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“מענטש טראַכט, גאָט לאַכט.”
“Man plans. God laughs.”
– Yiddish Proverb
I had a plan for my summer. It was a good plan.
Starting in June: Write all summer. First, I would write my blog. Then, I would finish my screenplay. Next, I would begin my novel.
When I wasn’t writing, I would clear out the jungle that is my back yard. Industrious would be my synonym.
The August tally: A few entries grace my blog – not the twice-a-week strategy I had in mind. The screenplay and novel remain untouched. And the Dian Fossey Gorilla Fund is researching my back yard as a possible habitat.
I refuse to take the blame for this abject failure. I created a fantastic plan. My vision was firmly planted in reality. I could do this. I knew I could. At the beginning of June, accomplishment lay within my grasp. Then the rest of June happened. And July. Now August.
July and August are not my fault. Not even June. I’ve analyzed this thoroughly. And my final conclusion: It’s God’s fault.
No one else but the Almighty could have cold-cocked me so completely. Blindsided, I was – unintentionally falling into something profitable rather than the artsy-but-desperately-poor plan I had. How dare God do this to me, without checking in first! ME?!
I freakin’ left a well-paying job with benefits to go to seminary. It is true that said-job was sucking the marrow from my very bones – but I’d like some credit for showing trust. When I left my job at the seminary to follow my call to the God-given gift, God-given passion I have for theatre and film, I gave the Creator the benefit of running the plan through “his” channels. All was well with the world – for a little while anyway.
So why the hell doesn’t “he” clue me in on “his” plans, huh? I mean, geez, is it so hard for a deity to let you know what’s going on in your own life? Omniscience, Omnipresence, Omnipotence: Piece of cake. But tell Terry that maybe her summer will be filled with opportunities she’d never considered? Utter fail.
I’m just asking for a little heads up – a little trust in ME for once.
I can be trusted when good things are coming my way. (I can be trusted about most bad things too, but I’m a worrier, so there may be some wisdom to a bit of ignorance.) So why, when I needed to know that my circumstances would work out for the best – WHY didn’t God even show me the trailer?
Omniscience, my butt.
This year was hard in so many ways. Money evaporated like ether, with no discernable way of finding more. Unexpected expenses struck like cottonmouths, hurling themselves into our lifeboat when we took a pause to cast a line. So I created a plan for my role in this mess – a plan to get the boat moving and capture the ether as we pass….
Then, into my lap, God drops something that actually works: an opportunity to do something I didn’t know I loved to do – and get paid for it.
I wouldn’t be so pissed, except that God is laughing at me – like this is some kind of joke and I’m the punch line. You’re saying, “Oooo—You shouldn’t talk like that! God’s gonna use you as a key on Franklin’s kite.” Look – I’ve been through enough with God to know that if I can’t say this stuff to “him,” then “he” isn’t real. And after few decades of this BS, I’ve lost my patience, and God should know that. I’m considering relationship counseling.
I realize I’m not exactly on equal footing with the Creator of the Universe. But since “he” entrusted this rock to the care of “his” creation, it seems to me we are at the very least “co-creators.” I am fully invested in this creation business and I’ve got a stake in the outcome. So, would it kill “him” to let me know when “he’s” changing the plan because “he’s” being nice?
I know my plan failed. I embraced solitude and poison ivy. I gave up on the three great loves of my life: theatre, film, and ministry – in order to save a sinking ship and find some air to breathe. But wouldn’t you know it: the secret, behind-the-scenes plan that re-envisioned me thoroughly, up-to-my-neck involved in theatre, film, and ministry – while getting paid for it – that plan worked. And it blows my head apart.
I need to know important life-events ahead of time, okay? Just a little. A skosche. A smidgen. A scintilla. That way, I can believe that I’m a part of this, too.
What I do know at the end of August is that grace (this time) looks like this: My yard continues closing the hole in the ozone. Kitty-fur tumbleweeds dance across my floor. The foyer remains unpainted and the hot tub unfilled. My blog stands stalwart in its loneliness. The screenplay and novel glance around my office like forlorn wallflowers.
But I – Terry Menefee Gau – remain unforgotten to the One who loves me and sustains me.
I am forever grateful that I was open to it all – cutting a new path, working twice as hard as I’ve ever worked, exploring a new talent – and being appreciated for it in more ways than a credit at the end of an era.
But, I’ll say “thank you” tomorrow. I don’t want God to think “he” gets off that easy.
He-he, yep.
But here’s what I believe – the plan is within your DNA. It unfolds by you being you. In this way, we never fail, because we continue being and doing exactly what we were made for.
So, you will be a perfect success if you can just be Terry. I couldn’t do that. But I think that you might just have what it takes to pull it off flawlessly.
Gosh I love your writing. I love your personal give and take with the almighty, the struggles to keep up with the ever changing thing we call LIFE! Love the Blog, it was worth waiting for. Keeps those letters and words coming they are a delight to read!
woe, baby, i felt like i just read a sartre play!
when i think about god, i think of he/she as a male parisian concierge – he’s the best in all of paris and he works in the hotel in which i’m staying but he just happens to be on vacation while i’m there. he’s actually on a stacation, sipping espresso across the street from the hotel and when something goes very wrong (and unresolved) with my stay at the hotel, he makes eye contact with me and pulls the espresso away from his lips just long enough to say, “but of course!” not so much laughing, more like snide french double-speak. (then i realize i’m not in a hotel in paris but in the westend living behind a strip mall.)
merci, terri!