What Happens If I Forget To Say Amen?

Does anyone else ever have that fear that if they don't say "Amen" at the end of their prayers, that their prayers somehow don't count?  Like the "Amen" is a cork in the bottle of your prayers that you heave up to heaven and if you don't put the cork on, all the prayers will leak out before it gets up to heaven and God won't hear any of them?

Why in the world does my brain go that way?  What is the underlying fear there?

Well, probably because I pray throughout the day in a very immediate "Hey, God, thank you again for this new job, because at least once an hour I'm reminded how wonderful my life is now because I'm here, and not where I used to be." and then my boss needs something, or my co-worker needs backup on an invoice, and I get distracted.

And while I don't necessarily need to put an "Amen" on a praise, many other times, I'll be talking to God, and asking for prayers for other people, (Mom is going on a two week safari to Africa in two weeks.  If there was anyone who was going to have something go wrong on their Bucket List vacation, it would be her), and then it happens again - work intervenes, new hire paperwork needs to be processed, emails need to be dealt with, expense reports need to be filed, the phone is ringing, I handle all the work stuff, and I belatedly realize I forgot to say "Amen" at the end of the Mom prayer and that obviously means she’s going to fall off the back of the safari truck and get eaten by a cheetah.

Sigh.

So it's probably guilt that me forgetting to say “Amen” basically means I just left God hanging in the middle of a conversation.  I don't do that to my friends (unless it's email conversations and it's unclear who was supposed to respond next).  So why do I think it's okay to do that to God?  It's not, of course.  Or does He understand in the grand scheme of things?

When I was a kid, I used to think that you couldn't put anything on top of your Bible, that it would be disrespectful to God.  Nobody ever told me that, I came up with that little thing all by myself.

So even though it might technically be okay not to add the "Amen" at the end and even though it might technically be okay to end calls with friends without saying "Bye" (though I always remember to say "thanks" if it warrants it.)

What is Amen?  Oh, wow, apparently it means "So be it." or "It is so." 

That almost sounds ruder than just walking away from a conversation.

Please please please God, I'm venting, I'm rejoicing, I'm praising, I'm asking You for help and if I'm doing everything right, at the end of our conversation I say SO BE IT, IT IS SO!

It's NOT so, because it's not up to ME, it's up to God whether He wants to respond to my prayers.  What's the word where I shyly stub my toe in the dirt and say, "You could, you know, if You want to.  But, you know, You're God and all, so like, if You've got other ideas, I get it.  I just hope they're coming sooner than later, but I get it, I get it, Your time, not mine, I get it.  Okay, cool, thanks for listening, I'll just be over here living life and stuff, whenever You're ready, You can get back to me."

Maybe that word is simply “Thanks.”

God Is Using Me To Grad Students Who Might Not Know Better

So it occurred to me that I only email or call my friend Wella when I need something.  Like advice on buying a car, or advice on where to take the car when somebody hits it.  But it’s rare that I call or email just to say Hi! Things are going pretty great, and I wanted to thank you for being my friend!  That’s it!  I don’t need anything!  Isn’t that awesome!?

To which Wella promptly responded by asking me to have lunch with his film production grad students last Friday.

Ha ha ha.  Turnabout is indeed fair play, and I owe Wella ten thousand talks to his students.  But for now, we’ll start with one talk.

Wella teaches at an unnamed Christian university, and had brought his group of about 10  - 15 graduate students up to my unnamed movie studio for a tour of the production facilities, so I scooted out on my lunch hour to meet up with them at the commissary and drag a couple of tables together so I could share a general knowledge of what I’ve learned living in Los Angeles and working in this industry for (cough cough coughing over the exact number of) years.

There’s a quote that Bill Gates said somewhere, I’m horribly paraphrasing him, but I think he was talking to a group of students, and one of them asked Bill Gates how someone should break into the industry these days.  And Bill Gates replied, “Well, don’t do it the way I did it, it’s already been done.”  And that’s what I felt like.  I can’t tell these grad students how to break into the industry like I did.  Those ways don’t work anymore. The industry changes at such an accelerated rate, you can’t do it the way I did it. When I was starting out, crowdfunding on the web didn’t exist. Crafting a social media strategy to promote your film on a grass roots level didn’t exist.

So what do I have that’s of any value to say?  They’re all looking at me with their bright eyes, and poised pens, like really well dressed, inquisitive… badgers or something. 

(I don’t know why badgers came to mind just then.  Badger in Wind In The Willows was a learned scholarly sort, I think.  He also hated society. Moving on)

I tell them what I know.  My new job at the Unnamed Movie Studio does afford me a particularly fascinating and valuable viewpoint of the development process (and since I signed a non-disclosure agreement, that’s all you’re gonna get from me online.)  I talk to them about the mistakes that producers on the movies I wrote made along the way, and how you need to form a marketing strategy not after the movie’s over, but before you’ve shot a single frame.  I tell them about how the two most important questions about your movie (or piece of material if you haven’t secured funding yet) are #1 – Who is your movie for demographic wise (and the wrong answer is to say “everybody!”) and #2 – How are you going to reach your audience to tell them about your movie?

