No, not the computer unfortunately. I’m still chillin’ at the library–props to the Blanchard Public Library–and I have a mere 60 minutes to do what I need to do…in all actuality, that 60 minutes is more like 10 minutes–the amount of time Cheyenne can keep Mia quiet in the kiddie section.
This will most likely be one of the only entries about religion that you’ll ever see me (read me?) write. I don’t really love to blog about my wishy-washy spirituality, especially when I could address other important issues such as my birthday celebration week (WA-HOO!). Yet, birthday tiara on head and imaginary Corona in hand, I write.
I’ve been baptised like 3 times in my whole life. Once when I was sick in the hospital, once in a pretty white dress, and once in a Southern Baptist Church, just for good measure. God and I are up and down–my religious status is iffy. Some days I feel like freakin’ Mother Theresa, others, it’s a struggle just to believe in any higher power at all.
My cousin Jeff was in a car accident last week. He had a violent seizure while driving caused by a tumor on his brain. The next day his kidneys started failing. When my mother called to tell me this, I was stunned. Before I knew what came out of my mouth I had offered to say a little prayer for him. Actually, what I said was, "Crap. Maybe I should pray or something." I don’t know why I said it–it just sort of came out.
I shouldn’t admit this, but my next thoughts were, "Wait to go, Toni. You just promised your mom you’d pray–what the hell were you thinking? You don’t pray! Hold on. She’d never know if you prayed or not–you could just say that you did–or not say anything at all. He’ll get better anyway…probably. Hopefully."
So the guilt of not praying my promised prayer ate at me for a few days…but not too bad. From time to time I’d think, "Man I hope he pulls out of this okay."
The morning of my birthday (stop, take a moment of revered silence in appreciation of that glorious day), I was up at 6:00 a.m., tiara and all. I had to get a shower, bake some bread pudding for a picnic, and head to town to get my toes done. And then, for some reason, I though of Jeff…and I thought of our grandmother…and his mom, my aunt…and then I thought of my cousin Heather…and I started to cry. So, I prayed.
"Father, Son, Holy Spirit, Amen. Well, not Amen yet, the prayer’s not over. But it will be in a minute, because I’m making this quick. Okay. Dear God, Thank you first for my birthday. And thank you for my awesome life and my awesome husband and for that great birthday sex we had last night. Thank you for our kids…and thanks a lot for my dogs…damn dogs. Oops! Sorry. I meant canines. Ha! That was pretty funny, wasn’t it, God?!
Seriously, thank you for everything. I know I don’t act grateful and believing and all that stuff, and I’m not very good sometimes, and my thoughts haven’t been as pure as they probably should be, and I never go to church anymore…
But I need to ask a favor, and it’s not for me. It’s for my family. Please watch over them. And, oh yeah, my cousin Jeff–please help him…actually you could do more than just help, you could just straight up do, right? I know I’ve got no pull right now, but maybe just this once, for like a birthday wish or something…make him get better. Please?
Please…Damnit! I just dropped the shampoo on my big toe! Was that a sign?"
And the prayer went along like that, with a few "I’m sorrys" and some tears thrown in with a final "Do you still love me, God?" and then the Amen.
I got out of the shower and made the best bread pudding ever. Caleb got the girls ready to go to the park. And my mom called to chit chat.
"Oh, yeah, real quick," she said. "I wanted to tell you–your cousin Jeff is doing better–they were able to remove the tumor and get his kidneys going again. He’s sitting up talking now."
"Really?" I asked, almost in disbelief.
"Yes, really," she answered. "I’ve got to go into work now. Happy Birthday, and I love you."