What God Looks Like

Pairs well with: "Below My Feet" by Mumford & Sons and "Like a Prayer" by Tori Amos

What does God look like?

A. A man

B. The chickenman

C. A marathon runner

D. A church

E. My kids

F. Thanksgiving

G. Walkers

H. All of the Above

A few months ago I found myself sitting on a bar stool at Molly's on the Market in the French Quarter with an old friend & former college roommate.  We had celebrated another close college friend's 40th birthday earlier in the night and somehow, someway managed to keep ourselves out - and awake - until 4 am.  As you can imagine, the conversation was quite riveting.  A typical conversation between "Bonnie" (name has been changed to protect the innocent) and me would likely involve a debate over the very best episodes of Seinfeld or Designing Women (two tv shows we both used to love to watch together) or, maybe, whose underwear choice was better: her thong or my boy shorts?  On this particular night, however, our conversation went another direction entirely.  Maybe it was the 46 vodka tonics (between us) or maybe it was the fact that we had just sung happy birthday to a friend turning 40...who knows?!  Regardless of the reason, that night (or should I say early morning) we started talking about God.  Heavy stuff, huh?  I spent the entire evening explaining what faith means to me and how/why I believe what I believe.  That conversation with "Bonnie" has led me here.

Over a Stella draft, what I tried explaining to "Bonnie" is this:  what I believe is that God isn't one thing.  God isn't a man, I now know that.  And, I don't think that God is the same for me as God is for you.  God is hope.  God is laughter.  God is a promise.  God is goodness.  God can change every single day.  And, in my opinion, that's the most magnificent, beautiful aspect of God.

Let me elaborate a little further.  And, I hope this makes sense to you more than it did to "Bonnie" at 4:26 am.  I haven't had any vodka (yet), so hopefully my explanation has a bit more clarity.  I know it'll be just as passionate (even without the vodka).

A. A man

To begin, I must start at the beginning.  My beginning.  I was born & raised in south Louisiana.  As did most everyone down in these parts, I grew up Catholic and went to Catholic school.  I wore the uniform, memorized ALL the prayers, walked stoically through the Stations of the Cross, obediently went to confession and feared the nuns.

When I think back to that part of my life, my childhood, God - to me - was an actual figure, a man.  He was someone whom I would meet when I died.  So, He equaled death.  And if I truly wanted to meet Him I was going to have to work real hard in this life to earn that honor.  And earning that honor meant saying "I'm sorry" a lot.  (Let me tell you, it was hard work being Catholic.  I still fight the Catholic guilt syndrome that has plagued me my entire life.)

The greatest part of my spiritual evolution has been the shift from thinking of God as a man/figure to where I am today.

B. The Chickenman

    "I was on the road to Austin
     Met a man on the highway
     He sold me junk and conversation
     He was wise and dirty from the weather

     I said "Darkness into darkness
     All the carnage of my journeys
     Makes it harder to be living"
     He said, "It's a long road to be forgiven."
                   ---- "Chickenman" by The Indigo Girls

When I was in college my friend Allison and I decided to take a road trip to Texas one weekend.  She wanted to go to College Station and I was headed to Austin.  The problem we immediately ran in to was: neither of us had a car.  Hmmmmm.  How does one take a road trip without a vehicle?  Well, one launches in to "Operation Bribe Your Roommate (Who Has A Car)."

My roommate, Aimee, did indeed have a car that we lovingly deemed "Bertha."  She was a maroon Oldsmobile with matching maroon velour bench seats, no A/C or heat and no radio.  But, as long as there was gas in the tank ol' Bertha ran -- and that's all that Allison & I cared about.  We headed out on a Friday afternoon with our packed bags, a couple of blankets and a boom box with a lot of mix tapes & extra batteries.

We drove well in to the night.  I don't remember if we had a map.  Surely we did, though, since the term cell phone with GPS was definitely not in our vernacular.  Some time after midnight we pulled up to a small gas station on a dark highway in nowhere, Texas.  We needed gas (and snacks, I'm sure).  What we did not need was the smoke that came bellowing out from beneath Bertha's hood.

