The Four Times I Met God

The first time I found god, I wasn't even looking.  No one told me to look, I just sensed Someone.  When I was a child, if I woke scared in my bed in the middle of the night, I instinctively said, "Help.  Please."  I was addressing someone.  After a minute, I'd call out to my dad to come check on me, but even while I waited, intuitively I was urging someone to help Dad hear me and get there faster.  No one told me to do that.  It wasn't that my parents didn't believe in god, but we weren't the kind of home where someone explained that god was there listening.  That feeling was just in me, and I could never remember at time it hadn't been.  Later in church, god was introduced, but I already knew him.  I'll use the pronoun him for now because that is how I knew god at that time.  That church was low key, low pressure, service-oriented, and loving.  I don't remember ever hearing about Hell or evangelism there.  Whatever I heard fit the god that listened to me in the dark at night when I was scared.
That was my first relationship with god.

The second time I found God, He was different.  He was a Him who needed capital letters.  I found out I had to know Jesus for access to God.  I'd always felt like I could talk to God before this, but evidently, that had been temporary, because I hadn't known better.  I hadn't heard about asking Jesus into my heart, so I did that.  And it was important to know Jesus, so I'd be safe from Satan and Hell.  Prior to that, there was some vague notion of the devil, but never as a real entity to worry about.  I learned that when I was scared in bed or anywhere else, the fear was him or his evil helpers, and the only safety was to call on God to "Bind Satan in the name of Jesus."  So even though God was still loving, a new unseen spiritual world was happening all around me.  It was terrifying, but I thought I was mostly safe because I knew God and Jesus.  Most of my prayers at that age (I'd started journaling them) were repetitious prayers for God's help, for my friends, salvation, and for safety.

The next time I met God, shit got even more real.  I was a young woman.  I found out Satan wasn't so much the problem as was my Original Sin.  Actually, humans had caused all of the existing evil in the world by listening to Satan a long time ago.  Eve listened first, and as a woman, I felt extra shame for this.  The Bible became a really big deal too.  God wanted me to study and accept every word without question.  And I did.  I was good at it.  I was naturally wired to thrive on a team with a mission.  I loved studying, and I loved doing the right thing.  I was such a good girl.  I was as good a girl as I had been as a little child in my bed at night, but I didn't feel like it.  Now I knew I was born filthy.  It was like God had just tolerated me until I finally came around.  I'd had a "grace period" like a temporary hire, but now I was in, and I needed to live accordingly.  So I did.  I did what I thought the Bible required of women.  The men did what they thought it required of them.  The pastors and the deacons and the elders did their assignments.  The women couldn't hold those positions, but we could teach each other and the children, so we did.  And all the time I did it, I enjoyed my work, but it also felt like a losing battle.  Every mistake I made in life was no longer a mistake; it was a sin.  It was a reminder that I'd been born filthy and incapable of any good without Jesus.  This was supposedly the Good News.  But I just felt ashamed.  It felt like God and everyone else had known I was gross before I did.  But I'd gone along happily, unhindered, ignorant. This type of relationship with God lasted over 20 years.  My awareness and shame and anxiety only increased during this period.

The fourth time I'm meeting God is now.  It's been seven years since I left the third way.  The third way was ruining me.  Until recently, I was scared to even say God's name because, although I knew I couldn't continue that relationship the way it was, I couldn't prove the theology wasn't true. I just knew I didn't want my kids or me in it anymore.  And I couldn't risk calling on Him or even physically touching the Bible because I was so susceptible to jumping back in.  It had been my life for so long that I didn't trust myself.

But this time I'm getting to know god cautiously.  I'm making sure god isn't mad if I don't use capital letters.  god isn't.  I'm testing the waters by using non-male pronouns for god.  god doesn't mind.  I'm asking god to confirm that yes, if humans were created by god and in god's image, we must have good in us even as infants.  And I see that good everywhere and in everyone.  And I'm finding out what so many people have said, but that I was scared to believe:  There are many paths to god.  I suspect god is huge, maybe a person, maybe a big pervasive love, maybe just something or someone I can't explain, but definitely the Someone that was listening to me as a scared child calling in the dark.  I'm not sure why god needs to be more.  I think we just thought we needed god to be.

Because of this fourth meeting, I am finally able to look forward to many more.





