Angry Conversations with God (16 page)

God: They’ve been castrated! Making them sing rock ballads—girlie love songs with guitar riffs.

Susan: But you’re God. Why don’t you do something?

Jesus: It’s the five loaves and two fish again. We did do something. We found you a fish. Pedro was the fish. He fed you;
he woke up your femininity; he appreciated you. But he couldn’t feed your soul for the rest of your life. Can’t you just appreciate
that he was great for you for that period of time?

Susan: I didn’t hear, “Pedro’s great for you right now.” I heard, “Don’t be unequally yoked. What does darkness have to do
with light? Choose today whom you will serve. Choose, choose, choose!”

Rudy: But was that God, or your version of God?

Susan: Just because my version of God forced me to break up doesn’t mean the real God didn’t too. The Bible
does
say not to be unequally yoked, that darkness doesn’t have anything to do with light. (To God) But what does mediocrity have
to do with excellence? What does creativity have to do with shame? What does a smart creative artist have to do with passive,
asexual wimps?

God: What if a church guy tried to muster up the courage to ask you out? What if he overheard you trash him like that? Maybe
church guys are wimps, but you’re brutal.

Susan: Just say it: I’m angry and no one will like me.

God: No, I will not say that. But don’t you think we ached for you to find a lover you could share your
whole
life with? I used your teachers to encourage you creatively when the church could not. I used Georgina to build structure
in your life when you had none. I used the Rock ’n’ Rollers to heal you, and Pedro to wake you up. I worked with whatever
I got my hands on. Can you see that?

Susan: The church made me terrified to live.

God: The church healed your wounds. The church introduced you to me. And you’re ungrateful because I didn’t adhere to your
timetable?

Everything God said had a point. If only I’d understood what was happening at the time. If only there had been healthy leaders
to explain it. Or maybe there were but I hadn’t listened to them. If only I’d listened. If only I hadn’t been so afraid. If
only. “If only” was as useless as those memories of Pedro, calling to me from just blocks away.

MY HEART MAY HAVE BEEN BROKEN, BUT AT LEAST I HAD WORK
. I threw myself into the Groundlings. I wrote sketches and performed on Sundays. I did the Thursday all-improv show. I was
thrilled to play my note. But we didn’t get paid to do the Groundlings; I still had to schlep around town for auditions and
bookings and rejections. Between writing three-minute sketches and playing Woman #5 on the latest doomed sitcom, I started
to feel like I was back on that moving walkway, running to stand still. Yes, I was “having fun,” but was I putting my talents
to their best use? Did God want more from me? Why did I still ache for some larger meaning?

“Oh, stop complaining about meaning, Susan,” Mark scolded me. “I’ve done one lousy no-pay production of
Bleacher Bums.
And I’m a waiter. You’re making a living. You were on
Quantum Leap
twice already. You’re in the Groundlings. It’s only a matter of time.”

The Groundlings had launched a lot of people’s careers. I needed to be patient. Finally, I auditioned for a recurring role
on a TV series. When I was down visiting my parents, the casting director called to say the role was nearly mine; I just needed
to meet everyone. Between the time I got into the car and the time I arrived at the lot, the series was canceled. I cried
all the way back to my parents’ house. And I kept going.

I booked a week’s work on
The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air.
Mark and Cheryl came to the taping. Afterward we went out for drinks to celebrate my moment of fabulosity. Mark pointed to
a TV starlet at the bar. I turned to look. I didn’t see the actress; I saw the guy she was talking to. It was David.

David, my high school sweetheart. David, who ran after the things of the world. David, who Georgina had forbidden me to see.
When he moved here, alone and seeking friendship, I blew him off. Would he return the favor?

I caught his eye and a smile erupted over his face. I’d forgotten how he looked after the braces came off. I ran over and
he gave me a hug. He introduced me to the starlet. She was his girlfriend. And he was now a staff writer on the biggest sitcom
on TV at the time. Well, of course he was in love and working—he was David. He was thrilled I’d booked the job on
Fresh Prince.
I was relieved I had something to talk about other than the Oakie church. Before I left, I pulled him aside.

“David, I’m sorry about blowing you off. I was in a bad place.”

“Don’t tell me—was it a church thing?”

“I’m not a part of that church anymore.”

“You know what was the biggest problem I had with you becoming a Christian? You lost all your spontaneity.”

Nothing David said could have been more brutal. Because he was right.

On the ride home, Mark tried to flatter me. “You looked really hot.”

“He looked really miserable,” Cheryl replied.

“No, he looked hot,” Mark said.

“I’m happy for David!” I protested. “He’s in love; he’s writing for [the biggest hit show at the time].”

Mark gasped. “I love that show! That show kicks ass.”

Cheryl interrupted, “How can he be truly happy? He doesn’t know the Lord.”

“Well, I do know the Lord,” Mark replied, “and I’m miserable.”

“This is ridiculous!” I shouted. “Why am I comparing myself to a guy I haven’t seen in ten years?”

“He was your first love, Susan,” Mark said. “He’s an icon.”

He was. I was in awe of David. He was doing what I’d never had the courage to do. He’d found love and success, and he hadn’t
waited around for God to direct him. Because he didn’t have a God to call on, he did it himself. Oh, right; I forgot. “The
pagan world rushes after these things. But seek ye first…” Seek ye first, seek ye first. That’s all I’d done. “Seek Ye First”
was nothing but the anthem of a coward.

I worked harder at the Groundlings. Mark loved my shows. Cheryl was offended by the occasional religious dig or dry-humping
dog. I didn’t like them either, but how were these situations any different from things that came up at an average job? Well,
okay, minus the dry-humping dog?

