Sleepless in Atlanta

I am exhausted, but I can't sleep. I close eyes, and all I see are job descriptions and my resume. There is this overwhelming feeling that there is work I need to get done, so I can't relax to sleep. I look up potential jobs to apply to the next day, but that's still not suitable to get my body to chill. And as if that isn't enough, the to-do list of everything else I need to get done plays in my head on a loop. It's times like this that I really want to talk to someone but, of course, everyone is asleep. They are asleep and I am awake. 

They say when you can't sleep, God is trying to tell you something. I'm no theologian, but I think God is trying to tell me to get off my a$!. And I get it, but I know God also knows that I'm nothing, nothing without sleep. Yesterday, I checked the time and it was 11am and I had my computer set up to work. Before I knew it, I was being woken up from a two hour nap I didn't intend to take. I feel like I'm all over the place, probably because I am. Once I finish blogging, I guess I will sweep my floor. Why not? It's not like I'm sleeping. 

For Whom The Bell Tolls

The theme for yesterday was death for 500, Alex. 

In the morning, I found out that my grandma's favorite and one of her few surviving cousins had died. Later in the day, I discovered that one of my beloved Xavier brothers had died. I also had a lengthy conversation with P about the afterlife. It was brutal. Brutal and heavy. 

As a Muslim, he feels like Christians don't think enough about the afterlife, while Muslims live with the afterlife at the forefront of their minds. I don't find this to be true, at least not at my church. There is plenty of talk about going to Heaven and the proper way to get there. This is especially troubling for me, seeing that I like to think about death and the journey after the way it was described to me as a child. We all have to die, but we die to go see Jesus, who lives in Heaven. Heaven is a beautiful place, and when you get there, you will get to see everyone who died before you. There was no talk of Hell, sin, or unbearable heat. There was only talk of a beautiful place to chill with your elders once your time is up. 

I prayed that both my grand-cousin and Xavier brother made it to Heaven. I am choosing to believe that they are now surrounded by the love of God and not oven-roasting to the soundtrack of eternal screams. The world, especially today, has a way of bombarding you with bad news and fears and disappointments and horrors. With that being said, is it so bad to want to believe that we all will one day be with God in an amazing paradise? How are we supposed to understand the stresses of the day while reconciling with the idea that we may also be going to Hell? How can we be present in the day if we are afraid of burning alive tomorrow?

I'm not sure, but according to P, we'd better figure it out because judgment starts at the moment of death. The very second our life ends, the trial starts. I cringe at the idea of having to explain to God why I have done some of the dumb stuff that I have done when there was a published book of His wishes available that I ignored. Yeah, I am going to stick with the Sunday school version of Heaven for myself and for the people I know who have passed on. I don't think I have the bandwidth to accept any of the other alternatives. 

Oh God!

The country is at war. There are rumors of more. Threats of bombings. Healthcare disparities. Mass layoffs. Murders. Addiction. Environmental injustice. Racial tensions. The other day, I was watching a clip of a conservative influencer on Instagram where she said that Jesus was White. Yes, that Jesus...of NAZARETH! The current state of things has me wondering what God must be thinking. I mean, nothing is new under the sun, and He knows all things, but he has to be like, "What is wrong with these people?! I gave them my only son and a book for guidance, and they still can not get it together!" I hate to be morbid, but I even think about judgment day. P is Muslim, and he says that the judgment starts as soon as you die. I imagine going up to the Heaven line and hearing God yelling at souls, saying things like, "I never said that!" "Now you are reaching!" "Your skin color is just your skin color! How were you judging folks off of it?!" "Duh! What did you think I meant when I said you were all my children?" I bet the fear and shame will be thick enough to cut with a knife. 

I guess nothing will get you thinking about the afterlife like social decline and unrest. My old minister once asked what we would do if we came to church and our lives were being shown on a big screen, even our private moments? If I get to the pearly gates and God has a big old flat screen and a remote, I am going to scream! 

