And, No, I Don’t Mean: Gerard Butler
I Had a Hissy Fit at My Maker
Here’s the deal: I’m a God-believing, church-service-watching, Joel-Osteen-preaching Jesus-freak.
Oh, I know that statement alone is gonna scare off a bunch of y’all readers, so I need the rest of y’all to share my blog posts so I can get new Christian or non-Christian subscribers who wanna read my trashy — yet highly entertaining — drivel!
I hereby promise:
- To still talk about my vagina: God made my vagina and I’m darn proud of it.
- To continue to be rude, crude, and swing swears like a sailor dude.
- Trash-talking trucker thoughts like my truck-driving daddy and spicy, chilli-pepper rants like my Mexican Momma.
And I promise to rebel like a redhead assuredly would.
But I was baptized in the River Jordan — yes, the Jesus River in Israel — and, yes, I have been baptized a few other times (you can read about that in my memoir if you give a care). So, yes, I am a bona fide, if clumsy, Christian, and I will mention the Almighty from time to time.
Deal with it.
So anyway, the other night I had it out with God.
It went something like this …
What the fuck, God? What do you want me to do? *Sniff* What?? Lord knows I’m trying!
I’ve been patient and “Trusting” — I actually used finger quotes — and I’m tired for fuck’s sake. Just tell me what to do.
Give me a d … just give me a sign. Pleeeeease.
Then I went all Valley Girl on Him for a bit …
Like, if I’m not on the right path, give me some certain sign. A for-sure sign. Like, no more white owls or red foxes or pink butterflies or green Jettas. I want — no, I need — an unequivocal this-is-the-answer-you-seek sign!
I want to help people, but I also want to eat organic cheese! (Referring to meager profits. Not to be confused with eager Prophets.)
Are there more lessons to learn? Haven’t I had enough challenges and lessons and fucking pain over the last few years?
I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m just so frustrated. Sorry for the swears.
*Goes to kitchen, eats six peanut butter cookies and grabs the family-sized package of Kettle Chips — a freebie from spud.ca for qualifying as a VIP organic grocery orderer! — goes back to bedroom, crawls into bed, opens bag, smells grease, feels comforted.*
So, anyway, as I was saying, could You please tell me which way to go? I’m not asking for an easy path, I’m just asking for some path, Lord. Is that so much to ask? Maybe it is, but I’m asking, anyway. Mom always said, Ask and ye shall receive. I’m asking! I’m begging!
(To self looking in chip bag: I’ll only eat the ones that are folded over on themselves. I will not eat the whole bag of chips. *Checks number of serving sizes. Sighs.*)
Back to my conversation with God …
Alright. No sign. How about we sleep on it? You can give me an answer in the morning. I’m ok with that.
*Waits. Decides to eat “curly” chips. God is silent. Anna has an idea, stops munching.*
Hey, was that Your idea or mine? Never mind, doesn’t matter. I’ll start with that.
*Ponders idea while eating the flat chips since there’s hardly enough remaining in the bag to put it back in the pantry.* Damn OCD. Oops, I mean, darn, darn OCD.
Ok, so if I don’t get an email “from You” then I’ll assume this idea will lead to the sign I need. Thanks. Say hi to my mom. And dad. And the rest of them. Sorry for the rant. In Jesus’ name, Amen.
*Goes to sleep with swollen eyes and a tummy ache.*
A few days later …
Anna has an actual telephone conversation with her BFF about God and frustrations. Basically, the gist of the chat was that we’ve both been in the same Bad Bitchy Christian boat for similar reasons.
After we’ve taken turns venting and restoring encouragement, we end the call, and I send her a link to the online services of Timberlake Church, a church I used to attend when I was dating the fraudster in Seattle (see memoir), with the new theme being “Thrive.” Seriously.
She sends me a link to the Joel Osteen app.
Who knew God would get so tech savvy?! I’ll tell you who knew: God. He probably uses the hashtag #omnipotent.
The very first message I look at on the Osteen app is quoted below.
I read it and thought, “God, you tricky Ultimate Creator. You are paying attention, aren’t You?” *wink wink nudge nudge*
Side note: It was only after obsessive compulsive, daily church-service watching that I realized most of the messages have a similar theme: You gonna suffer. Only God knows why. He has a Divine Plan. Have faith. You gonna be OK, girl.
Now, whether you’re a Christian or not don’t matta, my friend! Because it all boils down to this … Love is the answer. Love every moment because this too shall pass like a fart in the wind.
From the Joel Osteen App:
“And let us not grow weary while doing good, for in due season we shall reap if we do not lose heart.” Galatians 6:9 (NKJV)
I’d love to tell you that if you stay in faith, if you believe, then God will always answer your prayer within 24 hours, or at least within the first week. But we know that’s not reality. God promises He will be true to His word, but He never puts a timeframe on it. In fact, He tells us that we need patience to see the promises come to pass. Sure, it would be a lot easier if God told us when we were going to get well, when we would meet the right person, or when our child would straighten up. But the truth is, that wouldn’t take any faith. It takes faith to say, “God, I don’t know when You are going to do it, but I trust You enough to believe that You will do it, that the answer is already in my future.” Joel Osteen
From the God’s Plan for Anna Map
- Plan A: Be a real estate rockstar — Win! Woohoo! Quit. Oh.
- Plan B: Be a best-selling memoir author! — Fail.
- Plan C: Be an award-winning screenwriter? — Fail.
- Plan D, E, F: Be a dating coach / matchmaker / online marketer of find-love-get-unsingle-self-study educational products … come on, snake eyes! — And. Failing.
- Marry Gerry.
Shut uuuup!!!!! Big G got a plan for me!!! (Not sure if #5 is His idea or mine, but we shall see, my friends, we shall see.)
Stay tuned for Plan G! 😉
p.s. God is good. I ate all those goodies — in total last week: a dozen peanut butter cookies, a family-sized bag of Kettle Chips, a large slice of store-bought strawberry cheesecake, a breve latte and some chocolate nut bark — and didn’t gain any weight. God introduced me to Thrive, my friends, Thrive. Just sayin’.
You think He wasn’t hinting with the Timberlake “Thrive” service above? Oh, ye of little faith.
Update: I checked the celebrity gossip website, JustJared.com, and apparently Gerry wants to settle down and make like rabbits — breeding rabbits. He wants kids. Aside from the fact that my ovaries have a shelf life and are likely dry and cracked by now, I have also been known to yell out, “Taser!” upon hearing the joyous laughter of small humans. I may have to change Plan Gerry to Plan God. Stay tuned.