I tell them to think of their career in this industry as not a sprint, but a marathon.  A marathon that will take most of your life.  So temper your expectations accordingly.  Any momentum you get might be fleeting, so plan your finances accordingly.

And lastly, I tell them that the most important thing I can say is Always check in with God.

I tell them what turned the light bulb on for me, when I heard a guest speaker at church say whatever your passion is in life is a passion that God put within you, because He wants you to pursue that passion for His glory.  So if your passion is for animals, be the best veterinarian you can be.  If your passion is for numbers, be the best accountant (and hopefully honest) accountant you can be.  And if you are a writer, or producer, or director, or someone who is convinced that you have to have a career in the movies, be the best filmmaker you can be. 

And that doesn’t mean make horrible Christian dreck movies, where a main character falls to their knees, gives their lives to Christ, and their lives improve the very next day.  It means making movies that are truthful to the human experience.  And the human experience is so wide and varied.  It can be glorious, it can be wretched.  But a person knows truth when they hear it, and when they see it.  Truth is authenticity.

I tell them God gave them their passion.  Sure, I thought I wanted to be a writer when I saw Heathers , or when I saw Blade Runner, or Memento.  But the movies I saw just ignited the passion God had already written into the DNA of my soul.  (and interestingly enough, I can’t write those kind of movies.  I write comedies.  I adore watching things that I know I can’t write. Make of that what you will.  In other news, WATCH BREAKING BAD! THE BEST WRITTEN TV SHOW OUT THERE CURRENTLY! Ha ha ha.)

God gave me the ability to write, because He WANTS me to write.  I don’t have to hide it from Him.  I don’t have to consider my career as something separate from my relationship with God.  He doesn’t want me to.

So I tell these bright eyed intelligent badger grad students sitting around the table with their salads and sandwiches, and their poised pens that are now madly scribbling notes, and HEY GOD, PLEASE MAKE SURE I’M SAYING THE RIGHT THING HERE BECAUSE THEY’RE WRITING EVERYTHING DOWN NOW, that above anything else I say, please please PLEASE for the love of GOD, consult GOD with everything having to do with their career.  Do I take this internship?  Do I write this script? Do I accept this job?  This assignment? This offer of potential money?

Because He wants you to.  Nothing is trivial.  Do you know that’s a quote from The Crow? Another one of my favorite movies.  Check it out (quote happens around 3:00 in)

Nothing that happens in your life is trivial to God.  Nothing.  Talk to Him about it.  Scream to Him about it, bitch and moan and shake your fist and stamp your foot about it.  Or, if things are going well, pop a champagne cork and toast Him with it.  I prefer the method of getting good news and immediately ducking into the bathroom, where I thank Him repeatedly in the privacy of a bathroom stall.  Thank You God, thank You.  Thank you, God, thank You. Thank you, God, thank You.

God is your champion.  He WANTS you to succeed.  Can you believe that?

So I babble my head off, and give everyone my email in case they have follow up questions.  And yes, they are starting to pour in.  Over the weekend, I got two separate ones, from two separate people and they both mentioned the same thing:

“what you said about God was something that I really needed to hear as I'm trying to discern my career/life path (you probably saw me taking frantic notes so I wouldn't forget anything)!”

“Also, not to get sappy, it was a gift from God that you reminded us that he gave us skills and desires for a reason, and that he wants to be apart of them.”

Oh, wow.  Aw, geeze.  I… I showed up not knowing what I was going to say at all, and just babbling things as they showed up in my brain.  And now I’m memorable.  I don’t need that kind of responsibility.

No, no, no, that’s not it.  It was God.  GOD was showing through the rambling of my brain, God was showing in between the lines of me babbling about temp agencies and why you can’t submit a spec script as a newbie writer to my Unnamed Movie Studio. And God was showing through when I was being authentic and talking about how, seriously, just talk to God about what’s going on with you.

People, when pastors talk from the pulpit about how God uses the most unlikely of people to get His point across – HI! HE DID THAT WITH ME!

I’m nobody.  Seriously.  Really.  I have three produced writing credits to my name, and I still have a day job, and live in the Shabby Shack that’s just shy of 300 square feet.  To the industry, I am nobody.  I am Nobody with a capital N.

But I’m Somebody to God.  And He’s gonna use me, in the most unlikely of ways.

Hell yes, He is.  Just you watch.

Cookie Monster Moderation

I’ve got Flora’s wedding coming up in September, and I’m again pondering another month long alcohol fast.  What can I say, it’s like childbirth, I don’t remember how painful the last time was.  That will be the closest I ever get to kids, FYI.

I’m trying to give myself leeway, by saying I’m only giving up alcohol, not sugar, so I don’t kill people with my snarly self like I almost did last time.  Though I wouldn’t be surprised if my contrary nature pushes me to give up sugar anyway. 

But right now, the plan is to nix alcohol for a month 8/21 – 9/21.  And I’m not sure why, other than it seems to be a good idea to at least TRY.  But why try?  You already proved you could do it. You already know it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference pound wise or appearance wise.  What’s the point?  WHAT’S THE POINT, WOMAN!?

