And He sends lightening bolts

I'm in the tedeum this morning smoking a holy first smoke and saying my prayers, when some woman, possibly a harlot, passes by via the long narrow hall and says, quite gently, "happy easter, John".

I said "happy easter" and she went along her way up the Night Stair, possibly to get home into her own bed. I don't think the poor kid is working lately.

Oh, man. If any of us are going to hell it's going to be me, man. Here I am praying to God and the Savior and I didn't even remember what day it is. I remember I was praying fast too, because sometimes I get a feeling like, don't bug God with repetitive language, don't drone on, He knows what's in your heart and are you in trouble without Jesus. Or I was praying fast just to pray fast, you know, cover my bases. It's spring. I got a wild life if I'm not careful.

hahaha. Who am I kidding. I'll TAKE a wild life if left to my own plotting rather than earnest, prayerful planning.

I called after her, "Don't forget our lecture. The longer you wait the longer it's going to be, you know."

Ergh. So few people actually apppeal to me at all. I lack love. Man. If anyone's going to hell it's going to be me.

I like her. I want her to be around. Her "happy easter, John" woke me up and made me , well, happy.

Little Elsa Kettle and I were wondering the other day why they call it "Good Friday". She's about nine, and I'd stopped by the house for a chili dog on my way to work. It was a large table we sat at, with Pa doing his homework at the computer, and the other kids quietly eating. I don't know why I mention any of this except it's a sort of spiritual boost to talk to a kid who knows more about God than you do.

My grandmother had an easy life, relatively speaking. She was a housewife with only one child, my mother who is a very good girl and her husband Jiggs who was a workaholic. She watched game shows and soap operas after cleaning and before cooking a little supper. She talked on the phone, mostly to relatives, I think.

She lived into her dottage, and I didn't visit as often as I should. Her living room was almost cloudy, like through a guazey lens, and very comfortable. Jiggs was gone twenty years now ---Good GAAAWWWD, how sad----and her last lucid years were during the O.J. trial.

All of this to tell you what I think I know about God and Heaven, this week. On her death bed Grandmother's last gasps were a question, I could tell by the inflection. Mom couldn't understand them, so I leaned in close. Grandmother kept repeating, knowing that I was there trying to understand.

"Who...that man...hosted ...Password."

Ah! She was traveling down the bright lit tunnel toward the afterdays and she wanted to meet the gentleman but forgot his name!

"Allen Luden, Grandmother! Allen Luden!" I shouted.

Almost added, "Married to Betty White!!"

After she passed, Mom and I were walking back across the street to the house where she lives, so convenient to the hospitial. We weren't sad yet. Maybe we were a little relieved. Or just, wow, she's passed through to the other side. Gosh.

Last night I was at a meeting where they do it by the lottery. Your number is called, you have to speak on the subject or pass. The subject was the 2nd step, "Came to believe that a power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity."

My number came up. 61, year of my birth. I was hoping this night it would. There were about 75 people here in this tiny, falling down church which is next to an Adult Movie Theater.

On this subject, I always can say the opposite of what everyone ---I mean everyone---usually says.

"I came by my faith through religious scripture. I was in a dungeon, no really , it was, and they took my glasses and all I had was the Scriptures and I started on page one with my face very close to the page, like I was going inside of it or like I was going to cover my ears with it, so I would pass through all this trouble I was in. And God sent me the Comforter...

I believe in a stern god, an old man with a white flowing beard, up on a cloud. If he's good enough for Michaelangelo he's good enough for me. The god of my understanding frequently appears in New Yorker Magazine cartoons.

When I was a college sophomore, and that was for about eight years, I was an atheist, and a very arrogant one at that. I cursed "intolerace" but was the most intolerant of them all. I excelled in my moral/philosophical superiority and all my literary heros were smart guys who said, if god existed, they would spit in his face. They were the sort of smart guys who thought God ought to be comprehensible. And that God could be discredited by the likes of Elmer Gantry, Jerry Falwell, Jim Baker, etc.

Last week a tornado hit my college town right smack in the jaw, then roughed her up good. I'm distressed, worried ...wondering which of my favorite bars is still extant. But that damned English / Philosophy building where they gave me all "A"'s for merely parroting certain cold blooded New Age ideas? I gotta admit. I'm not so worried about the E.P.B. "

I don't remember how I closed. They laughed once, only, when I mentioned being concerned about the old bars (Gabes, The Airliner, The Deadwood). I think I got across the idea, though, which I usually try to: that I believe in the god my ancestors believed in. I believe in the bible people had read to them in the 1600's until this day.

And life really has improved. In fact, it's started again, where it had just stopped while I was without brakes against my drinking. (Sure, it makes sense, you stop poisoning yourself you'll feel better. But I mean after my moral inventory and confession, I feel better than ever.)

The sun is shining this morning, the tulips are up, some of the flowering trees are just now blooming violet and yellow. The grass was mowed yesterday. I've just drove our old man Stan to his first day of work at the Pizza Hut. (Pizza Hut? Easter Sunday Morning? Well anyway, that's where I dropped him off and he was happy. Stan is always happy.)

Happy Easter , everyone. Sorry to dash this off without editing, but I need to call home and say hi.