Caterwauling

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So, I went to church last night after, oh, six months or so. I needed it, although the post-church zen officially wore off within 20 minutes.

I go to one of those megachurch-type places like Joel Osteen preaches from. In fact, in my church’s TV commercials (!), we have Joel Osteen personally endorsing us. It’s rather hilarious because our pastors bash him (indirectly, of course) and you can feel the tension between Joel and our guy in that miserable 15 seconds that they appear on-air together.

I go to an offshoot of the megachurch. Same brand, different pastor. He’s usually the reason why I come and go. He’s either fantastic or grubbing for money. Luckily, yesterday he was in a good mood. He was just pleased that we braved the TORRENTIAL DOWNPOUR to come out last night.

Every once in a while, the pastor gets on a kick about sacrificial giving. Which is kind of bullshit at my campus, because it caters to students and young professionals. The other branches of the megachurch attract the mega MILLIONS that keeps my little branch afloat.

Anyway, although we spent the bulk of our time reviewing Psalm 23 and how us bad little sheep are God’s personal favorites, the pastor did throw in a mention about sacrificial giving.

And the revelation I took home from services was that God is a Democrat!

Think about it — for some reason, everyone scoffs at the wealthy folk who donate a chunk of money. But nobody cares because it doesn’t cause any hardship. (Um, hello, who do you think is funding your international mission trips??!!)

But we all love the woman who gave her last two coins because she gave everything she had.

Well, I gave up covered parking during a tropical storm so I could park for free (blocks away!) and donate the exorbitant parking garage fee to the offering. Does that count?

Anyway, my takeaway from all this is the sacrifice part. Because sometimes I feel like I’ve made more than my share for a very simple life without a whole lot of room to give up EVEN MORE.

But instead of focusing on what I don’t have — or no longer have — I’m going to do what the pastor said and leave the door open for miracles. Instead of begrudging my newfound inability to work my ass off, realize that it’s a commandment to take time to relax and commune with God. And accept that something good will come when I make room to receive it.

I will always worry, of course, about everything. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help it.

I took on a rent commensurate with the salary I once commanded. So that makes me nuts. But I also don’t have a car payment, so that helps. And not having colleagues means no more meals, birthdays, showers and buying shit from their kids, so that is a benefit I never dreamed I’d enjoy so much. Well, I DO miss the nice people because I loved them. But it did hurt to spend money on someone’s Christmas gift only to be fired the DAY AFTER CHRISTMAS.

Ahem.

Life ain’t all bad. In fact, it’s kind of awesome when I allow myself to go out and live it. I just need to do more of that. Of course, don’t we all?

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I’ve never had a problem with the separation of church and state because each is so fluid that the wingnuts of one (church) could have entirely too much effect on what should be evolving yet dependable (state). But these days, I wouldn’t be opposed to a little bit of the former bringing some heart and help to the latter.

I just found a Christian Left group on Facebook that pointed me to a Salon article: Are the American people obsolete? And the answer is yes. The wealthy have long predicted the end of Social Security. And their wish will be granted with the bonus of losing Medicare. The Bush tax cuts funded many a month-long exotic vacation for the whole clan, provided the full-cash purchase of thousands of second or third mansions, and afforded the meager salaries of undocumented or overseas labor.

I don’t begrudge because I don’t have. I’m sure you will hear me bitching at tax time since I make so little that I can’t save any of it, but as a lower-middle-class person, I will be paying a disproportionate percentage of the pathetic excuse for “income” that I have. But I know I have to pay it because I don’t want to be sharing a cell with Casey Anthony. I know — I HOPE — that my tax dollars will feed the hungry and keep running homes for adults with mental and physical disabilities. I just don’t see why anyone else gets to opt out because they can afford to pay off politicians — WHY NOT PAY YOUR FUCKING TAXES?!?!

Plus, I spent enough years in non-profits to know that the bulk of people don’t donate willingly — you HAVE to mandate it through taxes because otherwise the unfortunate many will not otherwise be able to achieve even something halfway resembling a life without the money afforded the fortunate few whose ideas/skills/abilities may or may not warrant the extraordinary compensation.

