Playing Monopoly with God, and Other Mind Games

My life should be in shambles.  Utterly destructive, floor-falling-out, meteoric meltdown shambles.  Perhaps because I've been conditioned to await a destructive, earth-shattering screw-up is the reason why I've felt a hesitance in my steps.  Has anything been particularly earth shattering?  Far from the contrary.  I should be ecstatic.  Then why aren't I?

I began having an open dialogue with myself.  Now before you think I have been speaking to myself in the mirror like some one-act play, no, it isn't quite like that.  And talking amongst my head is not virgin territory (in all sense of the word).  I typically review scenarios in my head where I envision outcomes and circumstances.  It's like playing chess, only with no opponent but my conscious.  Again, this is nothing new. When I was a child, my mom would frequently find me writing stories, or playing a 4-player game of Monopoly with no one but myself.  When I was in high school, my gaming became more elaborate.  I created a baseball game complete with imaginary rosters made with school friends and real-life players.  I even had a game board and made stats.

Over the years the mind-scenarios have changed somewhat.  The ones I have now are typically PG-13 narratives that tend to slip their X-rating past the censors.  I have to be careful at times with where my mind drifts to.  Soft core porn scenarios are typically not the type of imagery I need from day to day.  It's easy to think badly.

Sometimes these scenarios take a destructive turn, as if some Rube-Goldberg technician resides deep into my sub conscious ready to topple the dominoes.  Turn right here, fall into a swamp, get strangled by an anaconda and they find your bones centuries later type of silliness.  I will typically run trial scenarios before I make phone calls to parents to hash out all possible directions a conversation can take, both positive and negative. Before I go into a meeting with my boss, I'll do the same thing.  I try to drop menu my life like I'm some Christian Terminator.  I must be armed for every question.  Being prepared has its advantages.  But it can also stifle randomness.  It makes me in control of events that I should be giving to God.  It makes me ruler of my life rather than being a participant in something more important.  Furthermore,  it reminds me of how life used to be rather than what it can become.

I love the real conversation I have all the time.  My youngest daughter has been having bad dreams recently. Here's a snippet:

What was your bad dream about?

There was a werewolf and he scratched me and I turned into a werewolf  (I think she caught a glimpse of Lisa watching Teen Wolf on MTV and me watching the silly original with Michael J. Fox).

Do you have nice dreams, momma?

I have nice dreams too, daddy. (she pronounces "nice dreams" as "ice creams")

Ice cream?  You can't have ice cream right now, silly.

Not 'ice cream', daddy, (and then she yells) "nice dreams!"

Whipped cream?  Well, that would be good on pumpkin pie, Reycina, but honestly, whipped cream at 1 in the morning?

Not whipped cream, nice dreams!


Or other conversations with my older daughter about boys, the attractiveness of confidence and her plans for the future.  The ones with my wife on the back porch during barbecue reflections.  About the house, the people that invariably bother us both, the complaints of life with a bottle of beer.

And I've been having a dialogue with God and Jesus, too.  I told my share partner this morning that regardless if my "talks" have been nothing more than self-deluded manifestations, I do believe one thing is constant.  God does speak to us all the time.  Because of our adult minds and hang-ups, that loss of courageous, childlike thinking, we've lost touch with those inner conversations over time.  Many of us have become Doubting Thomases, awaiting some miracle or force to intervene because we don't have the courage to simply believe in what God wants for us.  We await this wound for us to place our fingers in, the allow the blood to drip on our own hands before we believe in the miraculous.  Our lives are not miraculous in themselves enough, we argue, or we wouldn't be doubting at all.  How silly and simple it all seems now typing it out.

So what have my conversations with God been like lately?  I ask him questions about the future of my son.

He's in good hands.  You're his father.

Or I thank him for my daughters.

I love you, that's why they have been entrusted to you.

Or I ask him why I don't seem to learn from my mistakes.

But I still love you.

But you know my sins.  Even those sins.  You know.

You're asking me for an out.  I know you too well.  I love you.  That is enough for any man.

But I still don't feel like...

Again, you're placing me in human contexts.  Didn't I love you before you knew about me?

Well, yeah, but...

And do I not see the choices you've made before and envision the ones you're going to make?

Well, yeah, but...

I not giving you an out if that's what you want.  I love you too much to allow you to continue to be the same person you were.  

I just can't...

But I love you.

But I...

And I still love you.

Eventually the Doubting Thomas cries himself to sleep.  There aren't any mountains to climb or rapids to cross.  The Doubting Thomas awaits the next ball to drop, not because he knows any different, but because even though the wounds are clear and distinguishable, the person, The Living Thomas, The Courageous Thomas, is something new and challenging and totally unlike the Doubter.  There's fear there.  Terrifying fear.  Fear that leads to joy.  The joy that has been awaiting to be unwrapped like a gift.  A gift.