Shoulderblades

Is shoulderblades one word?
Shoulder blades.
I don't really know.

But I was reading "Girl Meets God" (my book, written by a Southern-Episcopalian-Jewish tattooed, pierced graduate student with a dirty mouth). Lauren, the author, was writing about dry spells in our faith. Some of us call them "valleys" (although, that never made very much sense to me. A valley always seemed to be a beautiful, peaceful place). She was remembering how Judaism was useful in stale periods of faith like these, mostly because of rites and rituals. Hand washing, liturgy, etc. Lauren's rabbi explained it (not in so many words) that these habitual customs helped you through your dry spells. On days when faith and God didn't make any sense... you still had the customs to hold on to. To push you through until, finally, the feeling that God was inbetween your shoulderblades would return.

God--inbetween my shoulderblades.

I get chills just thinking about it.

My shoulderblades mean a lot to me. Both of them. The left one is fairly normal. Heh, what is normal right? Pretty and flat, covered in muscle and overlaying normal ribs. The right one, however, is the one that means the most to me. (Seriously, haven't you ever picked a favorite body part? My sister used to like your pelvic bone because it sounded like Elvis who used to shake his hips.) My right shoulderblade caused me quite a bit of embarrassment and shame growing up. It was the one I could pop out of socket. The one that is slightly deformed because of a rotated ribcage. A ribcage rotated because of something called scoliosis. Something that could have killed me. A disease that... well, changed my life.

So the idea of God being inbetween my shoulderblades gives me cold chills. There He is. Nestled, settled. Breathing down my neck, some days it feels like. Whispering in my ears, on other days. There are even days, I swear I can feel His hands on my shoulders.

I think about what it feels like when He is not there. Or, rather, when I cannot feel Him there. As if I could turn my head, straining my neck to catch a glimpse of Him... and end up like my dog Zoe chasing her tail. Around and around in circles. Where is He on days like these? When no wind blows and my shoulders are uncomfortably cold?

I wonder what I do when I cannot feel Him there. I think I cry a lot. I lay blame a lot. I eat a lot. Like a lover who won't return your calls. Well, not quite. But something equivalent. I wonder, sometimes, what I did wrong. Why did He leave? Was it something I said? Was it something I did? What could I do to make Him return?

And, even as I write this, I am reminded that He never really leaves; not really. He is there all along, it is I who have forgotten about Him. Taken His presence for granted. Taken advantage of His grace (well, actually, can you even do such a thing?). And so He stays quiet for a little while. Or begins to speak in a new language, a new tongue.

Because He wants us to listen.

He wants us to hear.

One of my best friends in the world returned from Africa yesterday. She climbed a volcano and saw rhinos and giraffes. She worked in an orphanage with a team of other college students from the U.S. for a whole month. I talked to her today and she told me about Dustin.

All I know is that Dustin is his name.

And in the last week of their trip, as they served in an orphanage in Kenya, he decided to stay.

He decided to stay until December.

Why?

Because that was where he needed to be (I get cold chills, again, as I write this).

Because he knew it was time to "step out and be bold in his faith".

I think, maybe, God was in between Dustin's shoulderblades. And He was laughing.

Sometimes, when God is so close (when God is on our back), His laughter shakes us up a little bit.

Oh, to be so close.