The Lord Works In Weird Ways

When I went grocery shopping last week I encountered a slobbery dog tied up outside the store waiting for its owner.  Because I am up to date on my rabies vaccinations, I stopped and gave it a pet and then went inside.  I was tossing food in my grocery cart, daydreaming about how glorious it would be to own 10 Yorkies with matching Burberry sweaters when I accidentally bumped into some dude.  

I apologized and saw that he was counting change to see if he had enough money to buy a can of dog food and a bag of noodles.  I started to walk off when my nosy pal, Intuition, piped up “Hey Erin, that guy is HUNGRY.  WTF?  Handle it.”  I never, repeat NEVER question this bitch because Intuition has proven that she will bust my balls if I do not obey her demands so I reached into my wallet, handed him a hundred dollar bill and told him to go get some food.

The man stared at the money in disbelief, leaned against the shelf and started crying.  Like hysterically.  I cannot even watch Maury Pouvich without crying.  It is just so so sad when a poor unsuspecting gang member learns he is not the father after he has already tattooed the kid’s name across his shoulder blades in Old English font.  I started crying too, gave the guy a hug and told him I was just acting on behalf of the universe.  

Annnnnd then I walked off and started laughing because I assumed the universe had just blithely paid to get a homeless man wasted.  Whatever.  Not my biz.  I was just following orders.  But here is where it gets good.....I finished shopping and glanced over while the guy was checking out.  He had gotten a cart, filled it with actual food and a giant bag of dog food. I momentarily considered buying him a 40 oz. because I was so proud of him. I then saw him crouch down to untie his dog, the very dog I was loving on right before I went in! Ahhhhhhh, RIGHT?!  

I am working on the point of this story, so just chill out: I have almost a 2’ long scar running vertically down my spine from surgery I had to correct scoliosis when I was fifteen.  Over the years I have had countless people tell me I should have plastic surgery and other various treatments to “fix it”.  The truth is: I like it.  In fact, I love it.  I would never change it.  My scar graciously reminds me to stay humble because it symbolizes the unfaltering beauty of the human spirit and the kindness in which it came to be.  Now having said that, I totally had the one tit thing fixed and it was pretty much A-W-E-S-O-M-E so don’t start thinking “Erin is such a peace loving earth child that embraces inner feminine beauty.”  Oh please, I am like totally vain. I wear make-up and I lasered my hoo-hah.  

Anyway, (pretend I am strumming a guitar singing a country song now) growing up my.family.was.broke.  My parents were divorced, my mom cleaned houses and my dad was unemployed when we learned that I needed a surgery that would cost over $250K.  For reasons I do not know, nor can explain, the surgeon wrote off the entire surgery.  He worked on my spine for 8 hours, grafted bone from my hip, used every last drop of the blood I had previously donated for myself and ultimately altered the course of my life because I would not need a wheelchair.  After years of contemplation, I believe God gives us all unique gifts that are not intended to be hoarded.  When I give from my spirit I feel entirely different than when I am doing something simply to “be nice” or trying to make someone like me.  I was supposed to give that man money that day because I was completely at peace with my decision to do so.  

Additionally, I learned something else about myself when I had my surgery.  I was begging God to let me die but He was like “Um yeah, I just arranged for you to get this shit done for free so you are going to have to suck it up.”  “Okay God, well it is not that I am being ungrateful.... but could you do me a solid and have that nurse bring the strongest amount of morphine available short of making me barf all over myself again?”  And this is when 2 creepy mother fucking clowns came waltzing into my hospital room in a twisted attempt to cheer me up/terrify me.  And while I do not remember this because I was stoned out of my goddamn mind, I apparently told my sweet, loving grandparents to “GET THOSE FUCKING CLOWNS OUT OF MY ROOM!”  Yeah baby.  Although it was buried deeply within the confines of my psyche, I realized then and there that I really liked the word “fuck”.  XO

PS  Thank you Dr. Chang.  I promise I am not wasting your gift. (Please see picture below)

PPS  Thanks God, I am really glad you did not listen to me when I said I wanted to die. Living is a riot!