Anyway, my Web surfing this morning also landed me at The Christian Left Blog. And I’m ashamed to admit my faith has been shaken a bit lately. (See above.)

Don’t get me wrong — I’ve been seeing some good guys finally winning, but not enough, unfortunately. And I’m tired of struggling, too. I see why people give up. I’m ready to. I have one last shot at making it, and so help me if I blow it. I don’t think I will. But fear isn’t even motivating me anymore, and THAT scares me.

If you’re a lovable Leftie (and not in the handwriting sense) like me, you may appreciate this entry: Let us all be broken together.

I dare ask the same thing they do:

“Where is the Christlike love? It is a very lonely time for us. We need to get together in spirit and encourage one another that the love and sacrificial motives of Christianity are still alive. That cheap grace will not reign. That Christ still wants us to reconcile and work for social justice. That sometimes, a lot of times, we can use government and social institutions to help those who are hurting precisely because the love of Christ overcomes the cold bureaucracy that Conservatives seem to be so paranoid about.”

Maybe the liberal Christians are the future of the country. I just don’t see the conservative crackpots stepping aside — especially when they can buy their own earthly salvation. But when we all get to Heaven’s gate, the rest of us who managed to hang on to our spiritual currency will cut to the front of the line. And I’m sure we will all be nice enough to share it with the people who didn’t give a fuck about us in this world, just because that’s who we are and will always be.

There’s been a bit of a baby boom in my circle of friends of late. And, as I just learned, Satan’s sidekick is quietly baking her own demon spawn as well.

Alas, once again it boils down to the fact that so many WONDERFUL people cannot have children and, yet, those who even God has to admit were a mistake are hatching their own versions of dipshit devils.

I know they can’t POSSIBLY be happy — she really is, bar none, one of the most excruciating individuals I’ve ever encountered. I highly doubt motherhood will soften her — I’m sure the child’s cloven hooves will scratch her coochie on the way out and make her even less tolerable.

Seriously, I need to go pray or something. I cannot believe how easily I resort to grade-school insults when it comes to certain people. I have to say something nice. But, what?

There’s a therapist out there who will have a job for life.

There you have it. She’s helping the employment data. (For a change…)

I think I offended the fine people over at SecretRegrets.com yesterday. They have some awesome secrets (mixed with regret, natch), but the self-righteous shithead they published yesterday made me angry.

I’ll spare the details — blah blah woman sleeping with otherwise-taken man with a kid blah blah this one gets knocked up too blah blah — but I wrote that I don’t think we the public should really be encouraging or condoning abominable behavior when it affects other people (i.e., child conceived in ridiculous situation).

I got a message back to give the site another try. My issue is that I’m seeing secrets but there ain’t a hint of regret. I almost felt like baby mama was bragging that she got knocked up by the lover she can’t have. No, you got knocked up by a selfish douchebag and you’re no better than him.

And I told them I’m not a prude or a hypocrite or, worse, a Republican. But damn, nobody should be making this person feel GOOD about her poor choices!

I know what it’s like to want someone you can’t have. But the one time I did meet that person, he was smart enough to be the strong one. I had nothing to lose. He did. He set the boundaries. And despite my wily attempts to corrode them, he maintained them.

So, sure, my morality can remain intact. For once. But I feel like we’ve jumped the shark from seeing what happens in people’s personal lives to applauding them and leaving comments in support of them.

The comment that got me on that post above was, “Me, too.” Oy vey. *headdesk*

I admit I tend to hide from the world. I get out there, make some friends, date and ultimately decide I can’t stand people and then I retreat to my little shell. People take WORK. They take TIME. Some of them are worth it. Many aren’t. I’m becoming the girl who lets the last one ruin it for the next one.

I love humanity and all of its flawed glory. I study it and a part of me wants to help everyone I meet. But I’ve also encountered my share of people who embrace their shortcomings and parade them with pride. They don’t even need outside validation, but hoo boy, they’re on fire when they elicit it.

