Lisa Yvette Pearson

Books, blogs, and biblicalities.

Monday Love Notes

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EXCERPT from Confessions of a Faithful Slacker...

...It’s all holy everything ‘til somebody steals your parking space!

Nothing that’s been said to that driver could ever be said in a house of worship. And the space thief’s flattened tire isn’t really that bad. But somehow we’re lucky you're saved?

- from the forthcoming title, Confessions of a Faithful Slacker: 7 Steps to Renewing Your Relationship with Christ (July 2015)


Do you know people who use that phrase "You're lucky I'm saved"?

I am still completely fascinated by it. It tickles me to no end.

I was in the Catholic Church until I was about 21, so being that there're no cliff notes "being saved" and a lot of the terminology was unfamiliar until I began to pursue new avenues of worship. 

Mostly, I heard the term after a person went full out loco on someone else. Like cussed her down to the socks and back up again until she cried. "Whew, chile. You lucky I'm saved." Or choked him out and then just before he lost consciousness, "Man, you are lucky I'm saved."

Somebody's lucky, but I'm not sure it's the person who's now just a shell of himself!

Anywho...

I don't get angry often. Annoyed and/or disgruntled, yes. But not seeing red or fading to black. 

However...

I was in my car on a weeknight, heading to one of my night classes downtown Brooklyn.

(Long side note. Downtown Brooklyn is basically a thousand skinny tiny streets cramped together, flanked by high rise apartment and office buildings, banks, businesses, Borough Hall, Federal Court, Family Court, and a court of jesters trying to sell you $7 coffee. A few of those super slim streets have parking spaces set aside for the people who work in those buildings plus "No Standing" except for delivery trucks. Trying to squeeze your car into a parking space down there is like being a size twelve, trying to fit into a size eight pair of pants. Just your foot, and maybe a calf will get in - if there's stretch. So you have to search until you find your size.)

On this day, I had my gospel music playing, and my mood was all holy everything. I was serenity on ice. Calm to the third power. Deepak meditated. Peace? I got it by the pound. I had an exam or a paper due. Can't remember which. But I was ready. I circled and circled and came upon a space right down the block from school. God is good.  The spot was a little tight, but it's like my lil car had green smoothies, worked out, and that day, the space was more jeggings than denim. 

Winning! 

So I shifted into reverse, about to back into the space, thank You Jesus, and this little size four of a car zipped into it.

 

Driving in NYC is a test on so many levels, but stealing parking spaces ranks highest on my Driver's Anger Scale. It makes me Housewife on a Reunion Show angry. It ranks higher than crazy taxi drivers and higher than people throwing trash out of their car windows.  

Yall... the holy evaporated and the thank You Jesuses pulled a disappearing act. I think I prayed. But don't quote me. One thing I know was that it had to be God who helped me move on, because a half hour later, still salty, I went to my class rather than jail that night. 

But when I think back on that night, I am not mad at that anymore. What I am mad at however, is that I forgot to holler "You're lucky I'm saved!" out the window.

Final grade in How to Be a Proper Christian 101: C.

What makes you angry enough to table flip like Jesus in the temple? To set your tea kettle to whistling? How do you come down from that? Do you use this phrase? Do tell.