.
I may also have repeated that I was sorry a gazillion times, as one does. Since one is English. And pathetic. That was sort of redundant.
I left a job that was killing me with stress and a relationship that was killing me with stagnation. I left a place where I was terminally alone and came to a place where sometimes I’m like “SERIOUSLY?! I WANT FIVE FUCKING MINUTES TO MYSELF. JEEZ.” But I love it here. I love love love it and wouldn’t trade even the most irritating clusterfucks I find myself in for the world. I keep meeting unbelievable people at work and about town and online who end up coming here that five minutes to myself seems indulgent, selfish, and stupid.
I have a theory now that Los Angeles is so awesome, actresses take laxatives not to be thin, but so they only take 30 seconds to crap. That way, they don’t have to take five minutes to miss out on awesomeness. Mind you, this is merely a theory. There could be more to laxative abuse than the time savings.
So here’s what I’ve figured out. I asked God to use me as He saw fit, and it’s important to Him that lots of people have access to me. Strangers, friends, family. Apparently, I offer people something that they want. I’ve narrowed it down to straight talk, nonsensical tweets, and wacky analogies. Wacky analogies seem to be the key to keeping ’em coming back for more. I can take your love life and illustrate it meaningfully utilizing the words “trailer park” and “stoat”. It’s a gift, and God makes sure I use it instinctively without any pretense or forethought.
I can take your torturous career path and clarify it for you merely by telling a story about an ugly baby, some rabbits, and the Dalai Lama.
I can enlighten you as to your adult reactions to your horrific childhood by saying things like “You know when you’re at the DMV and there’s that guy with the hair? You know, the guy with the FUCKING HAIR? The hair that makes you want to spit acid at puppies?”
I somehow get paid to do this (well, but mostly to be psychic). I also do it for free, and people still allow me to live in their house. Or buy me drinks and food. I don’t get it.
The only reason I can think of that God likes me for this is that Jesus told a lot of parables. I mean seriously, mustard seeds, camels, and needles make as much sense in the modern day as the story of the “big important yet fluffy weasel’, right? I’m not saying I’m even remotely like Jesus, just that God seems to enjoy a good parable.
One day, I will find myself saying to a congregation, “The Kingdom of God is like a family of near-sighted agoraphobes with freckles, who have an iguana named Stan.”
Does God want me to tell stories to help people understand things? I don’t know. Is there a way I can be doing that better? Probably. Will He show me the way if I let Him? You betcha.
God’s given me a lot of amazingness lately. One of the greatest gifts a girl can receive is to be told she is the most beautiful thing a boy has ever seen. Occasionally, we ladies get to hear that, and it’s always true, for a while, anyway. Sometimes we’re stupid & don’t take it at face value. Sometimes we’re stupid & wonder when this one is going to get sick of us. Sometimes we ask God and God says, “Will you shut up and enjoy this experience I’ve given you? You are such a little asshat!” And I say, “You’re right, God. Thank you for the sweet boy.”
Then you ask him, “Why do you want to be a soldier?” and he says, “Because I love America” and you realize that your heart is a puddle of muck on the bottom of your pericardium and also that you would do anything to help him realize his dream. So maybe God wants you to do that.
Sometimes, you are bored and questioning your existence and your sanity and God sends you a text that changes everything that day. That’s always spiffy. Or a phone call. And you’re like, “Ok, ok, Lord, I get it! I am the most blessed thing EVAR!”
Because, like I told the most adorabrilliant thing on the planet recently and also a lot, “Let the magic happen to you. Or at you. Whatever. The magic will be there whether you believe in it or not. I DEMAND THE MAGIC HAPPEN.”
You may not believe in God, and you may not believe in magic, and that’s your biz. You may think I’m a total octotard, and if so, why did you read down this far? Do you know what that makes you? A dodecatard. So seriously, dude….
If you are in a place where nothing seems to be moving, where try as your little wunderbrain might, you manifest nothing, consider my weird tale. Consider the idea that we don’t control every little thang under heaven. Say to the Whatever, “Hmm. I’m curious, Positive Universe. Have you some sort of, you know, thing you’d like to do to say hello? Should you wish to? Only if it’s no trouble.” Yes, I imagine that you are English & terribly polite.
You’ve got to make sure you ask for Positive. If you call up any old thing, you could find yourself the unholy butt spreader to Baal, Lord of the Furnace. Thank you, Kurt Schlichter, for that reference.
Not that I believe in demons. But I do believe in asking for the highest good, and performing the highest good whenever possible. Also it’s very important never to ask for anything specific at first. You don’t want God to think you have an agenda. Well, He knows, but you want to honestly be cool with whatever nice thing He sends you. It’s like Christmas. Your great grandmother has no idea what a Wii is, so she didn’t get you one. She knitted you a blanket with Alf on it, because that was the last thing that she remembers was cool. At first, you have no freaking idea what to do with the Alf blanket, but after a while you realize it will sell for $1000 on Ebay. Or that you are actually cold. Or you meet a girl in college who craves Alf merchandise and will blow you for it. Who knows?
Or, in my case, incredibly weird.
It’s kind of hard to know the mind of God. Even Stephen Hawking is sort of at a loss, and that guy is so smart, he needs a wheelchair to cart his brain around. That joke was mostly for the benefit of Michael O’Connell.
Speaking of, Michael is another awesome person God put in my path for nefarious purposes. Mostly I think so I can be randomly happy after 2 AM. So far, anyhowz.