Tell Me All Your Thoughts on God

The scalding water began to run down the back of my stiff neck, and I let out a deep, guttural sigh. The kind that gets pent up and forced down, buried under a jam-packed day with no room to breathe. The kind that enunciates relief without actually uttering a word, grateful for a reprieve from the dreaded homework hour for a little while longer to bask in the glorious, hot running water.

Tell me all your thoughts on God…
And tell me, am I very far?

My phone blared from the faux marble countertop a few feet away. Dishwalla filled the bathroom and hovered in the air like the cloud of steam wafting up from the shower. Trapped in the familiar but forgotten lyrics, nostalgia has a tendency to rush back in like a wave, breaking on the sandy beach of life and leaving behind a treasure trove of antiquated memories.

We said, “Tell me all your thoughts on God
‘Cause I would really like to meet her
And ask her why we’re who we are.

I wonder if I considered back then the heresy immured in those words or if I even cared. In the midst of my identity crisis as a hormonal teenager in the 90’s, my guess is the latter. It does strike me now though, in hindsight, how many of the songs I once listened to were searching, attempting to mine the infinite mysteries of the universe and uncover the precious nuggets of truth hidden amongst the debris. Much like I was.

The door bursts open and brings me back to reality.

“Hi, momma.”

Hi Eva.

She has found me.

She’s good at that—finding me, even when I don’t want to be found. Toddlers are like bloodhounds in that regard. What they lack in methodology, which involves wandering from room to room only as fast as their little legs can scurry, they make up for in perseverance, relenting only upon acquiring their target, i.e. Mom. For now at least I can keep the shower door closed and maintain a perimeter, albeit a small one.

It’s getting cold picked up the pace
How our shoes make hard noises in this place
Our clothes are stained
We pass many cross-eyed people
And ask many questions
Like children often do

Tell me all your thoughts on God…

Decades ago, I don’t know if I would’ve grasped any thoughts on God, replete with truth and wisdom, in the same manner I do now as a parent. Because the fact is, all that is distantly profound, all that is simply beheld, will always fall short of experience. Once you’ve lived it, the preposition fades away, and no longer do you simply know of it, but you know.

And what I know is, those little people who run around my house and find me when I’m taking a shower and make deafening noises and drive me crazy, they sure have taught me a lot about God. Sometimes it takes a parent to really know a Parent. And for that I’m grateful, even in the chaos. Especially then.