No one in my circle is unimpacted by the current state of affairs. Yet, it is easy to feel helpless because it feels like there is nothing to be done, and we all have to wait out the crazy. You can't think about all the bad things all of the time, but you can't ignore them either. So what is the verdict for the God-fearing girl who has high anxiety about the afterlife but who also enjoys a good little white lie every now and again? I guess all that is left is prayer. I'm so desperate to see a change in what is going on that I may even pray to White Jesus as well. 

God and Control

I had yet another jay-jay peek-a-boo procedure today. I showed up ready with Buddy, my emotional support stuffed sloth, in toe. I was in panic tears about 30 minutes later. You see, when plans change I flip out. I take the changes to be a sign that something bad is about to happen. The floor of my procedure was changed. I was told my doctor wasn't coming when she told me she was. I was freaking out. One more change and I was going to run out of the hospital room screaming. I just sat on the medical bed and cried. 

I will say right now, thank God for nurses. They checked on me even through they were clearly busy. I think it was clear that they had a lose canon on their hands. I was seconds away from flying out of there in my hospital gown with the rump exposed. 

"Something is not right," I said to Nurse Ethiopia, this gorgeous older Ethiopian woman who had the bad luck of being assigned to me. I explained to her my philosophy on unexpected changes. 

"Are you a Christian?" she asked, leaning on that machine that beeps. I told her I was. "Well, God is in control of everything. He changed the floor of your surgery. He change your doctor. He's in control." 

I took a deep breath and looked out the window. I could see all of Downtown Atlanta. Yes, God was in control. So when they couldn't find a vein on me anywhere to set up an IV, I sat back, held Nurse Ethiopia's hand, and sang Erykah Badu as the other lady probed my arm with the world's longest needles. This would have been the third "sign" to send me running. 

In the operating room, they let me listen to Sir Mix-A-Lot as I was being put to sleep. My doctor showed up after all, even after having a long night with other patients. Before I went to sleep, I remember telling her to twerk somethin', and when I woke up, it felt like someone had taken a power drill to my lady parts. 

Yes. God is in control. 

Dirty 2: The Dumb and The Fearless

Early this morning, as I was texting with phone-mance man, let's call him HaiBae, some rando texted me a full-frontal naked photo that was apparently intended for someone named Jessica. Wow! Not only had he sent out an intimate photo of himself, but he'd sent it to the wrong number! I couldn't decide if he was fearless or dumb. 

I would be asking myself this same question as I transitioned to speaking to HaiBae on the phone. Let's just say that when it comes to being physical with someone, he's a speed racer type of guy and I'm a hay-covered wagon type of woman. For him, this equates to me refusing to be spontaneous or live life. And I get that. This is a man that told me early on that one of his favorite things is exercising on the nude beach where he's from. In response, I'd told him I like to read. 

Early this morning, our naughty talk crashed into me learning more about his personal doctrine. To say that he goes with the flow is an understatement. According to him, we are put here to enjoy lives. They are already mapped out for us. He believes in a higher power but not really an afterlife, because energy never dies. For me, if you don't believe in an afterlife, life gets easy and fun quickly, because there are no postmortem consequences. If you are never going to have to pay for things you've done that are against a doctrine you don't recognize, everyday is a party! Have another shot of vodka while you ride another wiener. Who's going to check you boo?! 

As I listened to him talk about his whimsical life, one centered on exploring, living, and satisfying desires, I could not decide if he was fearless for living out loud or dumb. I was hearing him say a lot of stuff, but nothing about guard rails. I'm assuming those come from God. But if God is a homie riding shotgun in your so-called life and not a heavenly disciplinarian, who needs rules? You'd just do what you want using your own ideals as a compass, which is what I think is happening with HaiBae. I just can't decide if that's low-end crazy or high-end genius. 

