Pudding, Bots, & God: A Tale of a Pomo-Indian

I have always been a wrestler. When I was a little kid I honed my skills in the front yard imitating the moves of Junk Yard Dog, Hulk Hogan, The Killer Bees, The Rock n’ Roll Express, and Andre the Giant. I would trade moves with my brothers. I’d say to my brothers, “If you let me piledrive you I will let you Sleeper Hold me.”

We spent the better part of our youth wrestling. I then graduated to high school wrestling. I did ok but it was not the WWF. It lacked the pizazz or panache of my heroes. I quit wrestling my junior year but never stopped wrestling.

I discovered God and found a way to justify my wrestling. I wanted to be good. I wanted to be loved. I wanted God to be real so I could pin those powerful shoulders to the ground or pop that eternal hip in to a hold so that I may demand peace.

A few years after I got saved and after the third baptism I got caught up in the Presbyterian Church (USA). I became part of a wonderful group of young Christians while in college and got super involved in youth ministry and college group. We would wrestle with the Word together. I would wrestle with “their” interpretation all the time.

I wanted desperately to figure out who I was and what I believed. I had no idea how to get there. I wanted real answerers for the shit I felt and had seen in life. I could not take “Jesus” and because it’s in the Bible as my answer.

One year we went to Forest Home for “College Briefing.” It is a super-charged youth-centric revival shebang in or around the beginning of the fall semester of college. College aged folks from all over the Southland would show up and parade around being badass Christians. It was like a “Saved for college folk.”

I desperately wanted to hook up with a “good Christian woman” and settle down. No dice. In my love lorne fervor I just wrestled with the humanity present in me. I spent many hours in prayer trying to shed this mortal coil. I would stay up in to the night praying that God would take away my lust and build ramparts around my heart.

I heard that Bill Graham had a vision in the chapel about Gods call in his life. So, I planned to spend the night begging God to show me the way. I chugged shit tons of soda and grabbed my hoodie and hiked over to the chapel. I walked in to the darkness to discover a couple in there “praying.” They quickly said “Amen” and took off to find a better place to “pray.”

I Prayed and prayed. I prayed some more. I tried bargaining with God. I begged God. I tried reverse psychology on God and even tried reverse, reverse psychology of God. I tried to reason with God. All the while I messed up other opportunity to “pray” in couples. I was a divine cockblock.

I prayed, begged, and pleaded so much that I fell asleep. Billy Graham gets the vision and got a nap. Ten years later I am still wrestling with God and cockblocking like a giant divine robot.

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