Yesterday was a blur of work, work, and more work. I worked at home yesterday, which makes me once again proclaim that I love my job. I didn't shower all day, didn't wear a stitch of makeup, and didn't wear any shoes except flip flops temporarily while taking the dogs out a few times. It was non-stop chaos, con-calls, and creative writing from 6:30 am to 6 pm. But it was a gloriously mish-mashed day. While juggling work, I was also expecting an appraiser to come to our house, as we're trying to take advantage of the financial ruin of our country and refinance our home. Additionally, I had a date after dinner to see my neighbor's new shipment of chicks - little, fuzzy, baby chicks that I'll be tending to this weekend when they're out of town. Who would've thought that there's actually work into keeping these little fuzzy things alive?
While on my second conference call of the morning, I was interrupted by what I refer to as the "bible people." These people have come to my house before. In fact, I think that in the past year of living in my country residence, I've had at least 4 visits from people trying to make me see the "light of Jesus Christ." Right after we moved in, The God Squad was in the form of a 16-year old kid and his little girlfriend - who didn't speak much, as I don't think she believed it was her place as a woman to do so. The teenage boy was trying to tell me - a 36-year old at the time who, I will venture to say, has lived a few lifetimes in those years - how to live life. He asked if I had been "saved" yet. I still don't really even know what that means. And, he couldn't even grow facial hair yet, for chrissake. My lip was bleeding from biting it, and while I wanted so badly grab the girl, shake her, and give her some Camille Paglia to read, I didn't. I kept my mouth shut, was polite, and smiled at them while explaining that I was busy working. I actually work and all. I did the same thing yesterday. It was a lady and a man, dressed in those horribly unfashionable dark suits that scream cult couture. I mean, why can't a woman of God come to your door in Jessica Simpson shoes? Is there some I-accept-Jesus-into-my-life paperwork you sign that says, "I'm going to forfeit the fun of being a put-together, sexy, strong-willed woman. I'm not ever going to consciously appreciate the fact that I have a nice rack, because that would just be wrong. Even though God made me as a woman and has given me these long legs, I know I shouldn't show them. EVER. No way. I'll be dowdy and wear my husband's clothes instead. Yeah. That's what God intended."
When I told the lady that I was in the middle of a conference call and that I had no time to take away from my workload, she said to me, "well, bless your HEART."
Bless my heart? Because I have to work? I like to work. I like making money. I like buying food and shoes, lady.
Bless. My. Heart. Alrighty then.
I think I've said this before, but I do believe there's a God...I just believe that he's up there shaking his head at all of us, saying, "This is SO not what I had in mind...you people have just royally f*cked up everything I set out to do." THAT is how I think we, as a people, are flawed. We're just not nice to one another. We just don't GET it as a human race, I don't think. Plain and simple. And, while I think some people find their own way and do it in a sincere manner, I think a lot of the Christians I know, at least, have this air of "I'm in a special club and that makes me superior." It's an extension of a high school clique, and heaven is like that awesome club you want to get into, but aren't sure if the guy at the door is going to let you in based on his own perceptions of you.
I don't believe that's the way God intended things to be. And the Catholic church? Well, my steady readers know the drill there. Money makes people - and institutions - corrupt. And that's all I got to say about that.
When spirituality gets wrapped up in money and elitism based on who finances the biggest and grandest stained-glass windows in the church....when it becomes a way for insecure people to point fingers at me and judge me...when it is a way for other flawed humans, such as myself, to justify their own sins and wrongdoings by thinking, "well, I can just ask for forgiveness for being a complete son of a bitch most days of my life and still get into eternal happiness in heaven"....then it's not something I'm genuinely interested in.
Try explaining that to the Church Lady at your doorstep. It's harder than you think. Next time, when she tries to make me over to be more in Jesus' likeness, I, in turn, may offer a makeover for her. I'll start with the shoes and work my way up. And THEN we can talk about how cool God is.
