REALLY??!!

Have you read Anne Lamott’s recent book Help, Thanks, Wow: The Three Essential Prayers? It’s a short but powerful book, and the title really tells you what it’s about. The “Help” and “Thanks” prayers are self-explanatory, but the “Wow” section took me a bit longer to digest. I wasn’t sure that the “Wow” prayer was completely in my “repertoire” of prayers.

Then, a friend gave me the incredibly wise and funny book, Carry On Warrior: Thoughts on Life Unarmed, by Glennon Doyle Melton. Melton, who also writes the wonderful blog Momastery, plays off Lamott’s book, but tells us that for her, the three essential prayers are Help, Thanks, and WTF (What the Fuck?).  Ah. Now THAT I totally get.

Now I can’t admit to saying WTF  to God (until now), but I will say that one of my essential “prayers” to God is “Really???!!!!” said completely sarcastically. When crappy stuff happens in the world, I will look up to the heavens and say, “Really??!!! This seems like a good plan. You’re going with this. You’re God, for heaven’s sake. You don’t want to maybe tweak this and try again??!!” Only when I read Melton’s book did it occur to me that my “fussing” might be considered a prayer. I guess when I think of the Psalms, it could be.

I hope it’s a prayer because for the last couple of days I have been saying “Really??” to God. You see, one of my “people” (that’s a Southern term traditionally used for family but I broaden it to include those I love) is suffering through a pretty crappy time.  You know what I mean, one of those times when it seems like it’s just one bad event after another. I am not talking about inconveniences. I am speaking of illness, deaths, estrangements, legal battles. I won’t go into any more detail because I have a feeling that most of us have felt like we have had more than our fair share of crap dumped on us at any one time.

When I was a kid we spent our summer vacations at Folly Beach, off the South Carolina coast. We kids spent hours in the ocean, often unsupervised (times were different then!).  My dad had taught me how to dive under the big waves, but every once in a while, one would catch me by surprise. That’s when I felt the power of the ocean. The wave would pull me under, and I would be upside down, disoriented, panicked. And then it would finally release me, and I could pop up and catch my breath. I remember the largest waves would physically slam me so hard upon the bottom that I would come up with scraped and bloody elbows and knees.

Not long ago, I went through one of those times when one bad thing after another happened. Illnesses, death. During that time I felt like I was in the ocean at Folly, waves breaking all around me. I was standing up, in control, strong against the smaller waves. A few would gently break at my knees; one or two might be pretty strong, break against my waist, and push me around, but I could keep my feet. I was still upright. But then– often when I least expected it–one big sucker would get me, catching me by surprise, and it would knock me off my feet, pull me completely under, and for a few seconds, I would be completely lost. Out of control. Panicked. Body slammed by an invisible force against the hard packed sand of the ocean’s floor. All I can say is that somehow (with God’s help?), I would manage to get back up on my feet, catch my breath, bandage my knees, look around, and say WTF??

My “person” has just been body slammed by the ocean. I am not sure she’s been able to pick herself up yet or catch her breath. I feel powerless. I am not able to lend her a hand and help her up. We are separated by distance, for one thing. And I have no words of wisdom. I offer my love, my prayers. That’s all I got. It feels way too little.

And tonight, I am praying, “Really??!! What the fuck?”

Jesus Dances……..AGAIN!

Lately Jesus and I have not been getting along. Ok, that’s an overstatement. Let me try again. I don’t think Jesus is taking me seriously. I’m not even sure he is really listening. I feel a little like I am talking to a 14-year-old girl who’s rolling her eyes and saying, “Blah, blah, blah…..I’ve heard this all before.” Or maybe like I’m talking to my husband when he’s playing guitar. He nods, but I never know if he’s nodding because he’s listening to what I am saying or if he’s really nodding to some invisible beat in his head.

