Gate Open, Cow Out

The blister on the inside of my right thumb is almost healed. I got it raking moldy straw and disgusting debris into a small fire intended to renew an abused and neglected half-acre of land. This was some weeks ago. Healing takes time. There will be scar tissue. While in human form, we get bunged up, knocked down, damaged, and sometimes, miraculously (but temporarily) restored.

For instance, a raging cow caught my sister by surprise a few days ago and roughed her up. My sister is tough. She’s bruised and sore, but she’ll be fine. That cow, however, has got to go. Her maternal instincts were disproportionate to the situation, and she was willing to kill to protect her ailing calf from the help it needed. This genetic disposition is unhelpful in a herd cow. Likely, her next life will involve dog food.

On my mind this morning is my wayward friend, likely in jail again because of his addictions and bad taste in romantic partners. Given how we treat prisoners, especially right, there’s a decent chance he’s sick or dead. We aren’t in touch anymore.

Such is life. Sometimes, we make slight advances, sometimes not. Next time, I might wear gloves; my sister might carry a baseball bat and close the gate behind her. Next time, maybe humans won’t disproportionately punish their fellow beings for mistakes. Maybe common sense will replace blind, projective revenge. In the meantime, I have to dispose of the possessions my friend left behind.

“Oh, I’ll deal with them for you,” God says as he settles in for coffee.

“Really?” I say with genuine relief. I should know better.

“And I’ll shut the gate, remind you to wear gloves, sketch some plans for the new addition, fix some lunch, check the kefir, return those calls, and write a thousand words by nightfall.”

I roll my eyes and give God a cookie.

“I’ll sell that cow, plant the kale, and do something about the potholes. I’ll buy some goats to eat the weeds, dig up the dead apple tree, clean the garden shed…I’ll be so moving so fast it’ll be nearly impossible to see me.” God’s beaming and spewing cookie crumbs everywhere.

“Oh, I’ll see you, you goofball” I say. “You’re hard to miss.”

God’s grin widens. “It’s all so easy,” he says. “Just dress the part. I hate to mention this, darling, but you’re a tad underdressed these days.”

Ha! This from an unshaven God in prison orange. A God in old purple running shoes. A God in sheep’s clothing howling like a wolf, a whirling dust devil, fanning the fire…a cookie crumb God demanding I top off his coffee.

His eyes twinkle as he offers me a cloak the color of kindness. It smells like fresh linens. I drape it over my shoulders. I realize it could also be a shroud, but oddly, I’m okay with that.

PS: Along with a few other writers involved in the MT+NY Collaborative (http://www.mtnyccollaborative.org/locations ) I’ll be reading a couple God Blogs tomorrow at 5:00 Mountain Standard Time. Feel free to tune in. And message me right away if you have a favorite you’d like to hear aloud.