So, God? Can We Talk?

Still Me. In case you've accidentally stumbled back on this line. Because I'm pretty certain you took another call in the midst of last week's gender inequity rant inquiry.

Not to worry. I haven't lost my place. We were talking about my new friends The Hormones and the absolute lack of turning-fifty crap which did not befall Mr. L. when he hit that happy milestone. Tonight I'm still dwelling a bit on The Hormones. Trying to decide why they've dropped in now like some never seen before cousin showing up at the beach house and staying for the whole summer.

You know I've been seriously job shopping since late December. Eight months of limited possibilities and even more limited near misses. I spent a lot of that time trying to decide if maybe I've been wrong and you do actively manipulate the day to day details.

As in, maybe you've been trying to tell me that I had a job already. One where the pay was haphazard and the hours long but the benefits were pretty good and the working environment great. Mr. L. was happy and well cared for, the Misses Lorri and the GrandTwoSomes knew where to locate me at almost any given moment which is no small thing when there are crucial stories to be shared. Or babysitting to be done.

Why am I thinking these thoughts, you ask? (Which is, obviously, a rhetorical question since we both know you already know...) Well, having landed, lost and re-captured an interview late last month, I suddenly found myself with a job. Temporary at first but within the second day of work I had a permanent offer.

Here's the thing; that annoying little surgery scheduled for some 3 weeks from now. The one brought on my new BFFs, The Hormones, and their happy sidekicks The Creepily Multiplying Cells.

It's not likely that my job will be held for the 4 to 6 weeks my doctor says I need to be out. Not even the 3 weeks she says I can't drive. Business is business and this is the busy time for the promotions business.

So, what's the deal? Where do I lay the blame for a job given and taken away in nearly the same breath?

Sometimes crap happens?
I forgot to forward some email chain letter to 15 of my best friends?
That damn meatloaf again?
YOU???

Is this your work? A not-so-subtle smack of a reminder that I need to concentrate on doing what I was doing before I sent in that last resume? You know I don't believe you manipulate the details. I really don't. Not that you couldn't. I've just never thought that you do. Seems to conflict with that entire free will thing.

I'm not saying you don't have A Plan. I got to almost 50 without A Plan so, believe me, I understand the need.

But, really, whattheheck IS the plan? And how am I supposed to know if you don't become a bit more obvious? I need more than hints and clues, God. If you could maybe just drop a word document into my 'in' box or leave a printed version on the dining room table. I would offer to shred it after I read it, but, well, you know what went down between me and the shredder.

You could make it out of chocolate, though. It would be consumed. Possibly before it's read. The Hormones would make sure of it.

Yours in Confused Faith---Lorri

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