He knew without me even saying that I am someone who operates out of fear. I was a goody two-shoes kid which has translated into an overly cautious adult who secretly craves the freedom of being reckless. But is that really freedom? Since God is my judging father and not my high-fiveing roommate, I'm going to have to say the answer is no. 

HaiBae wants to "f*ck me" as he so eloquently put it. Nastily, he has a way with words that I like. However, we've reached the point where I have put up or shut up. He's over our spicy convos. HaiBae has made it crystal clear that we either need to do something or not because just talking about it "bores him". For some reason I thought of James 2:17, "Faith without works is dead." As hot as he is, I just can't let go enough to engage in a hookup. As fearless as hooking up with a man I don't know well would be, putting out my thirst for danger, I just couldn't. That would be dumb. 

Black Doug Funnie and the Fight for Love

I have been dreaming a lot about men lately. P says it is because I am horny, but I don't think that is what it is. In these dreams, I am just talking to these men on some getting to know you, getting to know all about you type of stuff. Last night's dream was no different. 

Do you believe that God communicates with you through dreams? I do. So as a single woman dreaming about men, I am trying to pay extra attention to what God may be trying to say. I am in no way a dream interpreter, but I am going to try to figure out what He was trying to say in the dream that I had last night. 

Okay, so in the first part of the dream I am some type of Fear Factor death match with zombies and Jason and Freddy kinds of characters. After fighting tooth and nail, I make it out victorious. And I mean, I was fighting; punching, kicking, clawing, and even roundhousing these monsters. I think that this is representative of being single in Atlanta for over 15 years. I mean, can you think of anything scarier?

After I won the battle, I ended up in the lobby of my grandmother's old retirement home. I think that this is representative of my fears of being old and alone. There was a group of people hanging out in the lobby, and I was waiting for the elevator to go up to see my grandmother. I think that this represents how I often wish I could ask her for her advice. 

While I was waiting, a man taps me on the shoulder and asks me if I'm single. And I am like, "Yeah." He asks me how old I am and I tell him. Then he tells me how old he is, and I don't recall the age, but I know he was younger. Sigh. What I think God is telling me here is to not disregard the tenderonies even though He knows that I would like a man my age or older but hey, you can't argue with God. 

Talking to this man, I felt very happy and loved and at peace. He got on the elevator with me and my aunt, who appeared out of nowhere, and he was talking to her. I think God is reassuring that whoever this mystery man is, he will get along with my...interesting family. 

The thing that I remember most about this guy is that he looked like a Black version of Doug Funnie from the hit '90s Nickelodeon show "Doug". He even had on the same outfit and everything! And in my dream, I just felt like he was so adorable. 

P once told me that your dreams are not about what they seem to be about on the surface. I don't think this is true for me because God knows that I am not good at riddles. If He wants to give me a message, He knows He has to give it plain and simple. Hopefully, God is saying that my man is a loveable nerd, possibly born in the '90s, who will love me like Doug loved Patti. So now, my eyes are super peeled for this dream lover. If you run across a big-nosed Black man in a sweater vest and khaki shorts, send him my way. I'm trying to see something...

Bye-bye Boy Beus

Getting baptized was a huge event in my life. I made a decision to try to do better and be better. That included making a conscious decision not to lie or hurt people. I also tried to let go of some bad habits. One of these bad habits was spending time on Instagram being thirsty in a dehydrated fashion. 

After many nights of my friends dodging my phone calls or not finding anything good to watch on Netflix, I am sad to admit that I have fallen backwards into my favorite naughty pastime: profile stalking really hot men with dark skin and abs on social media. 

Cigarettes can be addictive. I know that firsthand from watching my mom kick the habit cold turkey. And alcohol is a nightmare too. A couple of my college friends have had to dry out from the bottle. But is there anything more addictive than tall, muscular, Black men on IG doing deadlifts in hoochie daddy workout shorts? It's like kitty nip to me! 

