Bandito
I stood out in the back yard this morning just before dawn, looking up at the gourd birdhouses and listening to the gradual crescendo of birdsong as the eastern sky brightened by degrees. I thought back to yesterday, a singularly grueling day, wasting my finite hours in the company of people with whom I have nothing in common, hours in which I was forced to work with my alleged “supervisor,” a younger woman so vapid, so mean-spirited, so coarse, so comprehensively ugly that I am tempted to think I live and breathe under God’s curse.
But such thoughts make me recoil with that familiar jerking reflex action. You’re not supposed to think such things, SK. You’re sinning. You’re making God angry. You might end up in hell. Thus the inner voices.
And I have all sorts of somewhat clever retorts for those inner voices. Some of the retorts, oh, practiced and polished like a punching technique, give me some emotional relief. But they always let me down, the retorts. They always return, the reflex actions.
I am in my spiritual adolescence. I know this for true.
I have stretched past the time when I relied on God naturally, seeing Him as my protector and parent. Where He was once the answer and the refuge, now He is an embarrassment and a disappointment. He never does what I want Him to do nor what I expect Him to do. Worse, He never does what I was told He would do. I have been deluded by the words of men who did not love me. But I do not blame them, because these verbose men are dead and dissolved. I blame the One Who made them, gave them a voice, and allowed them to lie to me and to so many others.
Because I see God as having allowed me to be born into such a time and place and situation, I resent Him.
I am not at ease with Him.
But current events have allowed me to make a stealthy exit from his house. It’s as if a friend swung to the curb outside my house, honked the horn softly, and opened the passenger door while I climbed out the window, shimmied down the downspout, and sprinted across the lawn and vaulted inside. I’ve stretched my spiritual neck around and watched my father’s house grow small as the car into which I’m strapped is speeding away, speeding away, bearing me away.
Households get fractured, even the household of faith. Sometimes they get repaired. I watch and wait. I have neither the power nor the ability nor the inclination to try and initiate such a repair myself. I watch and wait. Do all adolescents eventually grow up? I watch and wait.
***
When we were back home in Texas a few months ago, we stopped at a legendary and massive convenience store. While we were browsing and trying to decide between the brisket & egg burritos and the bacon & egg tacos (with Texas pecan coffee, natch), we noticed a group of men swaggering through the store, magnificent in their lack of kempt. They were members of the Banditos, a notoriously violent one-percenter outlaw motorcycle gang. Interesting to note that none of them were under six feet tall — I wonder if their membership committee has a height standard? Each of them wore sleeveless jackets with the colors and patches, along with the steel-toed boots and the lank hair. I wanted to just watch them for a while, but their collective eyes were restless and I knew they would notice me watching them. I’ve known a couple of one-percenter bikers in my past, and I’m well aware that they are a completely different breed than the suburban types who affect Harley-Davidsons and leathers on the weekends in their “riding clubs.” No, the Banditos, like the other genuine MC gangs, are a murderous, remorseless lot. Drawing their ire would have been a very bad mistake. So I flickered my eyes at them, storing up their look and their gestures, noting their purchases, watching the reactions they drew from other patrons. And I resisted the fleeting urge to launch into the old commercial jingle, “Aye, yie, yie-yie….I am the Frito Bandito….”
We have our own bandito, it seems. Over the past week or so, Jinx’s semi-regular plunder from the surrounding fields has taken on a more human tinge. His hauling of mastodon bones into the yard has become predictable, as has his leisurely gnawing on them in the shade of the trees on hot afternoons. Last week, a neighbor alerted folks in the area that a red boot had mysteriously appeared in her driveway and inviting the owner to come and get it. She noted that she suspected “a neighborhood dog” of gifting her with it. Jinx grinned when I shared this news with him.
And now a series of articles of clothing have begun to appear in our front yard, including a running shoe, a shirt, and a scarf. The most recent and striking of these are a worn but still serviceable cowboy boot, and a bright red brassiere. Jinx seems very pleased with his acquisitions. Naturally, I have confiscated his booty, partly because I don’t want him swallowing something dangerous like an underwire, but also because I now live in dread of someone coming down our driveway and bellowing, “Hey! That’s my prom dress! Those are my hockey skates!”
I have no desire to be that man whose dog is despised for its mischief, and am trying to settle on a way of curbing Jinx’s prowling. Until I find such a way, all I can do is hope that no one shoots my dog, and that he brings me sufficient and appropriate items with which I can assemble a scarecrow. One likes to be prepared for the coming fall.