And then he appeared.  A skinny, dirty dark-skinned man who seemed to emerge out of the darkness.  I'm sure I'm exaggerating a bit, but I was so panicked at this point that I don't remember many of the details about his arrival.  That's because he was a strange man who appeared out of nowhere, but was, surprisingly, not looking to kill us but, rather, help us with our car troubles.  Without ever speaking a word.

He grunted and pointed at an empty water jug (gallon), which we quickly filled with water from an outside faucet.  He then, poured it somewhere in Bertha's innards and the smoke stopped pouring out from the engine.  He touched and rattled and shook a few other knobs or switches (or whatever the hell else is under the hood of an old Oldsmobile) and then simply shut the hood and walked away.  He never gave advice.  He never told us what he did.  He never asked for money or food or beer or even thanks.  He just walked away.  And, we drove away and safely made it to College Station, TX, later that night.  And then home to Hattiesburg on Sunday.  Without any other issues with Bertha.

That skinny, dirty dark-skinned man didn't have to do what he did.  But he did.

That's what God looks like

C. A Marathon Runner

I was at mile 17 of the San Diego "Rock-n-Roll" Marathon, making record time (for me), when my right knee locked up and decided it didn't want to bend anymore.  Even slow, amateur runners like me (who look more like they're walking/falling/collapsing than actually running) need their knees to work to be able to check "Run A Marathon" off their bucket list.

I was crying.  Of course I was.  It didn't seem likely that I'd beat the time that I had set as my goal.  And I had just been smoked by a man running the blasted race BACKWARDS.  Yes, you read that correctly -- he ran the entire 26.2 miles backwards.  With nothing but a small mirror (it looked like a dentist's mirror to me) pinned to his sweat band on his head so he could see who he was passing.   As he ran backwards.

And then he appeared.  A fit, not-at-all-exhausted, cheerful runner who seemed to emerge from the crowd.  He jogged up to me and asked if I was having trouble.  DUH.  Don't you see me limping & crying like a big baby?  I was so mad and sad and disappointed that I didn't realize I really was in need of a little company and some cheering up.  I guess misery really does love company, huh?

Anyway, he asked if I would mind if he stopped and walked with me a while.  That "while" turned in to 2 miles.  I don't remember what all we discussed, but I know we talked non-stop.  I know he made me forget about crying.  And, I'm pretty sure somewhere in those 2 miles he was able to make me laugh again, too.

After 2 miles of walking I finally felt brave (or numb) enough to try running again.  And, remarkably, after just that.much.time of taking a break I felt so much better and the knee worked again.  Hallelujah!  Once I got in to stride and was feeling like I was back to a good, comfortable pace I turned my head to see where he was - and he wasn't!  He was gone.  Just like that.  I searched the crowd in front & in back of me and never could locate him.  I walked around at the finish line looking for him and never found him.  We never exchanged names (which didn't register with me until afterwards when I told this story to my friends who also ran the marathon) so I couldn't even just wander aimlessly yelling his name hoping he'd hear me and come running again.  I never got to tell him thanks.  He helped me check off a giant achievement on my life's bucket list.

That fit, not-at-all-exhausted, cheerful marathon runner didn't have to do what he did.  But he did.

That's what God looks like

D. A Church

Around the time that I came out I stopped going to (the Catholic) church.  I knew the Catholics wouldn't have me (unconditionally) and, quite frankly, I didn't really want them anymore either.  And any other denomination was so foreign and scary to me that I didn't have the guts or wherewithal to even go exploring.  So I kept my religion to myself.  And my relationship with my God remained as it had most of my life - between me and God in the quiet minutes & hours of my days.

When Sarah & I decided that we wanted to have children one of the topics I added to our "Things to Talk About Before They're Here" list was church.  I knew that I wanted to bring our children up within a church home.  Even though the Catholics guilted me in to a lot of stuff, at least I always knew that there was something bigger & better that I was honoring.  Some good, loving force (if you will) leading me down the right moral path.  I knew I wanted my kids to know God.

Before I knew it, we had 3 boys.  And we were moving back home to Hattiesburg.  As soon as we unpacked our bags here & began asking friends about their church recommendation, the resounding reply was that we absolutely HAD to go to Trinity Episcopal Church on Broadway Dr. in downtown Hattiesburg.  "Oh, really?" was my response to every single person who made the suggestion.  Trinity just happens to be THE exact place that Sarah & I met for the very first time.  Ever.  The first time my eyes ever met hers were in the aisle of Trinity (as we rehearsed Katie & Charlie's nuptials).  So, of course, we went.

