Jesus Christ, 40 days and the desert.

I have often written about trials, deserts and the oppressive crushing weight that comes with waiting for a trial to be complete. Those blogs are not here mind you. This is a relatively new blog. You can easily find my backdated posts here if your interested. They are a good read providing that you have nothing else to read or can't read. If so, they yes, they are amazingness personified. Much like an enigma wrapped in a riddle with a carmel filling covered with chocolate ganache.

Ahem.

The point here being that I'm no stranger to waiting around for everyone and everything else to get their act together and get on with the show. It seems that most of my life has involved, in some way or another, me telling people what was going on, and them telling me , "No no no, that couldn't possibly be so." I also can't tell you how many times I've just shrugged and closed the door to the Ark as the last of the animals shuffled in two by two and storm clouds darkened overhead.

After the first few floods I remained resilient in the face of such skepticism. However, I've found that my patience is waining as of late. You can only try to convince the populace that something is going on and watch call you a "ri-tard" so many times before you start to lose your sense of humor about it. I can only imagine poor Noah just landing that big ass boat in a tree with everyone around on the ground looking up in disbelief. That old man beard long from spending month on the ocean climbing down the ladder thinking, "Ok, now maybe people will take me seriously when I say there's going to be a flood. But hell, theres nobody left to destroy, now maybe God can take a break and have a margarita." Only to hear Great White's "Once bitten, twice shy" guitar hook ring tone from his cell phone and seeing: "777-777-7777" on caller ID. Crap. I can image that conversation would go something like this:

Noah: Hello.

God: You know I don't drink Margaritas anymore.

Noah: I'm sure. Besides, it was a metaphor.

God: Ya. I know.

Noah: Well, you have something to tell me I assume.

God: Yup.

Noah: Let me guess. You've finished your ultimate plan for me and now I can finally relax?

God: Not exactly.

Noah: Another flood.

God: Yup. More or less. You'll need to let people know.

Noah: These new ones gonna listen to me this time?

God: Probably not.

Noah: Great.

God: See you in six months.

Noah: Bye.

Noah: "ALRIGHT EVERYBODY. BACK ON THE BOAT. CHANGE OF PLANS."

Noah: :sigh: Again...

And so it goes. Over and freaking over and freaking over again. Granted I'm not exactly predicting world drowning floods here but when I say "storm clouds are on the way". I certainly expect people to take me seriously. I mean I did show up in a freaking tree after a huge storm didn't I? (metaphorically at least).

As I mentioned before, It's always been this way for me. It never really registered until I hit 30. Not too long after that birthday, I was driving somewhere, (probably to pick up canvas or brushes or something,) and it occurred to me that I about the age Jesus was when he supposedly began his ministry. While you heathens out there that weren't raised with a healthy dose of moral obligation mixed with crushing fear might not get the gravity of such a comparison, those of us raised with such ingrained awe of the big "J" (even those who no longer really fall neatly into conventional categories), that parallel is something special.

I had always envisioned Christ as this semi-old man turning over tables in the temple, eyes all burny from the "wrath of the one true God" and what-not. Reading about these miracles and sermons, Jesus gathering the people to him, defying the Roman Empire he seemed so far removed from me. Granted he was the son the of God; and yet the largest religion on the planet with followers clocking in at 2.1 billion people, (And that's that's Billion. With a "B". Out of the 6,864,100,000 people mulling about on this blue dot. That's nearly 1/3 of the earth's population) follow a guy that got the ball rolling when he was 30. That is to say, when he was as old as I was.

What a terrifying revelation that is. While I am not the son of God sent here to save the souls of mankind from everlasting damnation, I have enough of an impetus behind me that I don't feel uncomfortable drawing the parallel. I feel as thought everything is pushing into the next stage much as the big JHC probably felt.

With that in mind, I'll draw another sacrilegious parallel. Jesus wandered in the desert for 40 days immediately after visiting his cousin John the Baptist. I'm a big fan of deserts. they center us and you come out the other side a changed person. They test your metal and show you what your made of. Most prophets and visionaries spend some amount of time in a cave somewhere deciding if this whole "holy-man" thing is such a good idea. I imagine for every holy man that stays, hundreds wander back into the cities and lead perfectly happy lives in perfectly happy anonymity.

And here I am. 30 years old being tested by the desert as much as any ascetic. And yes, it is taking me a bit longer than the standard 40 days to find my way through. In the meantime, I am waiting, and while I might be here in this desert bearing the temptation to believe the doubt of those around me who wonder why I'm building this stupid fucking boat, believe me when I say this;

There are storm clouds on the horizon, and y'all are about to get wet.

-F