I want you to be standing on the side of love and the pan flute
The Apocalypse is totes upon us, so you better be good for goodness sake. And clean your computer cache, heaven’s IT department will prolly be checking for filth.
Are you ready? We have officially. Joined. A church.
Everyone who knows me in real life just started cleaning their computer caches, because they now know that that first paragraph must be true. I’m sure that even after my post on black CHURCH and gold teeth and Brother Franklin, they figured this church thing would wear off like my Extreme Couponing phase.
I saved $146 (50% of bill) at Randall’s, bitches. That shit works.
Anyhow, most of my friends figured that’s the only kind of saving I was interested in getting these days. But no. We are joining. A. Church.
Do you want to know more about famous UUs? Do you want to hear ‘Let It Be’ on the pan flute WITH a rocking guitar solo? You know you do. Click here.
Anyhow, you are going to grow up as a Unitarian Universalist. Every time I think about it, I believe that I have done something that future you will thank me for.
Unlike the time I made you rock wool Hammer pants. I’m not sure you’re going to thank me for that decision. But I want you to be fashion forward, dang snab it.
But I’m a bit more positive about this religion thing. And I say that EVEN IF YOU DON’T CHOOSE THIS RELIGION FOREVER.
By the way, that is one of those things that I say on the blog but I’m really not sure how I will feel if you poo-poo my religion and become, say, a Jehovah’s Witness.
Sorry, Jehovah’s Witnesses. It’s just that I know that your religion won’t be something that I can share with my son. Nothing personal.
Aside from the fact that when Prince did a whole bunch of Jehovah’s Witnessing and wasn’t nasty anymore, I didn’t like his music as much. YOU STOLE PRINCE’S DIRTY MIND! And that, my friends, is unforgivable.
Pamay? If I get cornered by a bunch of Jehovah’s Witnesses in the Safeway, can you talk them out of dunking me into the lobster tank? Thanks in advance.
So here’s the mission of the church:
We gather in community to nourish souls, transform lives, and do justice.
I have to work on my community joining, much like I said in this post.
So when I walk in, I say to myself, “These are my people. These are my people. These are my people.” Because I want them to be. And for that to happen, I have to shake my shyness.
When I feel shy, I get quiet. When I get quiet, I don’t smile. When I don’t smile, I just kind of stare. And just kinda staring plus red lipstick equals aloof. In other words, it makes people think I hate them and that I’m just killing time before I go tell my real friends what a bunch of losers I was just hanging around.
And that’s usually not it at all. I’m usually trying to keep my muffin top neatly tucked in my skinny jeans so they don’t tell their friends about that bitchy slut in tiny pants they met today.
Because I want to be a part of a community, and not just my job community or my industry community. Because on the wrong day? I want to take a shovel and beat some members of THAT pompous community into a puddle of snot.
You see that? Mommy needs Jesus. Or somebody.
And that’s another thing - being Unitarian Universalist means you can seek comfort in Jesus if you want. Or the Buddha. Or … whoever the Pagans like. Sarah McLachlan? Yes. That is who Pagans like.
And I like that.
Because we believe that everyone can be right. That religion is not past tense–a history lesson that we must adhere to. It is a journey. LAWD HAVE MERCY, WE MIGHT NOT KNOW EVERYTHING JUST YET. And we may never know. And I’m okay with not knowing.
For the record, religion is the one area where your mom is willing to admit that I might not quite know everything there is to know. EVERYTHING ELSE? Call me Hawking.
And the other part of UU is simple. While we figure it all out, here on Earth? Don’t be assholes to each other. And I was like, I’m pretty nice to my friends and family and occasionally strangers and people who are nice to me first.
Then I realized that Reverend Meg wants me to apply all this nice-y nice shit at work, too. EVEN WHEN I’M REACHING FOR MY SHOVEL.
Son, I totally need Jesus/Buddha/Sarah McLachlan.
The short of it is, I think your religion has to be something that inches you toward being a better person. Every Sunday I get a few more tools that help me be the person I’m going to be in my memoirs. A nicer person. A more giving person. A less judge-y person. A person that can be open to possibilities. A more patient person.
This morning you demanded that I wear my new protestin’ t-shirt . Now my protestin’ t-shirt isn’t exactly the kind of super deep V-neck, combed and washed cotton with an artistic rip that I’m usually rocking. I was planning to only wear it to, you know, protests. But I put it on anyway. And you said that you want one too.
I’m not gonna take that as a sign. I’m no dummy. I know that you like it because yellow is your favorite color … but still.
Over the years, I discovered gardening is a team sport. It is my garden, but I receive guidance and inspiration from a multitude of people. I ask really stupid questions. I fret. I make mistakes. A million plant nurseries, friends (Melody!), bloggers and professionals all over Austin have picked me up and put me on the right path.
My mom says that my job as a parent is to plant the seeds of a man. Now you, Ami-D, are my favorite little garden. I think that this church and their members and their message are all going to be a huge part of my Ami gardening team.
So after all my eyerolling and crazed rants against organized religion, here we are. Unitarian Universalists.
Looks like we’re both doing a bit of growing.