Growing Up Catholic in a Small Texas Town:
Don’t Waste Any Parables on Me — Just Spit It Out Already
Sometimes, I think God wakes me up at one o’clock in the morning just to get my attention. Fine. But He doesn’t say anything as if I’m supposed to know what’s on His mind, as if I’m supposed to figure it out, as if I don’t have enough shit to figure it out.
“Just spit it out. So I can go back to sleep.”
But He doesn’t. So I toss and turn and think about weird stuff like what if I’m traveling alone in Egypt (one of my favorite countries), and I get kidnapped and sold into white slavery? What if a giant meteorite hits the planet, causing a massive tsunami, and I can’t make it to the top of the mountain before I’m swept away? I certainly don’t need this during the wee hours of the morning when I am supposed to be resting peacefully. When I finally fall asleep fifteen minutes before my alarm goes off, I wake up pissed off because I feel like I have a hangover.
Is there a parable in this somewhere? I spent all day yesterday trying to figure it all out when I needed to tie up the loose ends of my next mystery, which is harder than weaving a tapestry out of straw. At this point in my long life, I just want answers so I can do what I need to do to get to heaven.
