I made the decision right around the time that my baby decided to get into bed with me. And then have a chat. About preschool and her babies and life in general. At 4am. What? Is this college again? Move over or get out. So about that time, I decided that we would be skipping church today.
At 8am the phone rang. It was my mother. Coming to my house. To go to my new church with me. Oh, and dad was with her too. So I did what any good daughter would do. I made a pot of coffee, unlocked the front door and got in the shower.
We made it to church. So I’m sitting there with my big girl hanging on one side and my baby rifling through my purse, and the minister is talking about Daniel. Daniel, thrown to the lions. Thought to be dead. Should have been dead. But the lions decided (by an act of GOD no less) that they weren’t hungry that particular day.
The life lesson is this: be thankful…on your knees thankful…that God lets you live another day.
I’m having a little trouble with this. I’m having alot of trouble, actually, with my faith. And not just faith in all things spiritual. But faith in the system, faith in the economy, the government, the food supply. I cannot take things at face value because I am not allowed to do so.
Maybe it’s too many spy movies. But nothing is as it seems. And, I have to believe (and I do), that most of the danger is in our own minds. I let my kids play in the yard. Without (eek) a grownup! And without shoes! Or a helmet! Say it isn’t so! I also sleep with the windows open. I have no fear that someone will cut the screens and enter my home and rifle through my junk drawers. I guess that’s faith in something. Faith that all the shitty things that can happen to a person has already happened.
Then why am I still not sleeping? Grinding my teeth and clenching my jaw when I do sleep? Why have I gained 35 pounds in the last 18 months? Why do I crave my own home and my own space but go crazy from being alone and not going anywhere? Why does major surgery sound appealing, if only to get a really long nap?
These are the questions that go through my head. At church. That, and, why oh why is it okay to wear white jeans? I just don’t get it. And baby doll tops? Look good on nobody. Except those that are gestating. I’m just putting that out there. Not that I have any fashion sense at all. I’m the one who cannot imagine a day without yoga pants and Keen sandals.
Part of me wants to meet with the minister. Tell my story. Again. And see if he has some wisdom that I may have overlooked. Maybe he can tell me something to make me feel better…some little gem that will reveal the peace that I have been seeking. I know…deep, right?
Maybe it’s not about that moment of clarity. Maybe nobody knows.
I could use a really good cry but I’m fairly certain that all the tears have been medicated out of me. I feel like there wouldn’t be anyone to pick my up from the bathroom floor except my babies and,well, that’s not fair to them. I want to throw something. But then I’ll just have to clean up the mess. I want to drive far, far away. But then if I came back, everything would be gone. I want to run. Okay, maybe not run (black eye) but walk. Fast. Like mall walking. I wish I was one of those people who can lose themselves in exercise. Who could push themselves until they tore their bodies apart only to do it again tomorrow. I tried that once. And couldn’t lift my baby for a week. Or the remote. Or a hairbrush.
What if Daniel had been eaten? What if he’d stubbed his toe and left a drop of blood on the rocks? What would the moral of the story been if that had happened?
Daniel did what was right and the lions got a snack.
Because that’s how it goes for most of us. I answered my phone. And instead of a lazy day with my coffee and my newspaper and a donut run…I put on makeup, shushed my littles, sang Jesus Loves Me and thought about what it would be like to get stitched up after a brutal lion attack.
I’ll bet I know what it feels like.