Sit Back, Relax, Enjoy Yourself

It's Sunday, blessed of days, that day when we have been assigned to rest. God said so, and I ain't buckin' the man who holds the strings. I can't say that I'm completely resting--after all, I am writing my blog--but still, I have no plans to erect a graven image or rob a bank. Did you know that there are still places where one would be stared at with narrowed eyes and pinched lips for taking a walk or doing the weekly shopping on a Sunday? In fact, there's a small village in Scotland that's probably still scowling over the Sunday jaunts taken by me and my fellow heathen travel folk. Bet they're still talking about us. (Of course, that could also be because of the exploding seagull. Don't ask.)

Now I know that not everyone out there reading this is of the religious persuasion. I'm not worried about it, are you? Can we just all get along anyway? I get a little weary of the assumption that just because I go to church, I might try to convert people who don't. I won't. I swear. I believe in a beautiful thing called freedom of choice, which, I hear, God is all for, too. I just like to talk about God sometimes, because, well, that's part of who I am. In fact, it's a whole lot of who I am.

Just wanted to make sure no one is having any issues with the God talk.

So, continuing on in that vein, I'll now present the heart of this blog--my very random and unrelated Sunday thoughts:

1. My favorite description of God is as "one crafty motherf%#$er" (thank you, annie lamott). I think it sums up his/her/its true nature. I, for one, can give you many personal examples of this. Sometimes when I hear God laughing, I'm pretty sure it's at me.
2. I learned today that some Episcopalians, even when they're wearing their Sunday finest and sitting up all straight and proper, will still put their hands together like a Su'then Baptist when a song with a little spiritual backbone is played. There's hope yet.
3. I love black Baptist churches. I really do. They free my soul.
4. Loggerhead she-turtles will swim as far as 9,000 miles to return to the shore of their birth to lay their eggs. It may take them over a year to get there. Which begs two questions: a) what does this have to do with God?, and 2) how do the eggs last that long inside their girlie parts??! I can't answer the second one, but I'll tell you what I think about the first: it occurs to me that maybe this is what life is really all about--just trying to get back to the shores of our birth. There is something profoundly, inexplicably spiritual about this for me.
6. If a relationship with God really is all about following the rules and doing good and being reverent, well, then, I'm a'goin' to hell.

That's all. I'm glad you could stop by today. I'm going to go put my feet up now. Also, just for the record, I don't actually think the seagull exploded. It was probably just very, very disgustingly sick from eating our leftover, spoiled, mold-ridden food. Ew.