~ S.K. Orr
7 Comments
Brian
I have been thinking about that story since Mom told it to me. I thought that I might tell it at her funeral, or to someone that needed to hear it. I almost didn’t write it last night. I don’t want to come off “preachy” as I’m about two years out from a similar feeling of desolation that you have been in lately. Let’s face it, there are more bumpy roads ahead for us all and I haven’t “arrived” in some great holy state yet.
My spiritual life has been kind of dry lately. I have prayed a Morning Offering daily, a few weekly Rosaries and have tried to just beg for mercy for my family , friends, those who need prayers. I see my kids starting to drift into the current craziness. I get eye-rolls for my commentary on events. Like everyone, I’m worried.
We are at a rental house this week at the beach in NJ. Last night we were walking back from our nightly ice-cream jaunt. We passed a Catholic Church and as I crossed myself (I’m the only one who does this in my family unfortunatly) I noticed, through the front door glass, the sanctuary lamp burning in the dark. I told my 18 and 19 year olds that in every Catholic Church there is a sanctuary lamp and it reminds us that Jesus is in the Tabernacle. I was just happy that they stopped to look in and were interested at this fact. I prayed something like: “I know you’re in there, help us”.
Well, it looks like He did help us last night. Your kind comments were something that I will cherish. My attempts to inspire on the local level are falling flat, I’m afraid. That comment is not the kind of thing I do normally…..I almost deleted it.
I’m touched by your response and certainly consider you a friend. I know this place that you’re in. I “get” the desperation that you describe. This blog is so unique and you share some real personal thoughts (the good, the bad, and the ugly). It inspires the same from me I guess. Thank you and your kind wife for the prayers. Be sure that I will continue my prayers for you and yours as well.
Carol, thank you. You, my friend, just made the prayer list as well!
Brian
This is a story that strengthened my faith. I have never written about it before: My mother and father were daily communicants. My dad volunteered at a homeless shelter when we were kids. He slept there at night. My mother is still alive and is 94. She is an Irish immigrant, the oldest of 10 and has 3 sisters who became Nuns. My parents were faithful Catholics and super-duper, down-to-earth types……no nonsense, no b.s., prayerful….trustworthy.
Dad’s friend from work called him one day and asked if my mom would call his wife. She was diagnosed with terminal cancer and had a few months left. She was struggling with her faith. She was angry with God. She had just became a grandparent and her husband had just retired and all of their plans were now ruined.
Mom began calling this woman every week. My mother has great, childlike faith. She has also read just about every Catholic classic book on the saints and spirituality. My mom still hasn’t talked my brother out of his atheism and is not a great apologist but she does have a quality that can’t be named….a spark of God’s love maybe.
Anyway the last time that my mom talked to this woman on the phone, the woman said: I believe, I believe, I believe.
My mom did a reading at the funeral. During the reading she had an experience that she described as “a sword of fire” coming from God’s word right into her heart. When I asked her to describe this further she said that God let her know in an instant that he loved her passionately , that he had been with her intimately for her whole life, through every suffering and joy.
She got back to her seat in church and was just about overcome with this feeling of love. When the funeral ended she told my dad that she would meet him out front in a few minutes. She sat in the pew in this state until she saw two older women admiring the flower arrangements on the alter. In her Irish accent she said to me: “Brian, I was bursting. I HAD to tell those two women what had happened to me”. So that’s what she did.
It turned out that those two women were volunteers at the hospital where mom’s friend died. They came to her room daily and read the Bible to her. They were flabbergasted and expressed that they needed to hear this.
This happened close to 30 years ago. Mom has lost her fastball these days. She’s a bit forgetful. She repeats herself. Every so often she says: “Brian, you know God loves you, don’t you? I know he loves me, He let me know one time”.
Mom has only told this story to me and my dad ( though she tells EVERYONE that God loves them). She guards it and is a bit jealous of it. I have asked my non-atheist brother and 2 sisters if she had ever discussed this with them and I guess she only trusted me with it. (the atheist would mock her and I’m convinced that my mom lives to suffer for his conversion).
My mom has had a hard life, she left home alone at 19, had many operations, a child that died, a husband that suffered slowly and died of lung cancer. She’s in constant pain, but she still has that spark.
You have no reason to believe me but, you can take that story to the bank. God loves you infinitely more than you love Jinx.
The mystery for me is: why the heck does he also love that snarky “supervisor” of yours? ; )
admin
Brian, your comment hit me with full force this morning after I returned from a walk with Jinx.
