“I think it’s allowed. The moments in wish we want to jump on top of our desks, strangle the happiness around us, and plug it into something dark, duct taped, and waterproof.” – GirlmeetsGeek

I pray a lot. I pray in the elevator on the way upstairs, at as the clock hits the magical, (9:02,) my boss wont be walking by my desk as I’m running to plunk my belongings down. I pray that someone will say hi to me when I go down the elevator, because I thought- if someone said hi? I wouldn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. I’d have to say hi, back. I’ve even prayed to the gods of daycare, and utility bills- the gods of how do I fix my car again? And how can I make my daughter understand that I really like to use the big-girl potty in privacy, without her clapping and saying, “WAY TO GO MOMMY!”

I pray for stupid things, and things that are needed. I pray for broken hearts, and souls without repair, (mainly mine.) I pray that the little miracles of each day will add up to recreate something inside me- that I won’t need someone else so much, and that maybe by praying and wishing on everything I can imagine, I could stop feeling like it’s my job to right all the wrongs and to be things that only one person couldn’t possibly be.

I’ve learned that life isn’t incomplete. It’s complete- in it’s entirety, everyday. Those that we have now –may be all we have. I’ve learned to stop dreaming of someone that will never come, and bought my own horse. (Though not debt free.) I feel like my conversations as of late require only the following three phrases, “You can drop my stuff off,” / “When are you coming for dinner,” and “Ava, seriously.. no.”

I think it’s the holidays. Does it make you extra whiny, like it does me? Moms and Dads are frugally picking up garments, confections and decorations for Easter. Exes are not dying of the bubonic plague, of freak clowncar crashes, as I’ve hoped. Is it really too much to ask for a meteor to hit the old house while they’re sleeping together and the children are safely at other homes? In truth, I don’t really want unpleasantness or death, (as much,) anymore. But in the times of exits, entrances, and conundrums, I lack a smooth road. I want that the most. Sadly, I crave the lies- the ‘everything’s fines.’ Some aches are never healed. I think I have heartitis. For all the relationship drama, some call it a pull of the heart strings, but I call it a familiar ache, something that debilitates for only a moment- perhaps when a song comes on the air, or that you hear they are getting married/getting older together/or just getting along.

I suppose it’s in those moments I pray the most. Guidance, Peace- the contentment I feel in little sparks, reminding me of the fire that burns when it’s my turn. They say Jesus came and healed. And that we’re due for someone else to do something awesome. And people are stocking their cabinets, and their ‘karma cards,’ and some are bashing others in hopes that their hate-speech will fuel their exploding rocket-ship to heaven. I don’t think anyone is coming. I think it was an idea, so that we’d shape up, (like we tell our children “Santa’s Elves are watching!”)

I think we’re it. I know because I feel it; like I feel the aches, or the broken heartedness of being left behind. But I also feel the promise. There’s no hope that someone is coming to save us all. And preparing for 40 days for another year, isn’t going to bring it any closer. We hide in our houses, we hide behind masks of money or debt or our own religious beliefs, or habits- afraid to make our own move. In some parishes, they pray for God to make them rich. They give almost everything they have to the church and spend their lives waiting. Entire denominations are founded on this. We’re all waiting for something.

I want to ask: What the hell are we waiting for? Blasphemy has become my middle name. But I don’t feel demonic, or trite. What if Jesus was just a man who was good. And people longed so much for the good that they exaggerated who he was? “That football player, ran a million yards!” “Mary Jo Copeland has helped trillions of people.” (Not the same playing field, I know.) But what if he was just someone that knew he was an example, and cared enough to prove what he believed? Martin Luther King, Obama,  Cady Stanton, Ghandi… I mean- haven’t we had enough examples? Yet- we still wait for more, like greedy bastards. Because in a book, someone wrote that we could do whatever we wanted as long as we repented before the Shiny, Happy, Glorious person came. What if it’s a lie, or a well-documented story that inspired- and taught, and somewhere along the way- we took it as truth, because we were so afraid to take the power to correct our own mistakes, or lead our own lives- to become our own saviors, that our fear drove.

Can you imagine the face-to-palm action that’s happening with God, over and over? If we look at the same text, doesn’t it tell us that we’re all his children, and all perfect in his image. We’re all saviors, I believe. Capable of helping others, or capable of breaking humanity in the whole. I don’t think that by praying, a box of money is going to find it’s way to my door step, or that my boss will walk over hug me and say, “Thanks!” But I do think, that in little things- we can see promise. Right now? I’m dirt poor. Like, literally.. it’s been interesting. I fear for my dating prospects when they read this- but you see my place? Yes it’s mine. No I don’t have any credit card debt, (refuse to own one,) but I’m not exactly swimming in green. I eat well, I live fine, and my kid has enough toys to spare- but we don’t have money for the frivolous.

I wanted a Caesar salad today. I’m going to go ahead and state- it’s been on my mind all day- and I was sulking, (somewhat,) about not being able to go downstairs and pay for lunch instead of eating another peanut butter and marmalade sandwich. And I figured I’d bring my year old giftcards for our café downstairs and use the remaining $13cents and like 3 cents that were on it and justify this because I really wanted it, and because dammit… I’ve been ear deep in federal reports for the last month- and it doesn’t look like life is going to blossom- so a salad? Is good. My giftcard paid for my salad. I don’t know how. I didn’t question it. But it was the best darn salad I’ve ever had. I made it teeny so that it wasn’t more than 2 bucks anyway- but amazing.. it was. So- God, might have been the error on the register. Jesus was in the keyboard. Then I came back to my desk, turned up Dashboard Confessional and began my rant to you, (trying to eliminate all phrases which ended with, any ex-boyfriend’s name here.

I don’t think that going to church or wearing candle ash, or fasting, or praying is going to fix our mess. Country, financial, worldly- my heart- anything. God isn’t coming. He’s here. He’s in my best friend, and the register, and my child that tells me, “YOU USED THE BIG GIRL POTTY!” (She screams this while she’s jumping up and down and offering me ‘TREAATS!’) Life needs to be that simple. Refocus with me. God is in the details. I know it’s true.