I don’t have a good point, other some vague notion of trying to be healthy before a wedding where it’s all about indulgence, and it’s nice to practice self control and moderation.

And as I’m debating these thoughts, Cookie Monster came out with a new video today:

Side note – that lamb rocking out at 1:06, and the tiger busting the moves at 1:55 make the whole damn video.

It’s not nearly as lyrically clever as what he did last year with “Share It, Maybe” his take on the Carly Rae Jepsen song.

But when you take these videos together with the “Cookie Is A Sometimes Food” video (easily the most boring of the bunch)...

... It seems the good folks at Sesame Street are trying to refashion Cookie Monster, the longtime blue furry symbol of gluttony, into a bastion of moderation.  Which makes no sense.  Like seeing him with legs in the “But Me Wait” video.  Something is just a bit… OFF, when Cookie Monster suddenly has legs.  Is THIS what happens when Cookie Monster slows down and eats cookies in moderation?  A side effect of LEGS!?

You know the world is upside down when Cookie Monster is saying wait to eat the cookie, and I’m pondering another fast from alcohol.

We’re both gluttons for punishment spun as moderation, apparently.

Analogue Christian In A Digital World

I ran slides at my church for the first time in their new location this past Sunday. The new set-up has the slide runner and the sound operator and a new technical director in a room over to the left with glass windows.

I wondered what we needed a technical director for, and as it turns out, we've gone high tech. There's now two cameras down front, possibly a third in the back, and the technical director cross cuts between the cameras, and calls out the camera angles during the service. This is because we now have an overflow room in the fellowship hall, for people who can't find room in the sanctuary itself.

We also now have three services, though the overflow room is really only needed for the 10:45am service.

This is how much my church has changed.

And I felt myself getting a little sad. Which is a stupid thing, I know. What's wrong with the church growing, what's wrong with needing to go to three services to accommodate everyone? What's wrong with a bus that takes you from the off site parking lot to the new church location?

I don't have a lot of bad experiences with churches, but there was one that I did, in the early days of this blog. I’m not mentioning names, but their service was maybe the first time I had experienced a high tech glossy service, with video projections, and cross cutting video and dancers, yes, dancers, onstage. Even when I tried to get past that, there were the guest speakers hawking their books or t-shirt in the lobby, the one time they decked out the stage to look like Narnia to celebrate the movie coming out, the endless superficial messages that weren’t about studying the Bible so much as they were taking verses out of context to fit the message they wanted to say.

I left that church with an icky high tech gloss in my mouth.

And now my church, the one I’ve attended faithfully since its inception, is starting to sport some of the high tech trappings. The sermons are still about studying the Bible, so I’m slightly reassured that way. But my hackles are half raised, and I find my own reaction odd.

Maybe I’m just an analogue Christian in a digital community. Maybe I don’t like change initially. Maybe I’m just an ornery Grandma shaking her cane, get off my lawn with your fancy cameras and your cross cutting and your overflow rooms!

We were supposed to show a video about small groups during the middle of the service, and it had worked fine in dress rehearsal, but of course during the first sermon, I punch the button and we have video and no sound. So maybe we’re not so high tech after all. heh.

Cactus Flower And What It Might Mean

At the corner of my driveway are a couple of cacti.

And that's weird, because cacti a weird word, but it's also weird because this is LA. I expect to see cacti in Arizona, but not LA and not along my driveway.

But LA is kinda weird when it comes to flora and fauna. Birds of Paradise bushes grow like weeds out here, whereas a single Bird Of Paradise flower sells for something like $7 - $10 bucks back home in Alabama. The prettiest wildflowers will grow on medians down the Wilshire corridor. It doesn't make a lot of sense.

So yes, there are cacti on my driveway, waving hello at me every time I come home. And every once in a while, it feels like once a year, really, a flower will appear.
This lovely white flower, which looks kinda shy in this photo. It lasts maybe three days and quickly withers away. It takes a year to grow. Three days to shine, then poof, it's gone. 

There's an obvious metaphor in there, yet some vital piece feels off.

The cactus flower is about God's timing - it can take forever, but when it appears, it's beautiful and lovely (until it withers away, and are you really trying to say God's timing only lasts three days?)

The cactus flower is about God's blessings - they can take forever, but when they show up, you appreciate them all the more because it took so long to get there (and are you really trying to say God's blessings vanish after three days?)

The cactus flower is about stopping to appreciate God's miracles - this lovely flower coming off a prickly cactus that doesn't look like it's capable of such beauty, (except that beauty only lasts three days and my, don't you sound really judgmental.)

Regardless, maybe it’s just about stopping when you see beauty, where ever you see beauty, and thanking God for it. That’s what I’m going with.

This Is What He Was Trying To Tell Me

Almost a month ago, I asked God if there was something He was trying to tell me that I wasn’t getting.  Fifteen minutes later a car hit me and took off.  I could’ve maybe written it as a scene in a script, because it was that kind of timing, the kind that only make sense in movies, no, no, no, those things don’t happen in real life. You’re not praying in the car and then a car hits you.  No, no, no, silly writer. Try injecting some realism into the thing.

