Daily Archives: November 10, 2007

Stealing Back the Thunder

by

Geralyn Ruane

Recent conversation that took place in a supermarket parking lot between me and a homeless man:

Homeless Man: Do you have any spare change?

Me: (Giving him seven bucks) Here ya go. Hey, I have some old blankets in my car. Do you need a blanket?

Homeless Man: I could use a blanket.

Me: Okay. I’ll be right back. I just have to run to my car to get it. You’ll stay here?

Homeless Man: I’ll be here.

I run to my car, grab a blanket, then grab an unopened bottle of water off the back seat. I hurry back to the man.

Me: Here. (I hand him the blanket.) And here’s some water. (I hand him the bottle.)

Homeless Man: Thank you! (Takes the stuff then looks me in the eye.) You’re a Christian, aren’t you.

Me: Actually, no.

Homeless Man: But you believe in the Lord.

Me: I believe in being nice to people.

Homeless Man: I can see in your eyes that you have the Lord in you.

Me: (Waving as I turn away) Take care.

Homeless Man: (Calling to my retreating back) The Lord is in you! I know it!

God is stealing my thunder and I don’t like it. Or rather, people are stealing my thunder and giving it to God. Why does everyone insist on giving a Higher Power credit for the things I do right here on earth – or for the good things people do in general? What about my friend Kristin? Does God get her thunder, too? She gave me those blankets in the first place because she knows I dole out blankets and socks to the homeless once the whether starts turning cold.

I don’t think the human race gets enough credit for its goodness. Sure, I actually know some people who help others because they are getting older and want to build up points for Heaven. But I know far more people who help others because, for them, there is simply no other way to live.

My ire on the subject of misappropriated thunder rumbles deep and strong, but not out of brewing jealousy or rankled pride. The big picture is far more disturbing, especially when you flip it over. Do you see it? Giving God credit for the good people do is the mirror image of making God the scapegoat for all the evil people do.

Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka, Kansas, pickets the funerals of fallen servicemen, shouting at the mourners that God is killing U.S. soldiers in Iraq to punish Americans for their tolerance of homosexuality. Does God deserve to take this bullet? Or does such inflammatory rhetoric instead serve to distract from the reality of what certain people are doing to other people, and why? If we give God the blame, or the credit, we miss out on what our fellow humans are doing.

Like the woman who chased me into Trader Joe’s the other day.

Woman: Excuse me! Excuse me! Do you drive the red Volkswagen?

Me: (Turning around) Yes.

Woman: You need to put change in the meter. I know it’s Sunday, but they’ll ticket you. The car in front of you has a ticket.

Me: (I follow her back to my car and see both the other car’s ticket and the sign I’d ignored posting the parking rules.) Thanks!

Woman: I just know that I hate to get a ticket.

Me: (Putting change into the meter) No, really, thanks!

Was God looking out for me by sending that woman to prevent my possible ticket? I prefer to let that woman keep her own richly deserved thunder. She helped me out. Mmmruh!

I steal back the credit or blame given to God whenever I can. No matter what Higher Power we believe in or how we pray, we should acknowledge the thunder of humanity. We need to recognize the good done by people, or we’ll miss the sublime moments of mmmruh! that give life its pulse and light and hope. And we need to recognize the evil done by people, so that we can do something about it.

Mmmruh! It’s all about people. John Lennon could imagine it. Can you?

Geralyn Ruane’s favorite Hardy Boy is whichever one Parker Stevenson played, and these days she writes romance, chick lit and women’s fiction. Last year her short story “Jane Austen Meets the New York Giants” was published in the New York Times Bestselling anthology The Right Words at the Right Time Volume 2.