Cheryl tried to be more diplomatic. “The show is great. But I know you; you’ve got more depth than a three-minute sketch.
I’d love to see you use your gifts directly for the kingdom of God.”

“But what does that look like, Cheryl? I’m not going to do Bible skits.”

I hated her nit-picking. I didn’t judge her for having non-Christian clients. But she had a point. The Groundlings weren’t
playing every note I wanted to play. Yes, they were a great place for three-minute sketches. But that’s not what drove me
to film school. I was driven by deeper questions about adventure and purpose and meaning. And it was really hard to do that
in a three-minute sketch with a wig.

I remembered something Father Michael said to me at the monastery. “The human soul is meant to expand. Things that once captured
your heart may no longer be able to contain it.” In the same way Pedro couldn’t contain the whole of my heart, and maybe comedy
sketches couldn’t contain the whole of my creativity. Yes, Jesus had called me into a grand adventure. But I’d been suspecting
that the adventure was grander than three-minute sketches. Maybe the road was turning. I prayed long and hard about it. “Lord,
I’ll go where you lead me. Just point the way. Only, no crappy Bible skits, if at all possible.”

I applied to two exclusive graduate screenwriting programs. I figured I could pack more meaning into a feature-length screenplay
than a three-minute sketch. When I got accepted, that felt like a sign where the road was pointing. How else could I interpret
it?

“You’re leaving?” one of my Groundlings cast mates protested. “People fight to get into this company. This is how you get
discovered! This is how you end up on
Saturday Night Live
!” Maybe. But I was answering a higher call. You know, from The Lord?

One Sunday morning Pastor Craig started his sermon as he often did—with an illustration from a movie. He’d just seen a black
comedy with spiritual overtones that he felt we could learn some lessons from.
The Addams Family.
My gut dropped to my sneakers.

I chased down Pastor Craig as soon as he left the podium. “
The Addams Family
?!”

He smiled. “I laughed so hard. Yeah, it was dark, but true too, ya know?”

“Pastor Craig, that’s the film I had the horrifying dream about: the Grim Reaper dream. I thought God was telling me I shouldn’t
do it, and you said I needed to listen.”

“Well, maybe watching a film and acting in it are two different things.”

“
Maybe?
I alienated a casting director who would have kept me working.”

“Suze, God’s ways are not our ways. You gotta wait on God.”

“Yes, Pastor Craig. Everyone in this church talks about waiting on God. And I have. I’ve gotten healed. I’ve healed my inner
child; I’ve healed my father wound; I’ve fathered my wounded healer. You know what I haven’t done? I haven’t lived, not outside
this church. My non-Christian friends are going after life; they’re not waiting on God. And their lives look a lot better
than mine.”

“You know Psalm seventy-three,” he answered. “‘I envied the arrogant when I saw the prosperity of the wicked.’”

“My friends aren’t arrogant or wicked. But they are working!”

“Well, Suze, I’d rather be on fire for Jesus in the unemployment line than doing some cush job for Satan.”

“So
you
see a film and it’s funny, but if
I
act in it, I’m working for Satan?”

“Sorry, bad analogy. I don’t know the answer. But I know God does. Have you told him how you really feel?”

“I just told you. Doesn’t that count?”

Then Pastor Craig told me about a conference at a church a couple of hours away where people were hearing from God, getting
healed, “getting their doors blown off, man. You should go. It’s never too late for God to show up.”

I’d had amazing things happen to me at conferences. Just because I had to break up with a guy or miss out on a movie, I shouldn’t
harden my heart and miss the gift God had for me. So I humbled my sore-loser ass and prayed: “Lord, I am going to trust you.
If you have some wisdom or revelation or healing for me…or even if you just want me to be with you, I will show up.”

So I drove out to the city of Irwindale, a landlocked town an hour east of Los Angeles and home of the largest rock quarry
west of Pittsburgh. Brush fires had been burning so the skies were red with smoke. The church was in an industrial park of
prefab-concrete warehouses: a plastics manufacturer, a data processing plant, and a church. It felt like Costco for Christ.

I arrived to find a rock band playing. Some bodybuilders stood in front, breaking up blocks of concrete to show the power
of Christ to break the bonds of sin. The pastor himself had been a champion wrestler. He looked like the Incredible Hulk,
ready to explode out of his own torso. He marched up to the podium, flexed his arms, and shouted to the crowd: “Have you been
shredding the Scriptures for Christ?”

The audience whooped it up. A group of women with permed mullets started laughing. Their laughter percolated through the auditorium
and didn’t stop. “They’re laughing in the Spirit,” a woman next to me explained. The Lord was bringing “holy laughter” to
the room. Other people had been roaring in the Spirit. “You know, like the Lion of Judah. But the Lord isn’t roaring tonight.”

At this point I could have reasoned that, actually, the Lord did not have anything for me here and gone home. But what if
I drove those ninety miles and missed the miracle?

Behind me one of the permed-mullet prophetesses got up. “Oh, shamba-rohee-bala!” She spurted some holy freak glossolalia.
“I see a gold dust in the air. The Lord is in his temple!” Never mind that it was sunset and we were next to a rock quarry
and downwind from a brush fire. She saw gold dust in the air from the Lord. Well, I’d thought I’d heard from God in dreams.
I could cut her some slack. But then someone else stood up and gasped, “There’s gold dust on my hand. Shamba-rohee-bala!”
People shouted; laughter rippled through the crowd like a stadium wave.