I shutter to think how many nights God has watched me under my blanket, scrolling through hunks until my thumb started to tingle. And let it just be known: I love them all. The physical trainers that meal prep grilled chicken breasts topless. The professional men that do tutorials on how to style a suit. The bearded brothas that lather their facial hair in Shea butter. The social justice hotties with wild locks and afros that wear tees with Africa on them. And who can forget the trap guys that do little videos from the front seats of their Dodge Chargers? I mean, the list go on and on!

After I got baptized, I stopped following a lot of these guys. It was for the best. I didn't see how I could be lusty and Godly at the same time. So, bidding adieu to the cuties was an act of good faith on my end. Then it seemed like as I got more stressed out about school and life and friends and work and whatever, I desired to look up the eye candy again. Somehow, I was able to refrain...until about 40 of them came up on my Explore page one day. That was all it took. Now I have moonwalked back down the rabbit hole of the fit and the sexy. It's a sad story. 

Now it is time to get back on the right track and ghost these guys. Even the sexy one with the beautiful smile that I tell myself I follow because he gives out great workout advice. Oh please. 

I will keep you posted on my progress. 

The End of Third Ryan

It is now fall. My lukewarm hot girl summer has come to an official end along with my pointless, going-nowhere crush on Third Ryan. You remember him? The nice guy from my writing group? Well, he has a crush on one of my good friends and that is simply a road I would rather not go down again. I've been going down it since the 6th grade afterall.

I am so, so tired of investing in the time needed to get to know men who aren't interested. I mean truly, I am exhausted. I could fall asleep right now while typing this post! And what I am even more tired of than that is the unhealthy way that I deal with unrequited love. I don't pray it away or dance it away like Solange. No. I transfer it away to another unavailable man like a loser. 

So, once Third Ryan casually proclaimed his love for my friend during a cute conversation that I had thought was otherwise going well, I decided to start the transference process. Sadly, I decided to transfer it to another man in writing group, Jack. Jack is annoying but hot. To even my own surprise I could not sustain the crush, so I transfered my now two-times-over RyanJack love to a man named MaxTheBody, a male bodybuilder that I found during a thirst search on Instagram. My crush on him will end soon enough, just like my crushes on that IG male dancer and the IG fetish trainer that makes adult movies with his wife. 

Not too long ago, someone asked me if I never found love, would God be enough. I originally said no, but I am parachuting towards 40 at a speed you won't believe. I don't think I have a choice! Hopefully God likes long hugs and slow dancing to 90s R&B. I have always wanted a boyfriend that could do a box step to Forever My Lady by Jodeci. 

The Question

Last night, I went to an ice cream social for Christian singles. I know, it shoulds hella lame, but it was actually a really good time with good people. I had some good lactaid ice cream and a fruit popsicle that was absolutely delish! But during the after ice cream conversation a question was posed to me: would I be okay if I never, ever got married? Would God be enough?
Perhaps I am immature in my Biblical studying and understanding, but the answer for me was a big fat no! Not only would I not be okay with it, but I would demand answers! How come I would be chosen to live a life of loneliness? How come other less cool chicks got a man while I got a rock? I would also request that God send me an HR sheet outlining how he came to his decision and what the criteria is for a woman that gets to have companionship.
"You wouldn't be alone," one of the ice cream socialists said. "You would have your friends and God."
Okay, got it. But how can they not see that that is different than having a tangible person next to you who loves you and that is going to live life with you; that knows you and cares for you? I like the idea of someone living life at my side.
They say that there is someone for everyone, but as I get older, I see that that is not true. I have dope lady friends in my life that aren't in a relationship and the possibility that they ever be in one continues to get slimmer with every passing day. And while they are waiting, their fertility window is closing, sending them into this weird, anxious panic and frustration. It's hurtful, and even more painful when you realize that there is a possibility that God just doesn't have a person for you. You don't get love. Billions of other people do on the planet, but you don't. For a woman in her 30s, the idea of eternal loneliness is very real, but it somehow becomes cruel when you add the possibility that God just doesn't want you to have anybody.
I am working on my relationship with God, but I also want a relationship with God, and I think that is fair and human. Hopefully He is in agreement. Time will tell.