Almost a week after the accident, I get another one of those out-of-the-blue phone calls. The kind I got more than once last year, except this year, it wasn’t about a script, it was about a job.

Yes.  A job.  In the same area at the Unnamed Movie Studio I was at in 2009, where I wished I could have stayed, but was passed over.

Now it’s four years later and finally, FINALLY, there’s an opening.  And they want me.  Do I want them?  Well, hell, yes, I do.

Now, I’m pretty sure I could’ve received that out-of-the-blue phone call without a car wreck to get my attention.  I’m pretty sure I would have been just as jubilant, just as thankful, just as incredulous at the sheer luck that I’m going to be making significantly more money than I have been, without the car wreck and the ensuing Dark Night Of The Soul that followed.

The night of the accident, I had written something on my facebook, a throwing down of a verbal gauntlet, that, following the theme of the sermon series at my church, I couldn’t wait to see how God was going to display His glory through my negative bank account status ($1,000 deductible folks, yeah, I know).

And this is how.  He’s going to move me into a new job that pays more money. Yes, it’s more stressful, but that’s usually how it goes with Better Paying Jobs – you gotta work to earn those bucks.

And part of me thinks God’s really just showing off now.  That’s He’s doing the equivalent of a Holy Roller Peacock or something – la la laaaaaaa Look at what I did to your life!  La la laaaaaaa, look how I fixed everything!  I’m super awesome!  You are WELCOME, la la laaaaaaaa.

Kind of like this dude – (wait until 28 seconds in. Frickin’ incredible.)

I was going to be okay no matter what happened, because that’s how much I trust God.  Sure, I do my fair share of bitching and moaning, because I’m Amy The Superbitch and that’s how humans roll. But I was never going to stop believing that God was going to help me somehow.

I just didn’t think it was going to be this soon, this immediate, and this breathtaking.

Thank You, God, thank You, God, thank You, God.

It's Okay Not To Be Perfect

My church moved locations this week. We’ve been meeting for eight years or so at an old movie palace from the 1920s, so it’s sad to leave (and even sadder that the landlord made everyone leave because he wants to redevelop the space for condos)

But having said that, we do have a new place to go to so all is not lost.  It’s not even very far, just down the block, so no reason to panic.  But this past Sunday was our last Sunday in our old space and I happened to be up to run slides.

Because it’s our last day, they’ve come up with an idea - we’re supposed to write little things on post it notes and place them around the church (though I feel bad for the people who have to go around and take them down).

And reflecting on the years, not only the ones in this location, but the years overall at this church, I wonder what I should write down.

Not only have I been with the church practically from the beginning, but I signed up to run slides pretty early on.  I may be one of the last originals to do them.  We’ve evolved from swapping a laptop with the slides on them from one slide runner to the next, like a religious nuclear football, to spending weekend trying to create the slides and sending panicked texts to the service manager when it’s not possible to create the slide that the pastor wants, to now simply showing up on Sunday morning and pressing the button to advance to the next slide (that might also give you some insight into how our church budget has grown.)

And I realize that one thing being a slider runner has taught me for all these years is not to sweat the small stuff.  When I first had the slides gig, I would spazz out and get upset every time I messed up and advanced a song lyric when it wasn’t time, or when it was late, or whatever.  Because I had to be PERFECT!  Everything had to be PERFECT!

But after a good 7 or 8 years of doing this, I realized that nobody’s really going to yell at you, and that in the grand scheme of things, messing up the timing of a slide lyric or a sermon lyric isn’t really that big of a deal.

That sentence makes me sound like I was a buffoon with the slide duty.  And that’s not the case at all, because I’m pretty sure they would’ve encouraged me to try something else if I was completely awful, like clean toilets.  It’s hard to mess up cleaning a toilet.

But no, I have stayed a slide runner for all the times, even though I can’t remember a time where I ran the slides flawlessly.  It’s impossible, since the worship band leader has a propensity for going off book, singing choruses acapaella, or flitting back and forth between songs for dramatic effect, and la la laaaaa.

Doing slides at church taught me, more than anything else, that I will probably never be perfect.  At running slides, at my job, at life.  But God loves me even though I never will be perfect. It’s a lesson I still haven’t wrapped my head around, and will probably take me the rest of my life to do so.  But I’ll keep trying.  At running slides, at my job, at life, at trying to know who God is.

So I write this down and stick it near the computer.

And I run the slides for the services.  And yes, I screw up maybe one or twice.  Or more, heh.  But when the services are over, I say bye to the production staff.  I walk around this beautiful space one last time.  And I head out onto Hollywood Blvd., where the streets are positively teeming with imperfect people.

I’ll be doing slides at the new location in a few weeks.  And I’m sure I won’t be perfect there.  But I’ll do my best to try to be okay with that.  Because God is.

