fear

"the fear of the LORD is the beginning of wisdom" proverbs 1:7


i am afraid of God. and, yes, i am aware that the fear spoken of in a lot of christian doctrine has more to do with awe and reverence and less to do with stomach-clenching anxiety. nevertheless, i am afraid of God. and here is why.

i was 16 years old when i attended a church play which, unbeknownst to me, was what churches call an "outreach" tool. it was aimed at the unsaved, unwashed masses such as myself. the very lovely people who invited me just wanted my soul to be saved. i guess they were a bit afraid, too. anyway, the play- which was called "heaven's gates, hell's flames" (subtle and abstract, i know) - was comprised of scenes in which various people died and then- you guessed it- either went to heaven or hell. more accurately, they were either ushered into heaven by really pretty, glossy-haired angels or dragged to hell by menacing and less glossy-haired demons. obviously brimstone is not meant to infuse hair with moisture and shine, so i don't debate their casting decisions....

there was a particular scene which gripped me most and which i actually still think of from time to time. a mother and her small daughter who looked to be about 8 or 9 years old were driving somewhere and got into a car crash. they were both killed instantly and, upon realizing they were dead, they were very much afraid. the angels approach the scene, much like glossy-haired cops, and you then think they are both going to traipse off to heaven and rejoin gramma and pap pap and everyone. but, no. it seems that since mom had been a christian, but kind of a crappy parent as far as instilling religious beliefs, she gets to go to heaven and her little daughter is dragged off to hell in front of her. that little 8 year-old meryl streep screamed her guts out and was kicking and thrashing and calling for her mother the whole way off stage left. and i was terrified. children die. that was difficult enough for me to accept as a young person. but children shouldn't get dragged off to hell. i became a christian that night. because i was afraid not to.

two weeks later when my mother died at the age of 38 from hiv-related illness, i had suprising peace. i really did not understand fully what being a christian meant or any real idea at all of who God was, but there was a chaplain there who told me that, whether or not we know or care about God, God knows and cares about us. at the time it was a great comfort. at times it is still a great comfort. but most times nowadays i just don't know.

my relationship with God over the past 15 years has been a unique one in so many ways, both good and bad. in seminary i was introduced to meditation and, to this day, it has been one of the most significant and honest experiences of my life. in those moments, i became aware of absolutely everything all at once and it was terrifying and huge and grand and beautiful and amazing. i think there was God in that. and God was so much larger and infinite than i, or any religion, could explain with doctrine or a menacing church play. i prayed more sometimes and sometimes i did not pray for days. i saw christians do such loving things and then such hateful and bigoted and deceitful things. that is how all of us can be, though, and i know that. it is just being human. what i wonder now, more than ever, is how can any of us be at all one hundred percent sure that what we believe is the truth? that sounds like such an obvious question, but for someone who was shamed and intimidated into accepting an idea of God for so many years, it is a potentially life-changing question. and here is why. i have stayed in a relationship with God out of fear that, if i leave or question too much or look into some other form of belief, God will punish me. it is no different than the relationship of an abusive spouse and his or her abused partner. you stay because you are afraid not to. it is oppressive and stifling and you wonder sometimes Why don't I just leave? this is the thing: i do believe there is a God. i would never be so prideful to say that i am positive there is not. and there is just something in me and all around me that speaks to me as something greater than myself and than what we can see. i do not know, however, who that God is or what the God is like. and, more to the point, i do not know if i want a relationship with that God at all. . . .

those angels really did have nice hair, though.

Green

the first HUGE jealousy i remember having was over my mother's hair. it hung like this gorgeous, garnet-lit cape down her back and, like all the white people's hair i came to know, it actually moved when she shook her head. . . . pure magic. i couldn't have it, so i made it out of anything that was somewhat glossy, smooth or, at the very least, long. and so i began the first steps on my journey to weavedom with things like hands towels, tights (hello, pigtails!), tee shirts and the occasional pair of elastic-waist shorts. i am convinced that every little colored girl did this, but there was a sort of follicle-oriented malaise in the case of the little colored girl with the white mother. it wasn't like i wanted to have the long, movable hair in order to be white. i just wanted to be more like my mother, who just so happened to be white. it was only later that the jealousy over hair became more about race and far less about feeling connected.

