Are you there, God? It's me, Andi.

The thing I have discovered about living with the OC is that I have a special direct line to the person upstairs.  In hindsight, of course that was always there. But I treated it kind-of like the business card you pick up at the used car dealership, tossing it into the bottom of my bag and forgetting about it until it came time to do the annual “purse purge.”  These days, I’m dialing the number a lot.  Like a really lot.  First thing when I wake up in the morning, as I’m sitting at the light on South Congress, in between obsessing that the person at Einstein’s is not going to get my bagel order right, and—of course—right before I try to calm my spirit enough to sleep each night.  Here are a couple of recent exchanges:

God:         “What’s on your mind this morning, precious child of the Universe?”

Me:          “Oh you know, I am worrying about the weighty problems of the world--like whether or not the drug that I know you will provide to make me well will make my hair fall out again.” 

God:         “I can see how that might worry you, dear one.  But don’t you see, when I allow you to stand without the things you like to hide behind, I have given you the chance to lead with your soul.” 

Me:          “But I don’t want to have to worry about leading with my soul.  I want to be cute enough to catch a Cowboy.”

God:         “With all due respect to Cowboys everywhere, really, Sloan?  Is that really what you are worrying about a time like this?”

Me:          “I’d be lying to you if I said I wasn’t.”

God:         Insert extended, pregnant pause.

The thing about REALLY walking through life in a way that faith is a true part of it is that you don’t get to hide behind your own b.s.  And it takes some getting used to.  Here’s another recent conversation playing out in my head:

Me:          “I’m not sure what the end of this might look like when all is said is done.  I do know I definitely want to be surrounded by loved ones.  And I want to be at home.  I’m wondering if somehow Heathen could be in the backyard and people could walk him in to my room so I could pet him when I am scared.  Oh yeah, and do you think the spray tan people will get nervous about liability and refuse to spray my bald head, because I am simply not going to lay around without my tan.  I’ve already gotten Wittenburg to promise that she will see that I am sprayed to the end, but will she really sue them over that if it comes to it?

God:         “Have you learned nothing?  I am trying to teach you about faith and how silly vanity is.  And besides, I have promised you a long life…and to give you hope and a future. And you know that Heathen has gained a lot of weight and won’t possibly fit through the back door.  Perhaps you should consider retro-fitting the French doors in the kitchen.  But you know he’s not exactly house-broken…do I need to remind you about the trailer fiasco?”

 

Talking to God about anything and everything and knowing He is listening is a FUN thing I am so glad I know about cancer.