All three kids are at school.
I have an hour and a half to sit in a quiet house and write to you. There are other things I might be doing instead. My house is a mess. There is clutter everywhere and unfinished paperwork and grocery shopping and well, you know. I’m ignoring it. That stuff will get done, eventually. But if I don’t sit down and focus, what I had to say today will be gone forever.
A little story for you.
Last week I woke up confused and sad and sick.
I have Lyme disease and sometimes it leaves me alone and I’m fine and other times it just clobbers me. I’m on forty two million pills each week (312 to be exact), so sometimes I can’t tell if it’s the pills or the disease that’s making me feel sick.
Ahh . . . the good old days, when taking drugs was such great fun. Not so much anymore. I love Jesus, but sometimes I believe in Karma a little, too.
Here are my pills.
Lots of those are supplements that are supposed to boost my immune system and help me fight the Lyme . . . I take things like BEE POLLEN and KELP and I eat things like Spirulina Cashew bars for lunch and kale smoothies for breakfast. I exercise several times a week and then sit in the sauna till I can’t take it anymore and then I scrub my skin with loofahs afterwards. All of this is supposed to release Lymie toxins from my skin. It’s all sort of insane. I have got to be the healthiest chronically unhealthy girl on Earth. Jesus, Spirulina?? These sorts of words are second nature to me now . . . a year ago Baked Cheetos were my healthiest choice. Life and Lyme are strange.
Anyway, this one particular day last week, I woke up feeling Lymie and stressed and confused about the adoption. We still have hope, there is hope, and this hope keeps us on edge. But still….nothing keeps happening. Nothing, nothing, and then additionally a little more of nothing for good measure. And so we hold out hope with no real reason to, other than our belief that hope is good. And so I was feeling both overwhelmed and underwhelmed by life.
I walked down the stairs to start the laundry and saw this on my doorstep. I have glass doors, so this gal was peering into my foyer, waiting to be noticed.
Just sitting there.
And I squeezed my eyes shut and then opened them again to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating.
Amma ran up behind me and yelled “WHAT ON THE HECK?” That’s her new thing.
I have tried to explain what Beyonce means to me to several people and I can’t seem get it out right. I’ll try again.
Last week at church my minister was serving communion and he held up the bread and explained to us that communion is a sacrament. He said that a sacrament is something visible, that points to something invisible. A sacrament is an earthly reality we create to point to a spiritual reality. It’s something we create, a symbol, that we can look at and touch to help us remember what we believe. Like a wedding ring. Because things we believe are usually invisible, making them trickier to keep believing in. We need to use our senses to help us keep believing. Humans need to see things, to touch things, to understand ideas.
And so that’s when I realized . . . Beyonce is a sacrament.
Stay with me here.
My friend Kristi, who I only met through Momastery, is deeply touched by my writing and yours. This community has gotten to her. She has always believed, deep down, that Love Wins, and that women should take care of each other, and that courage and kindness are what matter . . . but she’s never seen it proven right in front of her like she has here. She is inspired by us and our commitment to goodness and laughter. We help her believe, so she wanted to say thank you in a big way.
And one day she was driving down an old country road and she saw this rooster just sitting there. And she just knew. So she stopped her car and she said, Hey, how much for this chicken? This five foot, jagged edged, one eyed, rainbow rooster? And the lady told her, and she paid the lady. A lot, I think. Then she went to her house and made one of her amazing signs. And she turned the sign into a necklace and drove Beyonce and the sign to my house. Then she pulled Beyonce out of her truck by herself, risking Tetanus and all sorts of other diseases (because Beyonce will CUT YOU!) and she lugged her to my porch. And then she knocked, hid in the bushes and waited.
Kristi is a busy woman. She doesn’t really have time for a wild rooster chase. But it turns out she did have time, actually.
So now, every time I look at Beyonce . . . I think of how people will do crazy things for love. And how even though life is hard and there seems to be lots of nonsensical pain . . . there’s also plenty of nonsensical joy. She also reminds me to follow my God voice…because the God voice is what led me to start this blog . . . and good things have come of it. She reminds me that God uses my writing to move people and to help them laugh and forget some of the urgent things in their lives long enough to remember the important things. Like making each other smile.
I love Beyonce. She makes me smile.
Even so, she is a huge rainbow metal chicken. And we live in a fancy neighborhood in which yard art is not encouraged. So everyday Craig and I wait for our letter from the HOA suggesting that we “KINDLY REMOVE THE METAL ROOSTER FROM THE PORCH.”
But don’t worry. I’ve already prepared my defense. I will argue that Beyonce is an expression of my religious freedom. She is a SACRAMENT. She is a visible reminder of something invisible…of love, hope, joy, friendship. Removing her would be AGAINST my RELIGION. Beyonce and I’ll see ya at the Supreme Court, HOA.
For fun, I went through my house to show you the other sacraments I keep around, to remember what I believe.
I believe these three things.
I believe I have four children.
I believe my fourth is a baby boy. And that he’s in Africa.
I believe in Jesus. Crazy about the guy. Totally worship him.
I believe in Sisterhood. All kinds.
It’s a monkee painted on a rock. My mama made it for me last month. I rub it every time I get scared about the adoption or about my Lyme. So, all day. It says to me, your mom believes in you and loves you. Even when you do these crazy things, she believes in you. Even when she doesn’t understand what you’re doing, she believes that you do.
I love you guys. I’ll make you a Monkee rock if you need a reminder that you’re loved. I’m going to ask my mom to teach me.
My time’s up.
Oh, one more thing. Great news on the VMAs Sunday nite.
Beyonce, With Child.
Author of the New York Times Bestselling Memoir CARRY ON, WARRIOR
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