The beautiful story of your mother’s faith and her mystical (my term) experience was overpowering, and I’m certain that anyone else who reads it here will be similarly affected. You’ve helped remind me of several important things, and I will be pondering them throughout the day.
And I disagree with you, my brother…I think I have every reason to believe you. And I do. Your comment did not come for no reason, nor was it a “coincidence.” It arrived at the hour I needed to read it. And I thank you for it. I thank you for it.
Mrs. Orr was just as deeply moved by your story as I was, and we have been sitting here talking about it, and about my situation at work. I have in recent days shimmered with rage and hatred for the woman I mentioned, launching salvo after salvo of “Why? Why?” towards heaven, and then raging at the silence. But a few things in the past two days have converged — including your comment — which have helped me to walk around to the other side of my situation and look at things in a new light. I do feel better, and I do hope I can break away from the True Confessions tone that my writing has taken on.
Thank you again, Brian, for your words, for your friendship, and for taking the time to extend these things to me. How can I ever say that we are anything other than friends?
admin
Also, Brian, I don’t think I adequately expressed the degree to which you honored me by writing something here that you’ve never written of before, something so personal and powerful, and all for the encouragement of a man you’ve never met in person. I am grateful and humbled. My wife and I pray for you regularly; we will begin praying for your dear mother as well.
Carol
To Brian:
I would just like to add my gratefulness to you for your mother’s story…
…at times, I struggle terribly to hold onto my Faith, so reading of such experiences as your mother’s is a blessing, which I can keep as a touchstone memory for times when I am assailed by Doubt..
I’m so sorry that your mom is suffering illness and pain – I will add her to my prayers as well.
And S.K.,
I don’t think you need worry about the “True Confessions”/”venting” thing…
…How else could we “Bear one another’s burdens in love.”, unless we shared them?
;^)
Carol
S.K.,
First, I’m glad you’re writing again!
Second, I can totally relate to having ‘relationship issues’ with God…I have struggled with the same types of difficulties –
– to the point that I even tried becoming an atheist (it didn’t work out)…
But one thing I’ve learned, applies particularly to your 2nd paragraph above:
God does not get angry at you for having honest reactions to unpleasant people, nor are the resultant negative thoughts “sinning”!!!
One of the most important things I learned in Therapy (for depression) is that you have a right to your feelings –
– not necessarily to indulging in outward or aggressive display of them – but your feelings always deserve to be inwardly validated…
…And I believe that not only does God understand this, but that He wants us to trust Him to be understanding of even our ugliest truths.
I have had experiences leading to such extreme anger at God as to have me screaming and raging at Him two hours or more…
and when it’s over – no sense of anger on His part at all, just quiet, caring acceptance from Him, and deep, calm relief within myself.
I would like to recommend a book by my absolute favorite Christian author, Philip Yancey who writes incredible books dealing with Faith ‘difficulties’ and doubt –
“Disappointment With God”…here’s a link:
https://www.amazon.com/Disappointment-God-Three-Questions-Aloud/dp/031021436X
Another of his that really helped me gain a new perspective on Faith in regard to suffering –
“Where Is God When It Hurts”
I can’t recommend his works highly enough!!
Best wishes,
Carol
admin
Carol, I am so grateful for your comment here, and especially for your concern for me. The coarseness and meanness of the age in which we live makes me appreciate even more a tender soul like yourself who reaches out to others and offers a sip of cool water.
I am forever open to read things that have helped or touched other people, especially when recommended by a friend. I will follow up on the two books you recommended.
I write my blog posts in one sitting, as quick as I can type, in order to flash-freeze the moment inside me, the idea I want to convey or the issue I want to highlight. I never edit them unless I happen to see a red squiggle-line underneath a word, alerting me to a misspelling. Sometimes I re-read one of my posts after someone leaves a comment and I am horrified at some of what I’ve pushed out there for anyone to read. Some of the things I post when I am in a less-than-sunny mood have made me cringe in retrospect, coming across like some letter to Oprah or an adolescent’s Facebook rant. “Rant” is probably an appropriate term for some of my posts, or “venting.” But I resist the urge to delete or edit things once I click the “Publish” button.
All that to say that I am perhaps not quite as much of a neurotic basket-case as I sometimes come across (but then again, perhaps I am). But I am deeply moved that even one person resonates with what I have written and takes the time to offer a generous comment about my words and my situation. Thank you, Carol, for your kindness and your demonstrated friendship.