Yesterday I was attempting to pray. Now the truth is that I have recently had some difficulties in this department. First difficulty is that I haven’t actually been praying.  So one reason Jesus may not be a good listener right now is that I haven’t been saying much of anything.  Now of course he is God and he should know the unspoken prayers in my heart, but I have to face that he may be tired of doing ALL the work in this relationship. (The good news is that I feel 100% confident that Jesus won’t break up with me). My second major difficulty is that when I decide to remedy the situation my mind won’t cooperate. It rambles; it flits; it skips; it gets stuck in the ditch. It’s like hiking with an unruly 2-year-old.

Back to yesterday, I was working hard, keeping my toddler-esque mind on one of those “kid leashes” you see in the airport. (If I could keep my mind on a “kid leash,” it would be a monkey leash!)  Anyway, I was working hard sharing all my concerns with Jesus. Here’s a sampling: I need a job and an income; where am I going with my blogging and my writing; what should I be doing with my life; why can’t I just be a normal person. Now let me back up again and say that when I pray, I imagine my Jesus (“Hippie Jesus”) sitting with me on Folly Beach and listening attentively and lovingly. That’s just the kind of guy he is (in my mind).

So during my prayer yesterday, guess what my Jesus was doing? You would never, ever guess. He was dancing…..again. (Ok, you could have guessed because it’s in the title, and, if you are really paying attention, you might remember this is the second time Jesus has danced in my prayers). But unlike the first time when Jesus danced, trying to engage me and cheer me up, this time his dancing was a little frustrating. He was smiling, but he was also very obviously not listening. “Hey! I’m talking here!” I said, putting my hands on my hips. “Really??!! This is how it’s going to be today. That’s just great. This is important stuff. This is MY life.” He never did stop and listen. Now that I think about it, I guess I could have just given in and started dancing, too. But I was trying to make a point.

I have been mad with Jesus before (when my dog died when my mom was in ICU, I was really, really mad, but that’s another story). But I couldn’t really be mad with him this time because the whole thing sort of cracked me up. And even while I was ranting at him, I knew he was trying to tell me something. Honestly, I just didn’t want to hear it.

So I have been wondering what Jesus may have been trying to share with me. And I have a few ideas. Maybe I worry about the wrong stuff. What’s important to me (money, what other people think, for example) isn’t really important to Jesus. And sometimes what frustrates me the very most is that he simply refuses to give me a roadmap to follow.

Of course, now that I think of it, anyone who knows me well (and that has to include Jesus) would know that if Jesus actually walked into Starbucks right now and handed me my personal roadmap, that I would probably not follow it! I can see me looking at my sparkly life-plan with my name in fancy calligraphy, and I would probably say, “Oh. This isn’t for me. You must mean another Lee Hunter.”

Why in the world would I do that, you might ask? Because I want to do what I want to do, and, knowing Jesus, he would probably want me to do something hard, un-glamourous, and with absolutely no personal glory, and maybe even no income. Uh-oh. Maybe I am the 14-year-old girl who’s not listening. I talk and talk and ask Jesus to help me discern, blah, blah, blah, but then, when he does what I ask, I stand there with my fingers in my ears, humming a tune, saying, “I can’t hear you.”

The long and short of it is that I don’t know where I am going. But I can take deep comfort in what I do know right now. Jesus adores me (even though I don’t know why); Jesus listens to me (even when I make him—and myself—nuts); Jesus is slowly bringing me along my path, no need for a monkey leash. Because I am coming. I do hear him.  I am following him, just with fits, starts, stumbles, bruised knees, and yes, occasionally, falling in the ditch. But he reaches out and helps me up and—always—waits for me. And, oh yeah. Next time……I will dance.

Forget Who’s Your Daddy, Who’s Your Jesus?

If you have a teenage son, you may have seen the Will Ferrell movie Talladega Nights: The Ballad of Ricky Bobby. If you don’t have a teenage son, you may have missed it, and you may be happy that you missed it. Cinematic genius it’s not. However, this movie contains one of my very favorite scenes of all time. NASCAR driver Ricky Bobby (Will Farrell) and his sidekick Cal (John C. Reilly) are seated at the dinner table with Ricky’s family, and Ricky says “grace” before the meal. If you are not easily offended and can leave your sense of propriety and decorum here, check out this YouTube clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5A0-u85aAYg.  By the way, the prayer is over a little after minute 3, so you can stop there if you’d rather not see Ricky’s boys Walker and Texas Ranger verbally abuse their grandfather.