And that’s the problem — when people beg for attention and just one person doesn’t condemn them, they think their collision course with life is all fun and games till someone loses an eye. Just as long as it isn’t theirs. Then the party keeps going till everyone’s lying dead on the battlefield and no one is left to play with them anymore.

I don’t know why this bothered me so much. You know there’s a problem when *I* become the moral majority. Shit, I might as well pre-write my own regret that I didn’t vote for Obama in 2012 if I keep THIS shit up!

Oh lord. Someone scanned in one of our middle-school yearbooks and it has appeared on our *gulp* 20-year reunion page. Crikey.

I just saw the faces of my classmates as I still remember them. And I saw one gal whom I will never forget.

We were in the same homeroom in sixth grade. Or maybe it was the same Language class. Either way, it was in Mr. Allison’s homeroom. I’ve written about him before in this space but I’m too lazy to look it up.

Anyway, I remember she started feeling sick. And the teacher knew something was up but didn’t know what to do. She clearly needed assistance to go to the nurse’s office downstairs, but he couldn’t leave our rowdy asses.

After furtively scanning the room, he looked straight at me. I felt doomed, mostly because I LIKED learning. I didn’t care so much for that “interpersonal interaction” shit that walking to the nurse with a fellow classmate required.

Anyway, guess who was nominated for the odyssey. Sigh. I asked for a hall pass. (I was SUCH a goody-goody!) He said to just go and he’d deal with it later. Hmmm.

Oh boy that was an adventure. She couldn’t walk in a straight line. I somehow had to half-drag, half-carry her down the long hallway, down three flights of stairs, and across the friggin’ foyer and another hallway downstairs.

You might have thought that there was the concept of CALLING SOMEONE to come up to the classroom or, I dunno, telling someone to meet us, eh? Not so much. I guess back in the ’80s we were still sending carrier pigeons with Post-It Notes.

OK, what nobody told me was the gal was prone to having seizures. This, I learned after the fact — after the writhing and incoherent babble and the vomit … so much vomit. Oy.

Did I mention that we were only 11 years old?

I got her there safely. I think classes might have changed by that point — it felt like forever.

She never made eye contact with me again. Or maybe I just politely avoided her at all costs. Honestly, I don’t think she remembered a single moment of it. Plus, she was shy. And I didn’t want to speak of it again — I was sure she would have been embarrassed that her secret was now known by a peer. A secret that I never shared with a soul, by the way.

I have no idea what happened to her in the coming years — I don’t think she graduated. Maybe she moved. Hell, maybe her health kept her from leaving the house at all.

And I wonder, why did teachers (and, later, employers) task me with the impossible? How the hell was I supposed to know how to handle a person who lies down in the middle of the floor multiple times, trying to have a seizure?

I would learn years later that you’re not supposed to move people, that there’s a certain way they should lie on the floor. I didn’t know any of this. I finally helped her to carefully fall to the ground and I ran toward the school office just to ask for an adult to come over and help her.

Anyway, I don’t know what to make of this memory. Perhaps that I was always given more responsibility than most. And in turn, perhaps, that the so called “mighty” among us have so much further to fall. I mean, I could have done something that seriously injured that girl. (I didn’t.) Perhaps there was no one else in the class Mr. Allison would have trusted. I don’t know. I guess I’ve just found that, in subsequent years, I always got the impossible assignments and worst POSSIBLE bosses. Why did everyone else have it — seemingly — so easy in comparison?

I’m certain that I’m making FAR more out of this than I need to. But it did set me up as sort of a volunteer for these kinds of things. I came to appreciate the challenges … particularly those that no one else would touch with a 10-foot pole.

I’m a little over the challenges these days. I’d like “easy” — I’ve watched enough people coast and make it through life just fine without anything extraordinary to report. But I know me — my brain will atrophy if I don’t use it, and soon.

In any event, I have no desire to go to my reunion. But on the other hand, it’s not about how I turned out — I’d like to see what happened with everyone else. And if the gal I wrote about today is there, nobody would be more pleased than I to see her … even if she’d never know it.