the big J carried over heavily into elementary school and, when it wasn't the other girls' hair i envied, it was their clothes or their shoes or their scrunch socks. a girl named jenn always had the best of everything and, painfully enough, she was still a very sweet girl and one of my best friends. she probably never knew how i would sit and stare at her tretorns with their perfect little plaid swoosh or at her penny loafers with the shiniest pennies inside of them. the moment she came to school wearing keds, though..... i was absolutely gagging on the fabulosity (thanks, kimora) of those perfect, white canvas specimens. with the little. blue. tab. i'll tell you why this was so important in case it is lost on you. you could go to almost any old store and buy white canvas shoes like that. HOWEVER. none of them- not a one- came with the little blue tab on the back. they were tabless. and they let the world know that you did not, in fact, get your kicks from a real shoe store but from some discount chain like clover or ames or jamesway. i couldn't have those shoes, so i took a blue bic pen and painstakingly colored a faux tab on the back of my ames originals. . . . . and that was pretty much my m.o. throughout elementary and junior high school. i couldn't have any of these things i was so jealous for and so i made my own poorly-constructed knock-offs. . . . and so.....

here i am at almost 32 years old and i am still jealous. occasionally it is over something like shoes or clothes, but i have learned that i can look beautiful in a two dollar thrift store shirt as long as it fits well and i don't try to pair it with high-waist flared denim, thank you very much. mostly i am green over the lives of others. facebook, for all it's wonderment and social networking, is a sore spot for me. every profile picture i see makes me feel like everyone is having more a.) fun b.) traveling experience c.) time with friends d.) time at a salon e.) mall shopping experience or f.) every single one of the above . . . . even those really pretentious and somewhat self-absorbed profile pictures that people take of themselves from weird angles looking pensive with perfectly mussed hair look fun at my lowest moments. i tried doing one of those before and just wound up looking slightly constipated. plus you could see a few of my fingers where i was holding the camera.

i know that many of my friends will try to encourage me on this point of jealousy by reminding me of my marriage and my baby and my general good health. and i am definitely happy about the health, let me tell you. i had a stomach flu last month and i felt like a lifetime movie should have been made about that particular physical struggle. i don't think i could handle actual serious illness. . . . and however much i love and am committed to my family, i remain overwhelmingly jealous of my single and child-free friends on a daily basis. i want so much sometimes to be able to go to sleep later than 8 p.m. and sleep in past 6 the next morning without wondering if my child needs something. i want to be able to have extra money to travel somewhere and not worry about packing twenty-seven diapers and changes of clothes. i want to be able to go out on a saturday night and not have anyone to be home for except myself and maybe a cool gay filipino roommate who enjoys making me brownies and doing my make-up because he works at sephora and can bring me home free samples.

and yet i know that there are just as many single and child-free friends who look forward to the day they do have all of the baggage and hassle and beautiful complications of being a parent and a spouse. all that being said, i am still very jealous. i may always be a jealous person. so far it's been a pretty long stretch of envy. and i'm not even saying the grass is definitely greener on the other side. but i do think it's at least a little bit grassier. it's just different. and sometimes that's all i want.

where to start......

i am currently living someone else's life. if you know what i mean. i have this sense of myself-- my actual, real self-- but it's like she is living across the street, waving hello every once in a while. i kind of run into her when i am back to doing something that makes sense, like finding somewhere (alone) to read or shop, or seeing a friend i don't get to see that often..... the rest of the time, i am here in a little, christian town trying to navigate through the doctrine, the orange hunting caps, the homophobia and the vendors who all close by 5 p.m. someone else's life, you see? it sounds pretty melodramatic and angst-ridden and all of that, but i guess if angela chase could do it, why not....

and if you ever took greek mythology or, more to the point, saw parker posey in the epic and underrated movie, "party girl," you know who sisyphus was. if not, then you should go watch "party girl" and i will tell you that sisyphus was a very crafty king-- kind of a "shady douchebag" if you will-- who, as punishment for acting like a tool, was condemned, and possibly compelled, to roll this huge rock up a hill for all eternity. as soon as he neared the top of the hill, the rock would roll back down, and the process would start all over again...... some people who are much better-read than i am will argue that this punishment was more due to the fact that he thought himself as wise, if not wiser, than zeus. and you don't want to think yourself too wise, i guess....it reminds me a bit of a friend of mine who will constantly tell me that i think too much about things. in particular, metaphysical things and things to do with how i see myself. eventually i started wondering if i was being punished in some cosmic way for asking all the questions i have asked, having all the doubts i have and wondering what the hell i am supposed to be doing with myself now apart from working a dead-end job, mothering a child and attempting to know how to be a spouse when i work so much better solo....

all that being said, i decided to start writing because it's something to do while i deal with this rock, this hill, and this sense of time that keeps brushing ahead of me in this mocking and bitchy way. kind of like michael kors on the streets of new york. but i'm saving him for a later blog. obviously.