Betty, Veronica, and Korean Accents

So I don't know if any of you have been to the Glendale mall lately, but there's an evangelical group that roams around there in ones and twos.  And guess who they found?

Technically, I guess I asked for it.  See, I had run into one of them earlier this year.  Their game is to look for people to talk to and they start off their pitch by saying something to the point of, "Do you believe in God the mother as well as God the father?"

The first time they tried to talk to me, I wasn't very friendly, I admit. I was trying desperately to find sweaters and Christmas presents and I didn't have a lot of time to stop and chat about gender identities for God.  So I shook her off, and went on my way.

And instantly regretted it later.  Because, you know, why NOT engage somebody like that?  What do they have to say?  Is it crazy cocoa cocoa puffs or not?

So last night, I'm at the Glendale Galleria again, this time on a hunt for jewelry for a friend's wedding on Saturday.  And as I'm dashing around, I remember that poor possible crazy cocoa cocoa puffs gal and I idly mention it to God, "I wish I'd bump into those people again so I'd have something to write about for the blog."

Not more than seven minutes later, a Korean and African American gal grab me right out in front of a jewelry store.

OH!  THAT PRAYER, YOU'LL ANSWER SPEEDILY?  REALLY?  NOTHING ABOUT MY CAREER?  Seriously!?!?

Okay, so here they are, what's their deal?  They are Betty and Veronica (obviously not their real names), from the World Mission Society Church of God and Betty is the leader of the conversation, which is only regrettable in the fact that her Korean accent is SO thick, there's many times where I have to say, "I'm sorry?"  And it's not about her telling me about the three parts in the Bible that specify God is "the bride."

But yep, that's their pitch, God and "the bride" a few times in Revelation, (Rev. 19:7 Rev  22:17, to name a few.)  When I point out that it's generally understood that in Revelation at least, references to "the bride" are understood to mean "the church," Betty comes back with "How can the church be coming down out of heaven?" and "How can you be born without a mother?"

Even though I told them that I'm a Christian and I believe in God, they don't let go of their stranglehold they have on their pitch.  But WHAT exactly they're pitching, is really unclear.

They really want me to believe in God the father AND God the mother?  Why?  What for?  I don’t get it.  I don’t need to get it.  If you’re walking up to strangers in the Glendale Galleria and trying to persuade them of something, you’re kinda going about it the wrong way anyway. 

They wanted my phone number, just like those pushy people on my college campus ages and ages ago, so they could call me to remind me to come to their church.  No, thank you.  I got their phone number, and said I’d think about what they had said.

But all things considered, they would do well to have someone say it without a thick Korean accent.  Says me.

Thoughts On Giving Up Sugar and Alcohol For A Month

Things are somewhat getting back to normal after the Hey, Let’s Get Tangled Up In A Hit and RUNNNNNNN events of the past few weeks.

My month long abstention from sugar and alcohol ended on June 8^th, so I’ve had plenty of time to jump back on board the Tequila Train.

(let’s be clear, I don’t drink a lot.  Friday through Sunday is usually it.)

The Hit And Run Accident happened before June 8^th, though, and I was completely in my rights to go home and drink myself silly, to cheer myself up, and make myself feel better at this horrible world where bad people can hit your car and run away and never experience any consequences that you will ever be made aware of.

And while I went home, and yes, I cried on the couch and whined to God about how this year has been really mean and generally sounding like a petulant bratty 12 year old, but I did not drink.

And part of that was due to the petulant bratty 12 year old that paradoxically said, “I’m not gonnnnnnnna just because I coulllllllld if I waaaaaaaanted tooooooo.”

But a bigger part of me recognized through the tears and the brattyness that drinking would not improve this situation one bit.  The car’s bumper would still be mangled.  The bad guy would still be gone, and I am still on the hook for a $1,000 deductible.

And I think that’s the biggest thing that I learned from the Month Without Sugar Or Alcohol – why do you drink?  Why do you eat sugar?

Not a new revelation about my discipline or self control.  Not a hard learned lesson about the addictive properties of refined sugar.  Not even an interesting science experiment about how much my tolerance dipped in a month (which manifested itself not in the number of drinks I consumed after the month, but the headaches which showed up the day after.)

I can easily say that giving up sugar and alcohol wasn’t worth it.  It didn’t make me a better person.  I was damn cranky and snarly.  The scale said I lost five pounds, but you couldn’t see it anywhere on me.  I didn’t feel healthier.  I didn’t feel better.

But what I did learn was more along the lines of why do you drink?  Why do you eat sugar?

The sugar question is easier to answer because the answer is simply because it’s there.  If you swap M&Ms out with grapes or pineapple, you still get a sweet fix and can consider yourself a better person.  One Diet Coke a day or a Skinny Vanilla Latte from Starbucks can handle your caffeine fix.  Those are habits I can easily maintain without issue.  Though, yes, I did have Yogurtland on Sunday and yes, it was glorious.

The alcohol question.  Well, it definitely made me reexamine my habits, and how casually I would throw back a drink for no other reason than it’s Friday, the start of the weekend.  I could easily cut that out, no problem.  Make my drinking intentional and purposeful.