Positively Negative

I find myself desperately trying to hide how negative I am at church so that I can make friends. It has become clear to me that my sweet, pure, and dare I say beautiful form of pessimism clashes with clean, innocent, dare I say naive Christian optimism.
My friend Kyndra, who invited me to this church in the first place, did something that I would never do which is invite someone that I sort of know into a personal space. People know that she invited me, so I have tasked myself with trying to be on my best behavior. For me, I am seeing that this includes not being too honest. My honestly comes from a negative place and as you probably well know, negativity is a virus that spreads through the garden and murders all the roses. I don't want to kill her super sweet, warm, welcoming, and unrealistically encouraging and hopeful friends. I don't want to be the weed in an otherwise healthy flower bed.
Talking to the women in the church is the hardest. They are so nice, yet it is hard not to scream, "What a load!" whenever they speak. A couple of Sundays ago I stood with a tight, manufactured smile as a young woman with a cool, funky haircut named Paula spoke excitedly about how her ex finally deciding to get into church. For her, this was a milestone met on their way to getting back together, becoming "equally yoked" and jumping the broom. I smiled hard as her other friend, we will call her Peggy, listened along excitedly, praising God for the miracle of getting a young Black man into church. That is a miracle, I won't disagree with that.
When Paula finally took a breath, I asked, "What if none of this sticks with him? Are you prepared for that?"
I instantly regretted it. The power drained out of her eyes as if I had unintentionally turned off the lamp in her brain. "What?" she asked confused.
"Holly wants to know if you'd be okay if you two don't get married," Peggy chimed in. That is not what I wanted to know at all.
Paula inhaled, her power coming back on. "That is okay. I am more concerned with him getting saved."
I nodded, smiling so hard at this point that my cheeks were burning. I wanted to tell her that the whole thing smelled like a boy lie. I wanted to tell her that I could see this young man going as far as he felt he needed to before she agreed to sleep with him again. Then he would vanish from the church so fast it would be like he was never there. But that, good friends, would have been the type of honest negativity that makes it so no one wants to talk to you after service. I like after service talks.
As I have said before, I am trying to build a relationship with God and get better with changing my way of thinking. My current thinking is a hard skin to shed, seeing that I credit it with saving me from some decisions that could have been devastating. But being negative can be exhausting and preventative. Maybe one day I too can experience the joy of just knowing without a doubt that things are going to work out. Faith, it's what's for dinner.
Until I get to that point, it is all tight smiles and nods from the peanut gallery, secretly taking solace in being positive that negativity is the way for me, at least for now.

Church 1- The Invite

I don't know when I got so far from God that I began to think that everyone that went to church was some type of a nut. I assume that it happened somewhere between college graduation and everyone that I love dying.
Before this most recent invite to visit someone's church, I took offense to being invited. Receiving a church invite always felt like the person extending the invite was trying to shade me, saying that I looked like my life was such a mess that I obviously needed to go to church. Plus, the few times that I accepted said invite, I found myself walking into some foolishness. Either the church felt like a front for some type of illegal activity, or the minister seemed less like a messenger of God and more like a standup comedian.
My mood has been as such lately that I am really not up for any foolishness. But when my friend Kyndra invited me to her church for their Black History Month service, I said yes without hesitation. Any church that has a Black History Month service is obviously somewhere I would like to be. I wasn't prepared, however, for the changes that have happened in church since the last time I was there.
For one, no one was super dressed up. At the most, everyone looked like they were dressed for a brunch date. And the choir has vanished. I don't know where the choir has gone, but it wasn't at this church. They have a praise and worship squad consisting of what I assume would have been the best singers in the choir if there was one. There are no hymnals. This church only sings Top 20 Gospel hits with the assistance of a live band. And for the most part, there are no Bibles. Everyone looks up scriptures on their phone. The church has its own social media accounts, and you can give your offering online.
But one thing that hasn't changed that I remember from when I was a kid at church is the sense of community. People still stop and ask you about life and give you hugs. You have no idea how those Sunday hugs have changed my life. I think I will continue to go here, but as with everything else in my life, I am ready to quit and run at a moment's notice if things go wrong.

