As you might imagine, given the events of this week, I am sitting Shiva with the rest of my liberal friends—or should I say, sitting Shiva with anybody who has a brain, a conscious, a heart, a soul, or eyes and ears. According to Wikipedia, Shiva means “seven,” and “sitting Shiva” is described as: “the week-long mourning period in Judaism for first-degree relatives.” In this case, my first-degree relatives are my country’s morality, constitution, and soul, and my religion’s core Truth. I know I’m supposed to accept Barr’s assessment of the Mueller report and move on, but I just can’t. In the words of George Conway (conservative lawyer and the husband of White House counselor Kellyanne Conway —talk about irony):
“TRUMP IS GUILTY—OF BEING UNFIT FOR OFFICE”
The aftermath of Barr’s summary has been brutal against anyone who has opposed Trump—led by the mean-spirited bully Trump himself, as he takes his victory lap in the end zone. Every time I hear him attacking someone who has uncovered his lies or stood up to his bullying, all I can do is pray that the God of Easter rescues us from this cretin—SOON. Was it wrong to hope the Mueller Report would be an answer to that prayer of obvious corruption exposed? And why did William Barr give us an interpretation of a potentially 300-plus page report rather than the report itself? What is Barr hiding? Instead, the White Right-Wing Christians who believe Trump was sent by God are hoarse from crowing Barr’s summation that God has protected their anointed one, and it makes me sick to my stomach—so sick, it sent me into intercessory prayer. Below is my most recent prayer—prayed while sitting in sackcloth and ashes cataloged under the title: If Ever There was a God, Now is the Time to Show Up (Again).
How are you? The last time we spoke, I was praying for healing of a horrible respiratory disease, spring to arrive (sooner than later), and for the Mueller Report to be released, putting a stop to our current reign of terror. I’m very grateful that you completely healed my snot-generating, five-foot chubby-ass body, that spring has finally sprung revealing that not all my plants died over the winter (thank you very much), and the Mueller Report was finally released—kind of.
It looks like I needed to be a bit more specific in my prayers regarding the Mueller Report. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but I thought we had an understanding that the report would be released in its entirety and reveal the complete corruption of Donald J. Trump in such a way that his followers would flee in horror—especially the ones who claim to be your followers. But instead of them repenting in sackcloth and ashes for propping up this egregious sack of sin, they are joining in his revenge victory lap claiming the Bible verse (Psalm 105:15) on Trump’s behalf: “Don’t touch my chosen leaders or harm my prophets! “Just the other day I came across this billboard that was once posted near St. Louis, Missouri from a bunch of your Trump-loving Christian followers equating him with you, Jesus:
(OPEN LETTER TO GOD, CONT.)
I don’t know how I missed this billboard when it first appeared, but my God, doesn’t this just burn your cookies? Seems as if that alone would cause you to make a personal appearance just to set the record straight. Now, how does the Bible verse John 1:14 read again?
“The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth.”
(The billboard was removed in 2018, but only after a great deal of hysteria from your “sane” peeps who rallied to confront this blasphemous stupidity.)
(OPEN LETTER TO GOD, CONT.)
With all due respect, knowing what you must know, what’s up with letting Trump slide by on the Mueller Report and practically getting away with murder? You of all deities know that he’s guilty. He’s like a giant toddler, and he won’t stop until he’s caught red-handed. He needs a giant ass-kicking by you since I am now convinced that Trump was right—he could shoot someone on 5th Avenue and not lose his supporters—especially his Christian supporters because they believe you sent Trump to save America.
Not that I need to give you any parenting advice, but do you recall the “Great Toddler Candy Heist of 87” that was perpetrated by one of my children (no need to name names—you know who Baby-girl is)? Bear with me here.
As you recall, in the beginning, I tried to raise my children in a sugar-free environment. However, one of my kids came to Earth dreaming of lollipops. If upon her arrival the Devil had presented himself to her and said, “I’ll give you all the candy in the world in exchange for your soul, your sister’s soul, and both your parents’ souls,” she would have said, “In a hot baby-poop minute—where do I stamp my baby paw print?” My child had ways of getting candy that I knew not of. All I know is that the minute I turned my back on her (with the specific instructions: “Don’t give this child any candy!”) and returned to pick her up from babysitters, Sunday school providers, mother-in-law, or friends’ homes, I’d find candy wrappers stuffed in her diapers and witness the vestiges of a tummy ache all over my new blouses when I snuggled with her. But no one could ever catch her actually procuring and eating the sweets. No matter how many times I asked her if she’d eaten candy and where she’d gotten it from, she’d look me straight in the eyes and lie through her cute little four-year-old baby teeth. (I think I might have even tossed out a prayer or two to you to help me catch that little barbarian in her lies at one time or another.)
One day, I think you answered my prayers. I took said candy thief and her sister with me to a very brief business meeting. I noticed as we passed by a table in the lobby by the receptionist’s desk that a rather large bowl of grape Jolly Ranchers was prominently displayed on our way to the elevators. Both girls asked if they could have some, but I told them “no,” because I was afraid it would spoil their lunch.
After the meeting was over, I strapped the kids into their respective car seats and proceeded back home for lunch. About five minutes into the drive, I smelled a pungent grapey odor coming from the back seat. In fact, the odor was overwhelming, as if someone had flooded the car with Welch’s Grape Juice. It was apparent that one of the kids had stolen candy from the office candy dish. As I whipped my head around like a cobra to seek out the culprit, I demanded to know who was sucking on a Jolly Rancher. My older daughter said, “Not I, said the cat.” When I turned to Baby-girl, she violently shook her head in denial but refused to open her mouth. Had I not pulled over to the side of the road, I would not have caught her in the act. But as I stopped the car and looked into the back seat at my girls, streams of purple ooze poured out of Baby-girl’s mouth. Apparently, she had stolen as many Jolly Ranchers as her little fat fingers could handle and squirrelled them away in her jumpsuit pockets. My toddler thief had stuffed not one, not two, not three, but at least four grape Jolly Ranchers into her tiny toddler mouth which couldn’t contain the saliva overflow. Caught dead to rights, even as I asked Baby-girl if she had Jolly Ranchers in her mouth, she continued to shake her head in fierce denial while purple saliva stormed from both sides of her mouth as if she were an overheated Saint Bernard and consequently slimed both her sister and me in purple ooze.
Lord, the point of this story is that I nipped that little rascal’s lyin’ and stealin’ in the bud by catching her in the act, and today she is a fine upstanding citizen. I thought you were probably proud of me for that bit of parenting stealth, if the truth be known.So here’s the word: you created Donald Trump. Essentially, you’re his first parent. I don’t mean to be impertinent, but why didn’t you let the Mueller Report expose him in all his ill-gotten slime? Instead, he has gotten away with his crimes (again!) and has become an even bigger jerk than ever—claiming to be a martyr on the level of messiahhood, creating a revenge list, and tormenting the sick, the poor, and anybody that crosses him.
(OPEN LETTER TO GOD, CONT.)
Lord Jesus, I know you know everything none of us know and in due time, all will be revealed, and we’ll all know the truth whether we want to accept it or not. It’s just that William Barr’s assessment was not the truth. It may have “technically” helped Trump escape collusion, but he’s got the stain of being a horrible human being in every fiber of his being and he’s sliming us all with his purple-tainted sins of lying and corruption.
Anyway, see you on Easter. I could use some hope and proof that you’re in control of this mess. Just sayin’. In the meantime, I’ll keep praying (like a mantra) in the words of Leslie Jones’ recent universal tweet: #LORDHELPUSPLEASE
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