Lunch Lady Land

I thought I should probably update my Blog because I’ve been receiving a lot of “DON’T JUMP!” messages from concerned readers. Moving home has been a tough transition, but things are getting better. I’m starting to feel a little less crazed. I’m still dealing with feelings of isolation and homesickness for my own space and friends in L.A., but for the first time in years, I am sleeping like crazy and having dreams again. Nothing tops that punch-drunk feeling of REM sleep.

I started embracing this whole unemployment period of my life by enjoying the things I don’t usually have time to do. I’ve been playing Dolly Parton songs on the guitar. I’ve been having lunch with people. I’ve been lying by the pool and reading books. Life is starting to relax a little. I don’t feel near as depressed as I did at first, and despite the fact that I don’t really have friends in Memphis anymore (I have one, anyway), I am feeling a little less lonely.

I had lunch with a former professor a few days ago, and it felt good to feel understood and it felt good to laugh with somebody who “gets it.” It was like medicine for my soul. Nothing is better than connecting with someone who understands you when you feel like you don’t even have anyone in your life to call if you run out of gas.

Yesterday, I volunteered with some people from my parents’ church to feed the homeless at the Memphis Union Mission. I used to volunteer at the Union Rescue Mission in L.A., and I loved it. Memphis Mission had a different feel altogether. Some old ladies from my parents’ church tried to talk me into being a Christian counselor. That’s the weird thing about Memphis. Everyone tries to pin you into a religious corner. I remember I grew up with some kids whose dads were ministers, and they were absolutely appalled and began overtly judging me when they found out that my dad was a pilot and had never gone to seminary. Ha. What a bizarre mindset. I never got it. Not even when I was a third grade kid. That never made any sense to me, and thank God it still doesn’t.

Anyway, these old kooks kept telling me that I should join the staff of counselors at a mega-church cult whose name and location I will not disclose, or that I should go to seminary. Isn’t it weird how some people put a fix-all on your life with a religious answer like “church” or “seminary” or “Bible fellowship” or “small group,” and they don’t know what your background or experience or passion or life is all about? I find this really, really weird. I forgot that I grew up in the thick of all of this when I lived in L.A. How quickly I have been reminded.

I found myself shutting off pretty quickly. I found myself remembering why I found most Bible-belters ignorant and why when people have asked me my “religion,” I’ve said, more than once, that I am a “recovering Baptist.” But then something happened.

We started serving people who actually needed help.

Maybe I should tell you about my abhorrence for Mayonnaise before I do anything else. My sister and I HATE--- LOATHE Mayonnaise more than anything in this entire world. If I even SMELL it, I want to puke. So guess what my job was last night.

My job was to be the coleslaw lady.

We all know what the base of slaw is.

Effing Mayonnaise.

So. I had to dump a big heaping spoonful of Mayonnaisey slaw on everybody’s BBQ plate.

The thing is, my focus wasn’t on the smell of the slaw. I didn’t notice. I didn’t notice because these guys really did need the help. You start looking at all of those teardrop tattoos and missing teeth and scars and eyes full of brokenness, and mayo ain’t nothin.

Every man that walked by and had one of my magical scoops of slaw said “Thank you” and really MEANT it. Most people don’t mean it when they say “thank you.” They say it because it’s a formality, not because they really feel the gratitude. These guys felt it.

So all of this got me to start thinking about some things.

I’ve been grappling with separating what I think about faith and God from the cult I grew up in. In my attempt to separate my faith from cultural religious beliefs, I started thinking about how if we don’t help meet other peoples’ needs, maybe those needs won’t get met. I mean, there were enough people down there helping out last night to serve all those guys, but I went through three huge pans of coleslaw to feed everyone, and I probably still could have given those guys seconds. I mean, what if people actually started helping other people, and got their butts off of church pews and out of programs and classes and organized religious activities and started to HELP people? I am not being critical of the programs and all of that, I’m just saying, I don’t know if Jesus did Awana and Bible Drill and went to church camp and played electric guitar in the church “worship” band, but I do know that he washed his disciples’ feet, and he healed the blind, and he was there for Mary and Martha when Lazarus was dead.

Then I started thinking about all of the times that God has met my needs through other people. And here’s what I started to think about.

Two years ago, I was all geared up to move to L.A. The problem was that my car had about 160,000 miles on it and sort of ran like crap. So I started to pray. I thought: if God was opening the door for me to move away, he needed to provide a way to get there. So I reminded Him of that. I prayed all the time, “God, I need a new car. I only have five bucks to my name. If you want me to go to L.A., you’ve got to do something about this.”

So one day, a couple of weeks before I moved, my dad said he wanted to talk to me. He told me that he was going to let me take his SUV out to school until I was finished. I cried my face off. God did that.

I think that God uses people even if they don’t believe in God or even if they aren’t Christians and even if we have different beliefs and values and views. I think that God uses everybody to get things done.

For instance, when my purse got stolen at work, I had to take two days off to get a new license, to get new keys made, to replace everything. Just going to the DMV took me a million hours. That job didn’t give me sick days or vacation time or anything. When I wasn’t there, I wasn’t paid, no matter what. So not only had I figured my budget for the month including those two days, but I had also figured out my budget to get my boyfriend a birthday present, and then, my budget was completely shot, and I was up a creek.

Taking those two days off and the cost of everything in my purse cost me about $800. Who has an extra $800 lying around? Well. Probably rich people. But I sure didn’t/don’t.

So I prayed about it. All the way down to my stolen iPod and Coach wallet. I prayed that God would just deal with it, because I couldn’t, and I was so worn out and felt like I was a pair of shoes that had been thrown in the washing machine and I just didn’t belong in L.A. anymore and I was so exhausted and over it.

My boss called me over the weekend when I was at the gym and said she was writing me a check for $1,000 on Monday to cover the cost of everything. I cried my face off again. This covered the cost of the lost days at work and everything that was stolen in my purse and the cost of extra keys and changed locks and a new license and everything. My boss wasn’t a Christian or a “God-fearing” person or someone that I’d ever ask about how to live a good, moral life, but God used her to meet my needs.

That extra $200 gave me enough money to buy an iPod, but I used my iPod money to buy my boyfriend’s birthday gift. And guess what. Before I left, my friend gave me a going-away iPod. God used my friend to meet my needs.

I’ve just started to think, though. What if we stopped worrying about who was Baptist or Presbyterian or Catholic or whatever, and we just helped other people out? You never know how you’re touching somebody else’s life. Maybe you can do it by being a coleslaw lady.