If there’s a god, and despite popular belief about me, I think there is one (or some), we need to talk.
Of course, I’ve heard the term “personal Jesus” and I certainly have a personal relationship with this someone. I’m just not sure what sort of relationship. I talk to him or her all the time.
It goes something like this:
Wow. that’s beautiful.
Please help, HELP NOW!
Thank you. I sometimes get carried away here. It varies by day and depends what’s happening in my life, but the following might be normal for say, any given Wednesday.
Thanks for the husband and my sister and the moms and the rest of the family and the dog and the cats and the flowers and the birds and the ocean and the sky. Thanks for enough food to eat and a warm place to sleep and clean water and good books and Grace and Shelly’s brown sugar cupcakes. Thanks for every breath I take. Amen.
These prayers, if you want to call them that, are never anything formal. Sometimes there aren’t even words.
Sometimes its’ just a laugh and a wink. Ok. I get the message.
I even say to god, “Ha Ha, you funny trickster” like the gods and I are sharing a little personal inside joke. For instance, when the lost car keys are in the drawer. You know. The one you already looked in. Five times.
I have shouted, sang, smiled and cried the prayers. I shamefully admit I have sometimes given the finger. To the sky.
There are lots of books on relationships and communication. I wondered if, based on our style of communication, I could figure out my relationship with god. Or at least which more earthly relationship it most resembles.
Father, mother, sister, friend, husband, wife..??
It’s come to my attention that I do all the talking. Well maybe only most of it. I see the synchronicities of life as conversation and comment from the big other. Whoever they are. But the messages aren’t always clear. This might be a good thing though – I haven’t been struck by lightening. Yet.
My dumb ass has been saved from disaster so many times, I really think this entity has a plan for me, but will she tell me what it is?
So it’s probably not a mother, because what mother could refrain from telling her child what to do with their lives and what they should be when they grow up?
I’ve considered a husband-type communication style. There’s strong evidence. I talk and talk and, given I don’t hear anything back, I have to wonder “are you listening to me or surfing the web?”
I don’t think this is a friend relationship. I haven’t gotten any communication via text and God does not seem to have a Facebook page – although Pope Francis does. I “liked” him, but he hasn’t replied. I am, baptismally speaking, a Catholic, but a very
collapsed one, so maybe he blocked me.
The communication I get from…above?.. seem like woman-style communication.
“What’s wrong? Did I do something?” he says.
“Nothing. No.” We say. But there is.
Then there are the vague hints like when a woman leaves vacation brochures by the TV remote.
Does god send Hurricane Sandy toward Washington?
Are these things coincidences or should meaning be drawn from them?
Don’t men complain that their wives “talk” to them like this?
Don’t the husbands say “Come out and tell me already. I’m not a mind reader.”
I say, C’mon God. Talk to me.
I lie awake in the dark wondering. Is this cancer? Will my child will be ok? Will all of us be ok? And I think you KNOW. I know you know. Why can’t you just tell me already? Why all the big secrets? It’s not like I’m asking for the lottery numbers.
**I wrote the original version of this in 2012. My dog, Nimble, had a tumor on her spleen at the time and Hurricane Sandy did indeed head for Washington for awhile. Both Nimble and Washington still stand. I didn’t publish it then for fear of offending the more religious among my 5 readers. Since then, I’ve turned 50 and written my own version of the Lord’s Prayer. I don’t care quite as much what anyone thinks. And the lightening bolt has not hit (yet), so maybe God is willing to consider any version of his prayer!