The Grieving Posts 4: The Jesus Piece

The other day I woke up feeling particularly upset about my mom, so I rolled over and texted P. It was very, very early and since he is a nurse that works those crazy nurse hours, I knew he was awake. I vomited all my emotions about everything in this text that was very long, and his response was simply, "You need to pray to Allah." Ugh! With his devout Muslim self. I should have known that was going to be his response.
For some reason, I was taken back to earlier last year when I talked to my friend Gail. She had been through it over the past few years. I am talking bad relationships, car repossessions, lost jobs, etc. When she called me, it sounded like the sun was finally coming out in her life. Seeing that she has always been a Super Christian, I said, "Don't forget to thank God for seeing you through." That is when she dropped a bomb on me: she is now practicing Santeria.
I wanted to be respectful of what she had just said, but I was still like, "What?!" This is a girl that was so God-fearing that she was afraid to do anything! She had once given me a stern talking to because I had told her I had had a conversation with some Mormons. Now she's gettin' Babalawo with it? It didn't make any sense. So, she went on to explain why she was beginning to practice and it all boiled down to her wanting to feel in control of her destiny and not wanting to feel like she was just a pawn at God's will. I understood what she was saying, but it also sounded like she was mad a God.
Yes, I lost my mom, but I'm not mad at God. I understand that as hurtful as this all is, it is all part of the cycle of life. However, I also do not feel like praying as P suggested either because I know that God knows what is going on. I have always felt connected to Him, so I also know that he knows how I am feeling. I am still praying to God for a good job. I am still praying for more money. I am still praying for a better hairstyle for my facial shape and a one-term Trump presidency, but for some reason, I just can't pray on my mom or anything that has to do with her.When the doctors came into the waiting area and told us that she had died, I prayed that He would let her into Heaven. Maybe that was all the conversation that He and I needed to have. Who knows? I'm no theologian, just a girl trying to deal.

Bad Christian

Question: is it bad that the first sincere prayer that I have had in ages is praying that Faux-Mega would get off work early and answer my text to come over and make out? Sigh, I feel like it is. I know that it is. Unacceptable.

Say A Little Prayer

I woke up and realized that I have not prayed in a really long time. That could have a little something to do with why I feel like I am just being kicked through life. Not a good feeling. I pretty much feel like anything can happen, more so bad than good. At any moment, I am prepared to get the bit of bad news that will drive me to the cry of the century.
I wish I was six again. I felt so connected to God. When I prayed, I really feel like someone was listening. Now, I look at my situation and my bank accounts and don't feel a need to pray, because it is obvious that there is no connection- that there is no one there. And this is pretty shitty, because I have ALWAYS felt like God had my back.
Even in high school, I used to feel like God would whisper little warnings in my ear like be careful, don't eat that, be cool. Now, I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't.
The Taji and Connie situation is just one example of how jealous and nitpicky I am becoming. Again, another little character trait (besides consistent crying and bitterness) that I attribute to distancing myself from Him.
Today I will meditate. I have got to get this relationship back on course. Feeling Godless is a whole other level of lonely I would prefer not to stay in.

