The Dance

Sometimes, I don’t get along with the co-author of this blog all that well. We argue, give each other the silent treatment, and land low blows, but then we usually find our way to uncomfortable compromises. It isn’t exactly quiet desperation, but close. We’re like the gruesome twosome in the couples counseling literature—together for the long haul, though there are days it isn’t pretty. Arguing with God is a thankless task and there is scant evidence it does much good, but what are the alternatives? Eat curses and enemies for breakfast with loaded guns across our laps? Slide blithely toward extinction? Give shallow thanks for our short-sighted blessings, imagined or real? Die alienated, resentful, or afraid? No.

For instance, this morning I say, “Hear my prayers, oh mighty and all-knowing God.” (I only start this way when I’m in a certain mood.) “I implore you to move most of earth’s population to other planets. Provide everyone with birth control, shelter, and nutritious food. Let the artists do art. Let the lovers love. Let the earth recover its incredible balance. Disable all weaponry. Learn an instrument and play for us every evening. Sing for us every morning, and at noon, dance. Amen.”

My co-author responds. “Hear my suggestions, oh puny human,” she says. “Feed the hungry. Provide shelter and comfort to one another. Limit your offspring. Visit those who are ill or imprisoned. Give cheerfully and pay your taxes willingly. Elect rulers with integrity and compassion. Stop relying on that which is nonrenewable. Stop using poisons and short-cuts. Stop using weapons. Stop acting like you own the place. You’re just passing through. Learn an instrument and play for us every evening. Sing for us every morning, and at noon, dance. Selah.”

Our longings are similar, but we disagree about who’s responsible. Many of us can’t even carry a tune. Who should take the lead?  

“Not me,” God says. “I’ve already given you all you need.”

“I don’t think so,” I say.

“Of course you’d say that,” God says, in a firm mother’s voice. “You’ve made a royal mess. Clean your room.”

“I would,” I claim, shamefaced. “But I don’t know which one’s mine.”

“Doesn’t matter,” God says. She hands me a dust cloth, a mop, a broom, knee pads, a toolkit, water bottles…

“Stop!” I say, “I already have all that stuff.”

God grabs a can of oven cleaner. “Then let’s get going,” she says. “I need time to practice. I’m combining tap with some exquisite break-dance moves for my next performance.”

This is a great motivator. I love watching God dance, her muscular body supple and yielding, her hair snapping like lightning. Sometimes, she invites the universe to be her partner, and spectacular forces shape themselves to her. Sometimes, she dances solo. Either way, it is magnificent. I gather rags and rubber gloves, and away we go. I’m not sure what, but something will be shiny clean by noon.

10 thoughts on “The Dance

  1. Brilliant Rita. I love this so much! It is a brilliant, shiny Missoula morning . I have much to be grateful for. You are in the mix! Sandy❤️❤️❤️💪🏾

    Sent from my iPhone

    >

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Wonderful 🐲 thank you

    On Sun, Aug 29, 2021 at 8:58 AM Short visits with an honest God wrote:

    > Rita Sommers-Flanagan posted: ” Sometimes, I don’t get along with the > co-author of this blog all that well. We argue, give each other the silent > treatment, and land low blows, but then we usually find our way to > uncomfortable compromises. It isn’t exactly quiet desperation, but clo” >

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Stunning and wonderful Rita. You’ve condensed my rant and rage this morning to two paragraphs in your conversation with your co-author. Incensed after reading people buying Ivermectin-bad news for the horses- for Covid ( I guess hydroxychoroquin didn’t work), and hearing Stephanie’s exhaustion in her role as a covid ICU nurse in Cour d’Alene, I find myself despondent. Her hospital is at its breaking point, she is fatigued, in 2 consecutive shift had 4 deaths including a 44 and 28 y/o, and has to face a gauntlet of non-vaxxers to and from work. While Faux News promotes this de-wormer, poison control centers are having 75% of their calls coming from overdose questions from the same horse pills, rather than a free, effective, safe and well tolerated vaccine. Our times are truly nuts. Thanks for your take on this madness. I do disagree with you on one point-that of sending the human population to other planets. Out of consideration to said planets, I ask you to hold on that prayer request.

    Liked by 1 person

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