What I love about this scene is both the satire of what one prays for (“Thank you for my red-hot smoking wife” and the “21.2 million dollars”) and to whom one prays (“Little 8 lb. 6 oz. newborn infant Jesus”). The first time I saw it I was struck by the notion that each family member had a particular Jesus they preferred: adult, bearded Jesus (the traditional Jesus); Jesus in a tuxedo t-shirt singing lead vocals for Lynyrd Skynyrd (the informal Jesus who likes to party); Jesus as a ninja fighting evil samurai (super-hero Jesus); and Baby Jesus in his “golden fleece diaper” (Christmas Jesus).

But that scene also made me think about how I imagine Jesus in my prayers. While Ricky Bobby likes Baby Jesus best, my favorite Jesus is “Hippie Jesus,” bearded, cool, all about social justice and loving everyone. Hippie Jesus, for me, is like your older brother’s best friend who you have a crush on, but you know it will never work out. He’s always nice to you, but you realize he’s way out of your league.

Hippie Jesus

When I was growing up, our family rarely went to church, so my “formal” theology was fixed by my father’s appreciation of the album Jesus Christ Superstar which was released when I was about 7 years old. We had it on 8-track for the car; the music would blare from the rear speakers, and occasionally my dad would chuckle, although at the time I never understood what was funny. We also had the double album, complete with song book containing all the lyrics. I would sit in front of the Hi-Fi with that book and sing as loud as I could (if you have ever heard me sing, you would know that I had extremely loving and patient parents). As I look back, I realize that I fell in love with the “Hippie Jesus” of Jesus Christ Superstar without ever actually seeing him—the album and song book contained no pictures, much to my distress. But I was transfixed and mesmerized by “Jesus Christ Superstar Jesus” and, well, I guess I still have a crush on him.

Is it ok to have a “favorite” Jesus, I wonder? In the scene, Cal imagines Jesus in a tuxedo t-shirt singing with Lynyrd Skynyrd. Should we be offended by that? When my son was little, he imagined Jesus as center fielder for the Chicago Cubs. I figured Will thought the only way the Cubs would ever win a world series in his lifetime is if Jesus was on the team!

In 2002 Popular Mechanics used forensic science to recreate what the historic Jesus might have looked like. Is this the Jesus we should be praying to?

Popular Mechanic’s Jesus

What about a black Jesus? Since Jesus was middle-Eastern, he was probably much darker-skinned that most of us Americans have traditionally envisioned him.

Black Jesus

Is there a danger to creating the Jesus we want to know? Does it make Jesus less of a divine savior and more of the god we want him to be? Or do you suppose that Jesus is just happy that we are thinking of him—and, hopefully, in relationship with him? I honestly don’t know. I do know, however, that one of my weaknesses in imagining “Hippie Jesus” when I pray is that I emphasize the human qualities of Jesus, which make me more comfortable. The almighty power of Jesus as God, especially the idea of divine judgment, makes me a little nervous. (I’m not sure I’m going to make the cut)! But when I come right down to it, I believe that Jesus understands our human limitations in knowing him; loves us in spite of ourselves; and delights in our reaching out to him in any way we can. “Hippie Jesus,” at least, has a “wicked” sense of humor, and I like to think the scene from Talladega Nights makes him chuckle and maybe shake his head at the truth behind the humor.

So who’s your Jesus? Shepherd Jesus? Little Baby Jesus? Baseball Jesus? I’d love to know what YOUR Jesus looks like.

Dancing with Jesus

I wrote a poem! For me, that’s a big deal because I don’t write poetry—AT ALL! At least not since I was 10 or 11 and wrote an ode to the beauty of horses. I know that one doesn’t have to explain “good” poetry, but since it’s not a particularly “good” poem, I think I’ll share a little background. Also, the more I tell you about it, the longer I can put off actually sharing my poem—the thought of which is freaking me out more than a little!