The biggest benefit to drinking is when I write.  Because alcohol drowns out the negativity in my head that constantly whisper you suck, you suck you suck suck suck, and what you’re writing is absolute crap, and why are you even bothering to try because you are never going to get anywhere, I promise you.

And yes, I could go to therapy, I could read a self help book, I could do a lot of things, but none of those solve the writer’s block as quickly as a glass of Don Julio.

And, as any writer will tell you, sometimes the most important thing you can do is get over that block and start writing.

So I think I will modify my habits, and will become Queen of Moderation.  Though there’s probably nothing nicer than a Sunday afternoon Mojito.  And I think I will be okay in saying I don’t need a reason to justify one of those.

Was This Really Necessary?

So yeah, I was in a hit and run accident last Tuesday.  Some idiot came up behind me as I was on an on ramp to a freeway and slammed into my car.  I swerved around a lot, got the car back under control, and pulled over onto the shoulder of the freeway.

The other car comes up around me, the passenger in the front seat indicates that they’re gonna take the next off ramp, so I pull out behind them. 

And that’s when they take off, speeding far far away, deliberately losing me in the traffic.  I don’t have time to grab the iPhone to take a picture of the license plate or anything.

And once again, the ironic thing about everything is that not less than thirty minutes before, I was talking to God.  Things have been so stagnant for so long, and so, like any good little Christian who’s sat through thousands of sermons, I offered up prayers to God and said, “Is there something You’re trying to show me that I’m not seeing?  Please open my eyes.  Please show me what You’re trying to tell me.  Please tell me.  I’m listening.”

And then fifteen minutes later, this joker slams into my car.

(longtime readers of the blog will remember that The Worst Day Ever also involved me praying in a car.  If there’s a sensible takeaway to any of this, it’s that I need to STOP PRAYING IN THE CAR.)

I haven’t felt this helpless in quite some time.  And perhaps it’s an apt metaphor for my life currently – me doing my absolute damndest to accomplish something (get the license plate number of a hit and run driver) and watching it zoom away, completely out of my reach.  I’m trying my hardest and I’m failing completely.

Having said all of that, I do have some handy dandy tips for any of you that happen to find yourself in this kind of situation in the future:

1. If your accident happens on a freeway, call the highway patrol, not the police.

2. They do not have cameras on on or off ramps to freeway, so try your hardest to have your accident ON a freeway preferably under a camera, ho ho ho.

3. You will be screaming, crying, and trying to survive a killer adrenaline rush.  But as soon as the car is parked, take pictures of the damage.  The cops will most likely take 45 to an hour to get to you, do not waste the daylight.

4. When you call the police (or highway patrol) make sure you have your exact location before you call them.  Don’t say “On such and such a street across from a swimming pool.”  Get the cross streets, get the name of the recreation center attached to the swimming pool, so they can find you.

Things Not To Say To Someone Who’s Been In A Hit And Run Accident (Assuming They’ve Told You Their Whole Story):

1. “Did you get the license plate number?”
1. If they HAD gotten the license plate number, they would’ve included that detail in the story. You asking them, and them saying no to you makes them feel stupid all over again, like it’s their fault, like they didn’t try hard enough, when very technically, you’re not supposed to chase down a hit and run driver because it’s dangerous.  Don’t make them feel bad.  It’s along the same lines of, “Have you sold any scripts lately?” Believe me, if I had, you’d know.
2. “Didn’t you go to the doctor?”
1. Again, if there was any injury to them, they would’ve included that in the story.  A good tipoff is listening for the phrase, “The airbags went off and everything.”  If you don’t hear anything like that, it’s a good assumption that they are okay, just really really pissed and upset.
3. “It could have been so much worse.”
1. Yes, I know.  I could’ve been killed, I could’ve been decapitated, I could’ve had all four limbs broken and have to type with my nose for the rest of my life.  But look, that could’ve happened to you too.  Things could ALWAYS be WORSE to ANYONE.  I will look on the bright side after the appropriate amount of anger and frustration has taken its course.  Don’t cut off that emotional avenue.  It’s not healthy to suppress that.
4. “Maybe God used you in some way to get through to the Hit And Run Driver, like maybe hitting you prevented another bigger accident, or perhaps served as a wake-up call to the Hit and Run Driver.”
1. Oh, gosh, that’s lovely.  I don’t want to hear how me and my mangled back bumper (that’s going to cost 2 grand to fix) served as a footnote to someone else’s catharsis.  God could’ve totally gotten through to that guy without me and my vehicle.  He’s God, after all. 

But here’s a list of What You Can Say To Someone Who’s Been In A Hit And Run Accident (Assuming They’ve Told You Their Whole Story):

1. Gosh, I am so so sorry. 
2. That totally sucks.
3. Hugs.
4. Thinking about you.
5. I’m gonna talk to God later about this.
6. Do you need a drink?
7. Here is a Twix bar just for you.
8. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.

I have screamed at God, I’ve yelled at God, I may have called Him an asshole, but I didn’t use the f-bomb. I consider that a small small small step forward.