Thou Shall Not Text

When I was younger, I saw the Behind The Music of The Go-Gos. You know, the 80s group that sang "We've Got The Beat"? Well, even though they were really cute, most of the girls in the group were on coke really heavy, and one of them was addicted to heroin. She fell in love, went to rehab, and she said that first weekend that she was home she prayed the whole time. So hard, in fact, that her knuckles turned white. She was pleading with God to help her keep it together so that she wouldn't use. After that weekend she said that she never had a desire to use again. I liken the way she must have felt that weekend to how I felt yesterday trying my HARDEST not to text Faux-Mega.
Texting him would have been a bad idea for a shitload of reasons. One being that I already texted him last week, he should text me so I don't look as desperate as I feel. Second, I don't think he's meant to be in life. Texting him would have been a clear reaction of my hormones. And third, waiting for him to text me would have literally driven me mad!
But that doesn't mean that I didn't want a text from him though. I swear guys, I stared at that phone. I prayed over that phone. I did an Indian rain dance around the phone. I went through my messages and made sure I didn't overlook one.
I found myself pulling a Go-Go and just begging God to dismiss the urge to contact him from my system. I feel that God agreed that the whole sitch was a mess, and that I needed to just throw in the towel. So God, being the peach that He is, occupied my time by allowing me to talk to other friends.
The only difference between me and the Go-Go girl is that when the worst was over, I still kind of wanted to text him. This just proves my unwritten theory that heroin is easier to kick than a crush.

Today I tried to pray for myself. I bowed my head, but I didn't think anything. I didn't hear anything, and I didn't feel like anyone was listening. There was nothing to say. I feel like everything is...obvious. I feel like the connection with God that I have tried to strengthen over the past year is shattering as everything becomes increasingly more shitty. I don't know what to do. I don't know if I want to do anything. Overall, I just don't know, and that is just going to have to do for right now I guess.

The Jesus Piece

Do you remember me telling you guys that I was getting back on the God wagon? I'm not going to go into detail, but I will say that I have somewhat fallen off the wagon and plummetted to the ground.
Why? I guess I am just annoyed. I know that I should pray and all, but I also know that God knows what I need, and I am kind of peeved that I have to go to him when he can see that my life is in the shitter. And no, I don't think that he has forgotten about me. His love for me is clear. But my family has been evicted. They are living in an extended day motel. My mom has been unemployed for two years. My brother is in college and consistently a thousand dollars away from having to come home. On top of this, my face is breaking out. All I want to know is...WHEN IS HE GOING TO STEP IN ALREADY??? I guess I have to pray about it.

The Lonely Journey

As you all know, I have started attending church. But as with everything in my life, there is drama associated with it.
Point blank, my family hates me going. Why? Well, besides them being joy-suckers, they hate it because it is a non-denomination church and we are United Methodists. OK. But the funny part is that we have not stepped foot in a Methodist church in God knows how long! I just got tired of feeling crappy and bad all the time and started going to church. Plain and simple. You might as well have told my Mom and Aunt that I had started worshipping The Devil!
This annoys me. And it shouldn't because I am 25 and can do whatever I want, clearly. But I have tried to get my siblings involved and that didn't work. My sister rather go to the Kingdom Hall with her little homie (which my mom thinks is cool), my brother Cass is going through is own little baby religious awakening/questioning on his own, and my brother Anthony just doesn't want to wake-up early enough to get dressed to go! As you all know, I can not drive, so my Aunt drops me off on Sunday, equipped with an attitude and a sour face. My mom makes jokes about it. Just yesterday she told me she was going to tell my Uncle Henry on me, you know, the United Methodist minister?
This also makes me sad. And not just because I feel like those closest to me should be happy for me, but have instead chosen to shit on my happiness. That is an everyday thing. It makes me sad that I find happiness and peace at this church and my family wants no part of something positive that I feel is changing my life for the better. I go to church and see families and couples and groups of friends coming to worship. I feel sad because I have to embark on this journey, this important part of my life, alone. I guess I am just going to have to shrug this off and keep trekkin'. It's one of those times where you just have to know what you are doing is right for you and keep on keepin' on. I just wish I didn't have to trek on my own.