For some reason, this holiday season I’ve been feeling anxious and afraid. Maybe it’s all those anniversaries I wrote about in my last blog; maybe it’s the way I am hard-wired; maybe I am having a mid-life crisis. I don’t know, but I do know that I HATE feeling that way.

I have sometimes felt that being A² (anxious and afraid) separates me from God. I can’t quiet my “monkey mind” and pray like I think I am supposed to (which I guess is meditatively and solemnly).  So one day God showed me that nothing separates us from him. And he made me laugh.

Dance Party with Jesus

Today Jesus danced for me:
The Dougie,
The Kyle Massey,
Spinning on the floor,
Posing, posturing.

“You can’t do that!” I said,
Smiling but shocked
At where this was going.

“I can if I want to!” (Is He mocking me?)
“I am God.”

He takes me by the hands and
Pulls me onto the parquet floor
Where we recreate the silly dances of my childhood—
Dances of exuberance, joy.

Arms entangled,
We spin,
We twirl,
We laugh.

Gravity no longer holds us.
Jesus clasps my hands and
We spin in the blue sky
Like skydivers
Before they pull their ripcords.

I try again: “I’m not sure this is right.”

“I can do it if I want to!” (He is mocking me!)
But His smile is like the sun
And his eyes shine.
“I am God.”

“You can’t see me!”

Dear God,

Here I am! Have you been looking for me? I have been hiding from you—or trying to hide or thinking I’m hiding! I’m like a toddler playing hide and seek who covers her eyes and thinks that because she can’t see you, you can’t see her! Today I realized that I have been hiding from you in busy-ness! In fact, part of my busy-ness is doing what I think is your work—teaching a Bible study; putting together our church’s collection of Advent Meditations; volunteering at the Humane Society. I read about you a lot and even take notes and try and make sense of it all—of WHO you are. I have limited success, but it keeps me busy. I even pray sometimes. I tell you my concerns, my worries. I list all my people I’m praying for. Sometimes I think if I don’t list them for you, I’m not doing my part, that you are keeping a tally and if I forget them, you won’t help them. Silly, I know. I don’t really believe that but sometimes I ACT like I believe it. But I don’t sit with you quietly or listen. Why am I hiding from you? What am I scared of?

Maybe I’m afraid of what I will hear in the quiet.  Here’s the thing. I want to figure it out all by myself. I really only want your input if it jibes with what I want to do! What if you tell me to do something I don’t want to do? What if it’s hard? Uncomfortable?

So if I stay busy, I don’t have to actually do anything, make any changes in my life. No decisions made about what’s next for me. No action taken. Life continues in the day-to-day busy-ness, which has its own significance and blessings, but I don’t move forward.  And that’s safe because taking action in the world in a new way opens me up for failure and criticism.

And then I started thinking of my first (and hopefully last) time zip-lining. I don’t like heights. For our very first time down the line, they took us to the highest tower, 5 stories or so. We had on our lovely harnesses, so I felt a little like a sumo wrestler. I stayed way at the back of the pack. And not just because I didn’t want too many people looking at my fanny in that harness. Just standing on that platform made me anxious. And then—before I knew it–it was my turn. They hooked my harness to the zip-line cable and told me to step off. I had seen at least 8 people go before me screaming with delight.  My head told me that I would (probably) be safe. But my heart said, “DON’T DO THAT! STEP AWAY FROM THE EDGE OF THE WORLD AND YOUR ULTIMATE DEATH!” The only thing that made me overcome that instinct was my pride—all the people behind me waiting anxiously for their turn. The only thing I’m more afraid of than heights is failure.

So I stepped off. I fell for a fraction of a second and then my harness caught, supported me and off I went. Though it was an incredibly short period of time, I can remember vividly that gut-wrenching fear of falling unsupported and then the relief of being caught, stopped, supported.  Ahhh…..all was well.

Now I continue to stand on that platform—there’s absolutely no crowd behind me encouraging (forcing) me to jump. So it’s incredibly easy to stay put. But I KNOW in my gut—that I will be caught, supported. God is telling me, “Go ahead. You can do it. I got you.”

And maybe THAT’s what I don’t really want to hear……at least not yet.