Help Is On the Way

I can’t feed myself in the manner to which I had become accustomed. I know that sounds petty and bourgeois but it is the reality of my life. I had grown used to the dairy-free lifestyle that included butter on hot garlic knots, those fresh little ringlets of home cooking, so comforting as they helped eased the soul, worried about the future. I liked my tempeh browned, almost crispy and my thin, green spears of asparagus organic, of course. I liked berry kombucha, whichever was on sale, boring pretzels when I had to snack and maybe an apple turnover, or three, every now and then.

Since George died, there is just enough money to pay for our lives, to keep us living indoors and not starving, maybe some cable tv. Somehow we survive, every day, eating a little more rice, showering a little less. We learn to live with, maybe transcend, if only for a minute, the nagging stressors and irrational fears of survival. Sometimes, I get a small tub of vegan sour cream and hide it in the back of the fridge. It makes me feel normal, even if normal means that I used to use food to paralyze my feelings for a while. Life wasn’t perfect when George was alive but at least there was Ben and Jerry’s Truffle Swirl ice cream. When it all became a little much, I would comfort myself by eating and not thinking about all the things I was trying to control but couldn’t.

Like George’s smoking. Or his drinking. Or his obesity. I couldn’t change him any more than I could change the sun rising above our tiny house in this big city. I tried with threats, with reason, with manipulation to make him conform to my standards of health but it never worked. He continued to eat his steak, rare, drink his lager-style beer, cold and within easy reach of our stained but beloved tweed couch and smoke whatever cigars he could find. It wasn’t a complete shock when his whole immune system appeared to collapse with a week of his heart attack. His body could no longer be a complacent passenger of his choices, its innate loyalty pushed to the limit.

Dear God, I prayed every night when he was in the hospital, give this man the peace and strength to accept the love you have for him. Heal him by helping him see YOUR healing power is within him. Help him see his life and your life are one in the same, that he is wanted and needed on this planet by the very fact that he lives. God, help this man to see your face in everything, in every smell, every sensation, every fear and grace, every temptation and act of faith. Give him courage, peace and grace. Thank you, God, and please bless my family and friends and all your children. Amen.

***

Ricky hoped he could remember all that. He got the part about finding God within one’s soul, wait, he thought, was that it? Oh well, he heard the courage and grace part, the part about being needed and something about ice cream. Damn this ridiculously short memory span, he thought to himself, though his ability to remember was the same as all the other squirrels in his neighborhood. Ricky just had more to remember once he learned how to talk to God.

It happened one sunny, windy Thursday in the middle of his nap on the Thomas’ back porch. He loved to lay near the pool almost as much as the Thomas’ teenagers, Sally and Evan. As he dozed in and out of sleep, gloriously present and relaxed, he had a vision. He thought it was just a dream till he woke up and realized he had just communicated with the Almighty. In his vision, he was minding his own business, his small head bent over four nuts he was working on cracking. He felt a presence rise up behind him and when he looked to be sure it wasn’t Wanda, always trying to steal food, he instead saw God. Just like Ricky had always thought, God was an older, white man, swimming in fabric draped from his body. He hovered over the ground, looking completely out of place in the suburban landscape while also appearing perfectly suited to it.

Ricky, it is me, your God, he said, or rather, emanated.

Oh…my…God, Ricky said.

Yes, I am your God and I am here to tell you that you are living your life exactly as I hoped you would. Good job, Ricky, said God, who then vanished.

Thank you, God, thank you for saying that- God? Are you there, God? Ricky woke with a start and thought he had had a really weird dream. Something inside him, though, told him it was real, that it wasn’t an illusionary reverie but that God had shown up in his consciousness and applauded him on his essential squirrelness. The rest of the day, Ricky held his head high and was more patient and forgiving of other’s shortcoming, a new experience for him. He felt vaguely saint like and wasn’t in a hurry to return to his regular, somewhat judgmental mind frame.

The next day, Ricky went back to the same place, the same porch, the same chaise lounge and lazily closed his eyes. Nothing happened. He waited three hours for a God who never arrived. In frustration, Ricky called out, “Are you there, God? Where are you, God, it’s me, Ricky!!”

Ricky, God suddenly said, I am here. God was a little frustrated at having to show up at the whim of a squirrel but such was the lot of the maker of the world. All life is important to God, if  sometimes inconvenient. God had been studying graphs and charts about humanity’s latest catastrophe but had set those things aside to attend to Ricky.

Wow, ok, well, I don’t really want anything, God, just wanted to say hi, said Ricky.

Ok, Ricky, take care! I love you! God was glad to leave Earth to get back to his workshop and figure out what humans had done wrong to land in the predicament they were in. Soon, however, God was being called to visit Ricky sometimes twenty times a day. Each time, God patiently appeared and attended to the squirrels needs, which were usually about saying ‘hi’. Today was different though. Ricky was very serious and asked for God’s full attention. When he felt he had it, he began.

God, it has been awesome getting to know you better and have a real relationship with you. You are the best and I love you. I need to ask for your help, God. Please help Lydia, George’s widow. She is not doing well and needs guidance, God, she needs faith. She needs money, she needs a job and a purpose. Will you help her, God?

God had already heard Lydia’s prayers. Because she had faith that God would provide, God had no choice but to help. He had lined up a great-paying job with benefits for her and had already planted disinterest in her current job in her heart so that she would quit. God loved all his creations but was a sucker for the ones with the fortitude to turn to him in times of need. Lydia was going to be fine but God saw how earnest Ricky was, how deeply he hoped he could help her, how devoted he was to God’s power. God just couldn’t break his squirrel heart.

I will help her, Ricky, God said, she is lucky to have a someone like you to intercede on their behalf. Your trust in my dominion over all of life has proven to me that Lydia will be helped. Good job, Ricky!

I knew it, Ricky thought, I knew I had the ear of the Divine. I can’t tell anyone, though, no one will believe me, he thought, but I don’t care. I will still let God know of their lack. I will continue to be God’s ears on Earth. What a blessing I am to this world, thought Ricky, a true blessing.