Raisin' Hell

As part of my quarter-life crisis, I have taken a bigger initiative to strengthen my relationship with God, and can I say that it has been refreshing! I have always wanted to, but after being disappointed by my former church (for reasons best fit for another post) I decided to take a breaky-break from the church scene. But am I glad to be back! I like waking up on Sundays to be in the company of really kind people. But I am also getting better acquainted with God's word through the messages being taught, thus getting reacquainted with the idea of Hell.
Hell. Yikes. The one hot-spot that NO ONE wants to visit. I was talking to my buddy Waddles about it last night, and we both agreed that even though there are descriptions in The Bible and in literature, there is no way that the human mind can possibly fathom how HORRIBLE it must be. I can't stand Atlanta in July, so I think I better get my shit together soon before I spend eternity in a furnace.
Now I don't think that I am a bad person, but I'm no angel. A woman who sings at church asked the congregation what we do when we think that no one is looking. Good thing that was rhetorical! A couple of things I listed mentally I know for a fact is on God's no-no list.
Ugh, that damn no-no list! I have a lot of friends that chucked it long ago. Their thinking is that you only live once, so you might as well do what you want. And I agree...partially. It just seems that all the cool, freaky things I want to get into may not be on the list, but I am sure that JC and his daddy wouldn't think they are cool. Plus, isn't it stated somewhere in The Bible that thinking about sinning is just as bad as doing it? In that case, shouldn't you just do what you want since thinking about it will get you sent to the pits just as quickly?
So many questions and, according to my minister, so little time to get things straight. You are either good or you ain't. I guess the best thing I can do is be the best person I can be at all times and hope that God is impressed. Hopefully, he won't nickel and dime on the specifics.

Pray About It

Lately I have been scared to pray. Not sure why. I'm guessing because I just assume that God is tired of hearing the same bullshit from me. "Get me out of here!" "Give me a high score on the GRE even though I didn't really study." "Send me a man!" "Let this infection clear up on its own," and blah, blah, blah.
Then today I read my friend Quinton's status and he said that he didn't think he was praying enough.
I don't think, I know that I am not praying enough, and oddly enough I blame J.C...Jesus Christ if you're nasty. Get it? Janet Jackson? Never mind.
When I was a kid I prayed every night for no other reason than my grandma told me to. She was so persistent about it that I figured that if I didn't pray something bad would happen. So one day I decided I wouldn't pray, and I didn't for like a week. And after I didn't die, I just decided to pray whenever I felt good and damn ready. I wish that I would have had a random pain or witnessed a car crash or something that would have ran me back to my knees with my hands clasped and eyes closed.
Besides the faith lost as a child, I hate asking for things. I mean, isn't God supposed to know everything? My grandmother has Alzheimer's. I fear that my Aunt is going to kick my family out of her house and I will have to sell my ass in order to pay for my family to live in an extended stay hotel as well as to buy us prepackaged grits to eat for all three meals. My mom is unemployed. Plus I'm always tired and I live in consistent fear of life pretty much and feel that I am just two seconds away from a breakdown...if I had the energy to have one. Dare I pose the question, but how shitty does shit have to get before God steps in?
Man...that question gave me the chills. Sorry God, I was just jivin'.
Once my friend Frances described God as a really cool boyfriend. If this is the case, I'm in trouble. I'm like the worst girlfriend on the books. I nag. He gives and I take and take and take, rarely a thank you. I don't introduce him to my friends and I ALWAYS question his whereabouts. He satisfies me and I don't reciprocate. OK, maybe that one went a bit too far, but you get the drift. Hopefully, he doesn't dump me.
Well, today I talked to my buddy Rae that has hit some hard times. She was telling me all what is going on in her life, and I didn't know what to tell her, so I told her to pray about it. Now I have always hated it when people told me that. I always felt like people who tell you that just don't have any good advice and think that saying that makes them sound profound. But with all that's going on in life and in the world in general, I found that I told her to pray about it because there is literally nothing left to do.