the carolers

everywhere we sat, the carolers followed
to sing into your face
to sing into the side of your head
to sing and sing about snow falling 
on the baby jesus.
someone at the brewery had decided
it would be an amenity
to have four art students move around the taproom 
singing gustily and creating atmosphere
and boy, did they.
the atmosphere of no escape.
we sat three different places before
realizing that they too were on the move.
finally we went outside to the deserted firepit for quiet,
but guess who was finally on break.
they greeted us warmly as they approached with their beers.
i felt you tense at the sight of their smiling faces
"Oh don't worry," they assured us, and we 
laughed a little embarrassed because maybe our faces
had given us away.
but just as your shoulders unhunched they said,
"we are fast drinkers and will get right back to business
as soon as we finish these."
and then we couldn't leave because we'd been offered 
the gift of a lifetime
special for us - the lonely people at the firepit 
suffering in all that quiet with no music except 
the sweet crackle of the fire and each other's company.
The leader sat down his empty glass and picked up
a two inch binder.
"So, what would you like to hear?"
The sound of your retreating footsteps?
Your eyes were so big and strained that it was the
moment I realized that an introvert really is different 
from an extrovert.
I don't remember what they sang, just that it was long
and they sang in that fancy professional way no 
commoners can join in.
And they didn't want us to join them anyway.
this was a gift.
No one inside was receiving such a treasure.
I mean, except us, when we'd been inside ten minutes ago.
As they finished the last clear bright note,
he said, "We are thinking about also doing weddings and parties.  I think there's a big gap that needs filling."
"Mmmm" you murmured swiping your hand across
your sweaty upper lip.
We thanked them and referenced restrooms.
As we got back inside and sat down, me laughing,
you recovering,
I didn't have the heart to tell you that out of the corner
of my eye, i could see the family behind you beckoning to the carolers and waving dollar bills. 
 

the tree women

this morning i went back to my trees,
a small clump of nature carved into a business park.
tiny woods but they do the trick 
even within sight of a strip mall.
oddly, i don't mind a strip mall;
sometimes "sprawl" just means "people nearby."
and if you turn to face the woods, you have 
nature-y solitude, and when you turn around again,
you can head to Big Lots to buy a welcome mat.
i'm not sure whether the trees were left there
or planted for aesthetics,
but does it really matter?.
what matters, is they stand together.
today I named them Sisters,
because they're females, I can feel it.
each beautiful in her own way.
one at a permanent lean like the friend who listens hard,
leaning into your experience, bearing your burden with you.
another one's bark is burnt and peeling, she's weathered so much 
yet still stands strong.
her neighbor, a short oak, leaves springing out, 
is lively and alert, 
ever the extrovert watching 
for any chance of a party.
they are all still wearing their leaves, even in autumn
which seems cocky of them in a fun way.
now that I think about it, the grove seems too established 
to have been planted recently,
some are older than others, which is how women 
should live in a village.
the older and the younger reminding each other 
of wisdom and fun
trading it back and forth, 
laughing as they learn.
I stood there feeling at home,
speaking to them and thinking I'd known for awhile 
that were I a tree nymph,
the world would make more sense.
I was content at first enjoying them, 
but eventually wanted them to speak and be sentient,
wanting for a moment to be the kind of person 
who believes nature speaks outright
then feeling disappointed in myself 
because I don't know exactly how it works.
but the disappointment passed quickly, because 
something is going on there,
something beyond the tangible and stationary.
I saw, and that matters.
I see with my heart that this place is special,
something meant for me that maybe I uncovered--
and it's no small thing to begin to believe 
I am not passive in this world.
five years ago, I came to the trees thinking of women 
as fairies who might flit among the strong trunks.
That's a lovely image, but now I see us as the trees themselves.
something has changed in me.
I felt it in my feet planted solid on the ground, 
straightening my shoulders
and turning my face up into the mist,
following my sisters' lead. 
Now I've returned and see there is room
for some of the trees to be men living and sharing with us.
The past fear has mostly faded, and I don't want my son to miss it.
But for today, I will take my daughter, a lithe little tree in her own right,
to play a sport with her peers.
I will watch them move and play and work,
laughing and smiling,
noticing and encouraging each other even in the missed shots
a totally communal experience,
a part of that little grove in their own way.




daily prompt: Exile

who put you out here, little wanderer?
it wasn't god.
no one sent you away, and everyone wants you back.
come home, come home to
remember who you are,
who you were
who you love
and who you long to be.
we miss you.

i saw the boy who was seen


once there was a boy
who thought he was seen.
he was a beautiful boy.
everyone thought so....his mother told him so..
everyday she'd say "you are the most beautiful most special boy in the world. you will do great things one day.
you will.
you must.
everyone expects it."
and the boy believed her.

he went to school, he went to church, and everywhere he went, everyone agreed
he was awfully, terribly beautiful and special indeed.
and the boy believed them.
but eventually things felt uncertain
because sometimes that happens in life.
and the people telling him he was special, seemed to not be so wise about other things.
his mother changed like the wind, and sometimes she was so wrong about so many other things
that it made the boy wonder if she might be wrong about him as well.
it was a bit like having the softest silkiest rug placed under him,
and then having it jerked out.
and then placed under him, and then ripped out again
and after awhile, the boy had a hard time letting her slide it back under him anymore.
she still tried, but it didn't work as well and it ended up being just sort of bunched around him,
it was something at least, but it didn't block out fully the cold concrete beneath him.
so he went to school, and he went to church
and everyone continued to say he was a beautiful special boy,
but now he wasn't so sure.
eventually he began to become a little sharper around the edges...it was okay because it happens with boys about that age, but it also happens when the cold seeps in from the concrete at night
the boy was still beautiful and special. but he started to replace soft with a sharp clever edge,
and everyone loved it.
except the boy.
it worked, but something was just a bit off.
it came easily to him, but his soft part got covered over...
like a shell over a tender soft animal...and the animal was his sweet soft heart.