But just one day at time.  That’s all I can focus on now.

Well, I had a post tonight...

But then I got hit by a car that then took off.

So now I have to go wrangle police and insurance information.

and you will get your post next week.

People suck.

Free Tract Society For You!

It was a grocery store parking lot in Glendale, but they’ve found me again!

Today’s religious tract left under my windshield is brought to you by the Free Tract Society, who have a website here that doesn’t do much and a facebook page where, among other things, they lament that Obama won re-election here.

Just a single page, double sided.  The first page lists famous bible verses where the overarching theme is CHRIST DIED for us and our sins.

The second page is  KEEP THESE THOUGHTS BEFORE YOU AND REMEMBER, and it’s a run down of standard stuff like “Salvation is free” and “Every Blessing you enjoy in the life, even the air you breathe, comes from God.”  Sure, there’s a tiny bit of “God is just and sin must be punished,” but I’d say the bulk of it is refreshingly free from pointed fingers about how you’re a bad person in need of redemption.  They’re not trying to scare you at all (they’re gonna let their facebook page do that, I guess) and that’s a good thing.

At the end of the second page, is ACCEPT CHRIST NOW.  And yet doesn’t go on to say how you do that.  Doesn’t list a website, doesn’t list a phone number.  The address is a PO Box, nobody’s going there in need of revival.

So I’d have to say that Free Tract Society kinda drops the ball there – why tell me all these things and then not tell me how to accept Jesus.  Maybe they ran out of room on their double sided tract, and figured it was more important to end with ACCEPT CHRIST NOW as opposed to AND HERE’S HOW YOU DO IT!

I think what cracks me up more than anything else is the idea of the Free Tract Society person going around, slipping these under the windshield, and then patting themselves on the back.  I did a good thing today!  I put Free Tract For Jesus under car windshields!  Maybe people will come to Christ because of me!  I won’t follow up on my good deed, so I have no idea what effect I had at all, but I did a good deed!  I did a good deed!  God loves me and the good deed I did!

Yep.  It’s awesome, all right.

Baby Jane and Blanche

I’m on another dogsitting gig through the rest of the month, so say hello to these adorable mini-daschunds, Baby Jane and Blanche.

 Of course those aren’t their real names.  For one thing, these sisters are six, not ancient movie stars.  And they like each other, for the most part.  And finally, they are dogs, not Bette Davis or Joan Crawford, heh.

But yes, they are just as adorable as they look in the pictures.  They’re allowed on the furniture, they’re relatively well behaved (unless they see a squirrel, then it’s game over) and they don’t require much, they just wanna be on the couch with you.  And I want them to be on the couch with me, although it does make writing hard, since I wanna snuggle those little noses to DEATH.

Their owners told me about the breakfast/dinner ritual, which includes a prayer.  The owners somewhat embarrassingly explained that I didn’t have to say a prayer, but they did, and I think it’s hilarious, so I’m totally keeping the tradition while the owners are gallivanting in Europe. 

The ritual is simple.  I pour the kibble in the bowls.  I get Baby Jane and Blanche to sit.  I put the bowls on the ground, but they’re supposed to stay put and not move.  Then I say the prayer, and as soon as I say, “Okay,” the pups zoom for their bowls, and inhale the kibble in something under 3 minutes (I’m not kidding.)

The prayer can be about anything, since, you know, dogs can’t understand most English (though they appear to equate, “Okay” with “DINNER TIME!  RUN RUN GET IT NOW!  IT MIGHT LEAVE!”)

So I thank God that Blanche and Baby Jane are generous enough to allow me to use their meal time for my own personal prayers.  I usually thank God for the day, I pray that the morning/evening will be productive and successful.  I ask God to bless the kibble (though I don’t think unblessed kibble tastes any different).  I thank God for Blanche and Baby Jane, and thank you thank you thank you, Lord, Amen.

“Okay!”

I wonder what runs through the doxies’ minds while I do this.  I wonder if the presence of God can fall upon an animal who doesn’t know a God exists.  Sure, there’s been plenty of examples where God shines through the love of an animal, but does that animal KNOW they’re being used as an example, as a vessel?  In other words, we look at the dog and see God.  What does the dog see when we’re looking at it?

I guess it’s possible the that dog looks at us and thinks WE’RE God, since we’re the provider of the kibble and the water, and we’re the ones who open doorways of opportunities that lead to backyards where bathroom duties abound in abundance.

So then it’s just God reflecting between man and dog, a never ending circle of God’s grace reflected over and over and over again.

And dogs will never understand that.  Ho, ho, ho.

Wasn't Lent Two Months Ago?

I decided to give up sugar and alcohol for a month.  I have a friend’s wedding coming up, and I wanted to look nice for that, and I haven’t had a test of discipline like this in a long time.

“Lent was two months ago!” crowed some of my friends when they heard I was doing this.  I know, I know, I know.  And it’s not as though I’m a sugarholic or alcoholic.  I only drink on the weekends, and that’s when I indulge in dessert as well (I eat fruit during the workweek).  So it shouldn’t be that hard to go for a month without those things, right?  Sure, right, right.