The first few times I attended church at Trinity, I cried.  Silently & to myself, of course, but I cried nonetheless.  It was a combination of things that moved me to tears.  First, it is the people of Trinity.  Gathering beforehand & sticking around afterwards is the highlight of my Sunday.  They welcome you (and really, anyone who stops in) so warmly & genuinely.  I hate to use such a simple description, but honestly it's like a family.  Second, there's Marian.  She's the priest.  And, she's one cool chick.  I can't be in her presence without giving her a hug.  She epitomizes peace and calm and zen (everything that I am not) and makes me want to listen to a sermon.  And learn from it.  And grow from it.  And be a better person because of it.

A church can easily just be a building with four walls, some stained glass windows and statues.  Trinity is much, much more than that.  I feel so blessed to be a part of its family.

So, back to me crying the first few times I attended.  When you want so desperately to have a spiritual connection and a place where it's quiet and serene - a place to go when you need to just be - when you find it and it feels so right, it's very powerful.  Couple that with a feeling of overwhelming gratitude for the gifts in your life and, finally, having a place to go say THANK YOU - you can't help but cry.  Or at least I couldn't.

That's what God looks like

E.  My kids

Seriously, my 3 perfect boys are not only one more example (to me) of what God looks like, but they are also proof that God has a sense of humor.  It's no secret that Sarah & I are women who love women.  Yet we live in a home where the penises outnumber the vaginas.  God is cracking up laughing right this minute.

That's what God looks like

F.  Thanksgiving

While we were living in Atlanta, Sarah & I spent most of our Thanksgiving holidays with a close-knit group of friends.  The traditional dinner was held at one couple's home every year and the only "rule" was to bring a dish.  We were allowed to invite anyone additional that we'd like to have join us and every year the group grew.  We were all (mostly) transplants to the Atlanta area, so we deemed each other the family we chose and, oh my, what a blessing they were.

I remember the very first year we attended the legendary Thanksgiving Dinner.  As the time to start fixing plates approached, I remember being told to grab a drink and come to the front yard.  I could have never guessed - or prepared myself - for what was about to happen.  Everyone gathered out front (and by everyone, I mean 60 - 70 people, at least) and stood together in a circle.  Our hostesses began thanking everyone for coming & immediately explained (for the newcomers) that the reason we were in a circle was because it was tradition, before eating, to take time and give thanks.  For close to an hour, we went around that circle and everyone got a chance to say out loud what they were thankful for that year.  You cannot imagine the magnitude of that much gratitude.  Folks cried and laughed and hugged and even the shyest of the group spoke up.  We heard about health scares, family stress, breakups, commitments, births, deaths. It's unbelievably fulfilling & healing to be able to say that kind of stuff out loud and even more powerful & moving to be a part of it.  I had chill bumps covering my whole body throughout the entire hour of our gratitude circle.  It immediately became my favorite part of our Thanksgiving tradition.

That's what God looks like.

G. Walkers

Bald women/Women in wigs/Women wearing hats/Crying women/Women laughing/Women hugging/Women holding hands/Women in wheelchairs/Women limping/Weak women/Strong women/Young women/Old women/Women smiling/Women clapping/Women singing/Women dancing/Women praying/Mothers/Grandmothers/Sisters/Daughters/Friends/Wives/Partners/Survivors/Patients/Hope/Faith/Love

Women Walking

60 miles in 3 Days

Because Everyone Deserves a Lifetime

That, my friends, is what God looks like.

So, what I've attempted to accomplish here (and have probably failed miserably) is to explain that, at this point in my life, my faith - my steadfast knowledge that there is indeed a God - comes from the recognition of the many gifts I have been given in this life.  They've presented themselves as helpful hands, grateful friends, precious children and a worthy cause.  There are SO many things, every single day, in this life to stop and appreciate.  When you do, you will see what God looks like.  I promise.

P.S. I have discovered yet one more brother from another mother.  He has a great blog that I follow & this particular post spoke to me as I was writing mine about the Big Man Upstairs.  Check out this guy and tell me if you don't agree that even the Bible says that God looks like many different things....