mostly he went on, but sometimes he would try to uncover it a bit
but when he did and shared it
it felt like everyone reminded him"be clever, be beautiful, be very very special. be sharp, be smart, be very very handsome"
and you'd think it would feel good, and sometimes it did, but sometimes the boy 
just wanted to be.
he went on through the years, he studied, he traveled,
he learned and enjoyed
and did interesting things.
he adapted and pleased and accomplished a good bit,
and on the whole, he was happy with his life.
it wasn't perfect, but no one's was really
it seemed selfish to ask for more than he had.
i mean hard things had happened, but good things had too
it seemed so ungrateful to complain
and yet...

yet...
something...

something, he couldn't quite place it, tugged at his soft, soft heart.

his heart wanted out. and it'd had enough hiding, and the boy, now a man, wasn't sure what to do.
then the boy, now a man, finally had a happening..
possibly the most significant happening of his life.
the boy, now a man, had a son of his own and when the son arrived, the man's heart rebelled.
the heart swelled so much and so fast that it wouldn't stay put.  it wasn't willing to hide in its shell in its cave anymore, and the man thought he might die from the joy and the pain.
he looked at the boy who was beautiful and special
and he touched his face and thought
you.
you.
are the best thing i have ever ever done.
and the boy smiled back, because why wouldn't he believe him? he could see in the man's eyes that it was true.
but the man didn't say what his mother had told him, "you're beautiful, you're special. do everything because you are amazing and deserve it."
instead he said, "Boy. Sweet Boy. You are my heart. I didn't even know it was this soft anymore. "
"you are beautiful and you are special but that's not why i love you. i love you because you are you and are mine.
as the boy grew older, the man saw the boy was clever,
saw he was smart.
he told the boy,
"even though you are clever, so clever, i love you because of your heart.
and i know there will be times when you'll want it covered over, but i hope you will resist because a hidden heart aches.
it's the best part of you and you're the best part of me,
and we will do our best to help each other just be.  okay?  okay, Boy?"
and the boy just grinned and ran off to play.  he believed his father, and didn't think too much about it.  why would he doubt him? 
he had only ever seen his father's heart as soft and free.












Autumn is so noisy about it

 She thought she was way too clever to write about Fall.
Everyone writes about Fall, the leaves changing,
the colors exploding, the parallel to life's transitions,
blah, blah, blah, she refused to do it.
I mean, sure, everyday she and her arthritic dog 
went out into the Fall and sniffed and noticed the changes,
and yeah, maybe they touched the leaves with their fingers
and nose.  Perhaps they even spoke to the trees sometimes.
One or both of them may have rubbed a cheek
against the smooth bark of a birch and told her, "Don't worry,
about the changes, Honey, you've never looked better," 
and maybe, just maybe the word "majestic" crossed their 
minds.  It wasn't their fault though.
Autumn is so noisy.  
All in their faces about it.
The little yellow leaves especially, they know
what they're doing, being all adorable and sunshiney and
paradoxical (the dog's word, not hers).
The orange ones practically screaming as they fall,
"Loooook at uuuuusss!  With your eyeballs!
Behold and apply the metaphor of us to your lives!
We shall not be ignored!"
So they did.  She and the dog took stock,
because they couldn't not.  They noticed their ages,
they noticed the children's.  They noticed the
children weren't children anymore.
They saw where they'd been, and they wondered what
was next.
But only to be polite.


a guarantee for my kids, my friends, my friends' kids, and anyone who was ever a kid or friend

 
















just as soon as you feel like you have a peaceful handle on things,
and you've decided that your life feels good and rightish,
something will happen or be said or done that will feel like
giant hands coming in to shake and bake you.
it may be a person, it may be money, it may be an illness
or an injury, physical or emotional
and it will always be a surprise.
my first reaction is usually panic that can quickly turn to anger
or dismay.  these make me lash out or hole up in a corner.
but you don't have to.
i read once that most strong visceral emotions last about 90 seconds.
wait it out, breathe, pray, journal, look at videos of baby pigs or 
Ana de Armas or quotes your mother stuck on your bathroom mirror
until the initial raw reaction loses it jagged edges.
then remember, you have choices.
you have options.
you have a big heart, a good mind, and can say anything that
needs to be said with wisdom and love.
sometimes, by the time you get past the baby pigs and
the Mary Oliver mirror quotes, you realize you don't have as much 
to say as you thought.  
and if you do it always comes out differently.
but i don't mean you have to say things perfectly for them
to matter.
this is all just a long way to repeat the overused phrase of
"guard your peace with love."
it turns out there's a reason we need to hear it over and over.