In my book, Tuesday was always the day for youth group. I remember sitting in the back pew of the church during youth group passing notes on “tithing” envelopes nicely filed in the back of the pew for the more serious church goers. The black ballpoint pen, that looks like someone was chewing the end nervously through Pastor Marc’s sermon, placed so neatly beside it. To a child with ADHD and not a single care for what is supposed to remain sacred, the pen only symbolized escape… that escape was doodling.
As I grew up, doodling turned to note passing to those heathen enough to sit with me instead of listening to Pastor Wes or Pastor Chad speak on a Tuesday night. I didn’t care about the message. I cared if the boy to my left knew that I liked him and the boy sitting two pews over. I wondered why I was single or why I would never measure up to the prettier girls with boobs and public school. I never measured up.
Tuesdays always brought a sort of awkward.
It reminds me that I hate listening to people tell me what to do without figure it out for myself. It also reminds me that I am broken.
I am such a mess. I am a messy person. I don’t really care what society tells me or what the pastor told me. If I wanted to leave my clean clothes bundled on my bed, I would. If I didn’t want to wash my dishes right away, I wasn’t. If I wanted to doodled on a tithing envelope during church, damn it, I was going to do it. Thus, providing this cycle of freedom balled in a trident ready to puncture my heart.
I am my own killer. I keep myself from achieving more thing I know I am capable of. I sit and complain of the coulda, shoulda, woulda, when I could actually go out and do it. I have been given the tools to do it all. Yet, I regret and sit on the sidelines doodling notes to the cute boy on my left. I still feel 13 sitting in the back pew wishing I had the balls enough to listen and actually do what I was supposed to.
But I don’t… and I won’t. Because I have to do everything the hard way.
Now, God and I are in a weird place. I’m not sure about my relationship with him, but I know it still exists. But, for some strange reason, I know all this head knowledge. I mean, I went to Nyack. I have this head knowledge that hasn’t shared the secret yet with my heart. My heart still wants to doodle and blame God for all the shit in my life. I know what the right thing is… yet, I leave my clean clothes on the floor and dishes unwashed. (This is a metaphor, fools.)
I am a bad, dirty, messy Christian… but I am still a Christian… and I still believe in the LOVE he has for me.
So, don’t judge the Christian by the doodles in their notebooks. Don’t tell them to stop texting or to pay attention. Let them be them… and mess up. Let’s them f*ck up. Because, God will speak when he wants… and we ain’t God.
So, that’s what I think when I think of Tuesday. Take another sip of coffee, lover. We’re almost home.