he loves me when i'm right, he loves me when i'm wrong, he loves me when i waste my time by writing silly songs

My church is in the middle of a 24/7 prayer event. What that means is all last week and continuing through this Sunday afternoon, there's someone at our ministry center who is praying continuously. Typically, those of us participating sign up for a one hour block to spend time in worship and praise.

I've had the opportunity to spend three different hours there so far, and while I'm not here to get preachy on any of you, I must say that walking into the rooms set up for the event is so incredibly humbling that I typically spend the first 30 minutes of my time overcome with emotion that often results in me crying. The walls of each room are covered in paper and visitors are encouraged to write prayers and praise for all kinds of things. It's also a way to unburden one's heart. Marriages, healing, relationships, children. People write about all that and more, and by the end of these 14 days, every inch of the walls will be covered. Reading the words can be just as heartbreaking as it is inspiring.

I could honestly go on and on about this particular event, but that's not the gist of this post. Neither is the fact I wrote an incredibly long-winded (shocking!) and soul-ripping anonymous note about some things weighing heavy on my heart on my first visit last week, and the responses that have been left, while awesome, aren't quite the words I thought I'd get. Yes, they're awesome, but they're not relevant to the particular pain. So here's a tip from me to you - if ever you find yourself penning an anonymous tale of woe and misery and sort of begging for help, don't capitalize the word 'he' every time you use it, which I did purely because each use was at the start of a sentence. Sometimes 'he' ain't talkin' about the Big He, kapeesh?

But an English lesson isn't the gist of this post, either, so onward! I'm a very young Christian. I've only been attending church regularly for the last 10 years, and, to be honest (because the Big He tends to prefer me that way), there's a lot I still need to learn. Let's just say that, were I ever to end up a contestant on Jeopardy! and Alex Trebek welcomed us with a game board all about the Bible, I'd probably mutter "Dammit!" (but not "God dammit!")(fist bumps, JC!) under my breath and then respectfully bow out. Because of all this and a few other things, I sometimes wonder if Jesus loves me. Like really, really loves me. I'm pretty sure he'd check the box marked 'A' if I passed him a note asking "Do you love me? Check yes or no!" during prayer time, but sometimes I crave a definite sign, so I keep searching, and OMG! I think I may have actually found it last weekend!

My mom gave my youngest son a burned copy of The Chipmunks: The Squeakquel soundtrack for his birthday, and he was the happiest child in the world when he ripped the wrapping paper off to reveal the gift. Me? Not so much. I may not hear God every time he tries to speak to me, but I think if I was listening as intently as I probably should some times, I'd hear him say, "Listen, I'm as tired of that Single Ladies song as you are. Do we really need to hear it sped up and squeaky? Nay, I say. Amen." God, however, must have been marveling in the little children on this particular day, because in his glee, my son called a halt on opening the rest of his gifts and grabbed my hand to take me upstairs to play his new CD on his boom box. Hooray!

Poised to start twirling around his room as soon as the rodents starting singing You Spin Me Right Round, my son urged me to hurry up and push play. So I did. Then he begged me to turn up the volume. So I did. Did a choir of heavenly angels flood the room? No. Neither did the dulcet tones of Alvin and The Chipmunks. We tried a few tricks to try and make the cd play before giving up and taking it down to the kitchen to play on the cd player there. Again, no sound came out. It also didn't work on the living room stereo or out in the minivan. The cd was a complete dud. It was then I realized God totally has my back! Even though I didn't directly pray my son not bring any chipmunk music into the house, God saw fit to grant my unspoken wish!

God is, indeed, good! Yahweh? Oh, no. No, no, no, my friends. Yahoo, I say!

p.s. - I think the reason the cd didn't work is because my mom burned a copy rather than buy the commercial release and that? Well, that pretty much counts as stealing, and we all know God frowns upon stealing. Sure, it's pretty low on the list, but it's there nonetheless. My mom is a heathen.