Jesus did come to my door a few times, and I was not prepared even once when he did - which is pretty much what I expected, but still unfortunate since it was really the whole reason behind the religious floor exercises to begin with. Pull out the couches and wash to the corners - nobody shows. De-junk your closets, break the banister and throw in a scrap with your spouse, and you're guaranteed a knockknock dingdong.
I was polite, I moved some laundry piles around so he could sit down - I fed him pie, fixed him coffee and even signed him on to my wifi. I gave him hugs, high-fives, and fist bumps. I told him he was a good neighbour - he told me, "That's who I am. I'm a good neighbour. I'm good to everybody, that's just who I am."
He told me he didn't care about my dirty floors - that he was used to it. He swept my sidewalk.
I'm not sure what more I would have expected Jesus to say or do. He received my offerings, he expressed his affection, he revealed his nature, he accepted me just as I am, he cleaned the path between his home and mine.
I confess, I was left wanting.
Maybe it's me.
Maybe I'm looking for Love in all the wrong places - looking for Jesus in too many faces.
As far as fostering an attitude of expectancy for Jesus to come and say and do and reveal amazing things, I can't say focusing on my floors particularly helped. If it did, I sure didn't feel like writing about it.
This year I have renounced religiosity in Jesus name and I've decided to play to my strengths.
You might not have guessed this, but I happen to be very, very good at writing letters. I specialize in the jagged you.you.you.ought.to.know kind, but life is about balance and I'm interested in broadening my skill-set.
In this spirit, I have declared 2018 The Year of Boos and Bouquets. I think this will be fun.
It's only January, and already some individuals have done some very you are winning humanity things, and others some very you are totally failing, maybe you should just quit things. It's staggering, when you really stop and think about it, the impact that we have on one another and how far-reaching the ripples of kindness and cruelty go.
I'm not really sure what there is to be done about that, but I'm hoping I might encounter more of Jesus in the soul expressions than in the scrubbing.
To be clear, when I say soul expressions I mean the spewing of complicated and narcolepsy-inducing feelings misdirected away from actual people with faces and addresses, towards random strangers in a wildly cathartic, sanity-saving effort to minimize my own pain and the inevitable clean-up required following my impending mental breakdown. (Did I mention that my very caring doctor who was recently writing me very necessary prescriptions just got FIRED? Booooo). Just to be clear.
Oh yes, this is going to be serious fun.
In the interests of balance and restraint, I have both challenged and limited myself to writing two entirely sincere letters each month for the entirety of this year - one letter of compliment and one letter of complaint/constructive criticism.
January's Bouquet went to Proctor and Gamble because your skin you will have with you always, and mine is wearing thin. Acknowledging that I am wholly and wilfully ignorant of any news relating to P&G's carbon footprint, their employee standards, their ethical practices, their position on animal testing, human trafficking, transgender bathrooms, reproductive rights, Donald Trump, their employment of child labour, and/or their support of and for either Woody Allen or "The Purpose Driven Life", I have unreservedly declared my love of their Oil of Olay products. Olay Pro-X is da bomb.
They responded within 48 hours with a personal email from a representative, and kindly requested my address so that they could send me a $10 coupon. Classy.
A loud Booo went to Contigo for the poor design and problematic functionality of the travel mug I recently purchased. I didn't keep a copy of the message that I sent to them, but believe me when I say that it was pretty fantastic. Still waiting to hear back from them. I've been waiting so long that if I'm not served up a gift wrapped travel mug and a handwritten note apologizing for making me feel that my nose must be a N.O.U.S (Nose of Unusual Size) I will not be satisfied.
We should all have such problems.
No comments:
Post a Comment