But damned if, after taking those small things away, the cravings start INSTANTLY.  I was walking through Party City on Saturday, and I had no idea they had a candy section for parties, and it was like walking through some kind of Candy Bazonkaland.  And true, it was all wrapped up in plastic bags and bins with blaring signs (5 for $1.00!), and probably no adult would want this kind of candy.  But I had to walk slowly through it and do one of those sense memory things, where I imagined the taste of a Three Musketeer mini thingie, or what a junior mint tastes like.  Had to go through the whole experience before I could move on and let it go.

I tried going to the sugar free section of a candy store, but those items looked as though they had been there for years, like NOBODY wants to eat the sugar free peppermint patties, heh.

If I’ve been binging on anything, it’s Mad Men, and you know ALL they do is drink on that show.  Watching people drink at work, knowing I can’t drink at home, that’s actually been easier for me. 

And when you stop doing these things, and then analyze the urges when they come up, it seems that when I’m really stressed (like dress shopping for this friend’s wedding) is when I REALLY want some kind of sugar candy thing.  Like there was a bowl of perfectly wrapped pink and red taffy at this one dress shop, and normally I’d just dive on in, but I had to stop myself. 

And when you’re at a play, and it seems everyone around you has their little plastic cups of wine, or beer bottles, and you’ve got a bottled water, it’s not difficult.  It does make you wonder why you drink in the first place, or at least, why do you drink at a play.  (I drink when I’m writing to quiet the critical voices in my head that inhibit creativity)

But overall, I don’t understand the whole Lent thing.  Like if I was doing this officially for Lent, and in the grip of a craving, I’m supposed to be calling on Jesus to help me through the craving, or saying to God something along the lines of, “I want You, God, more than I want this beer!”

Which seems to really cheapen the notion, somehow.  I much prefer to think that I’m strengthening my resolve, my discipline, my commitment skills.

And how does THAT help your relationship with God at all?

Um…. Okay, fine, I don’t rightly know.  Man, this is when I would drink.  But I’m not going to, ho ho ho.

Moms, Dads, Death and Mad Men

This post is coming from a sicky brain.  See, even that sentence right there didn’t make sense.  I have called work saying I’m sick, is what I’m trying to say.  Which is also why this post is coming to you a day late.  With frequent breaks to stretch on the bed and feel the fluid in my ears slosh to and fro.  It’s lovely.

A college friend’s mother passed away this week.  It occurs to me that my peer group is now hitting the age range where our parents are passing on (dying seems like such a rude word) to higher grounds more frequently.  Or not.  

Additionally, Mother’s Day is coming up on Sunday.  I have other friends who are passing around links to articles about why you should stop hassling women who don’t want to have kids.  I rarely get hassled about why I don’t want kids.  I think all the righteous indignation I would get to spew would be fun.  Which is probably why God has mostly kept all those hasslers away from me.

I do hate it when I hear pastors in the pulpit talk about how you don’t understand God’s love for us until you become a parent yourself. And it’s insulting, not just to people like me who don’t want kids, but to the people who have been desperately trying to have kids and not been successful.  To generalize that there’s a dimension to God’s love that parents can access and non-parents can’t, well, shame on you for characterizing God’s love like that.  You don’t know how many dimensions of love God has.  Nobody does.

But while not everyone wants to be a parent, everyone HAS a parent, or a loved one, or even a liked one, and that means most everyone will have to experience the death of that person.

And that is something I rarely hear about from the pulpit.

“Grief waits” said my friend Tricia a long time ago, and while I am not fetal and sobbing on the floor yet (and I wonder if I ever will be), there are more times where that searing pricking behind the eyeballs sensation hits, and I’m on the verge of tears in odd places.

For example, I’ve been binge watching Mad Men, as I’ve heard it’s an example of great writing on TV and Netflix has the first five seasons on instant streaming, and I’m already caught up on Breaking Bad.

I remember Dad saying he liked watching it, and I said I didn’t watch it because I didn’t have time, and that was the end of that conversation.  But then again, we both watched Amazing Race and didn’t talk about that much either, so it’s not as though bonding through shared interests worked with us.

Having made it through season 3 so far, I can see why Dad liked the show.  That was his era, being a company man in the 1960’s.  Dad wasn’t an ad man, but he did spend time in the sales department of his company. 

One the nicest emails we received in the aftermath of Dad’s passing was from a former co-worker of his who was one of the only women hired in his department.  “Your Dad was the kindest, most professional, smartest, honest person I have ever worked with… he always treated me with the greatest respect and was a true gentleman.”

I’d like to think that Dad would’ve been similarly nice to Peggy in the Mad Men world.

And as I watch the lovingly re-created world of the 1960s, with its smoking and drinking and fashion (and lamps.  For some reason, I always look at the lamps in the set design), every now and then I whisper up to Dad, “You were right, Dad.  It’s a good show.”

And I hear the smile in his voice as he says back in my brain, “Yep.  I told ya so.”