An Open Letter to God

Dear God,
I am sending this to you because I find myself saying, "Dear God" on a regular basis and yet never follow it up with a letter. So finally, here is your letter. First, I wish to thank you, from the bottom of my cholesterol stricken heart for having the stork drop me off somewhere south of the Mason Dixon Line. That right there is one of life's greatest blessings and I am truly grateful. Living a life of barefeet, sunshine, Southern Baptist Dinner on the Grounds (hence the cholesterol reference above), and excessive usage of the word "y'all" (& "Y'alls plural) has filled my heart with happiness. And being a Florida Gator....well...we all know there's a reason why the sun is orange and the sky is blue. *wink wink*.

I do not count Texas as the South, so I'm not particularly grateful for our stint there, but my childhood in Florida was awesome as was our four month stint in a furnished apartment in Huntsville, AL (despite the little neighborhood murder incident that occurred our first week there). Now Lord, what I don't really understand, and this is kind of the point of this letter, is how exactly we wound up here in Brooklyn, New York. Yeah, I know that there's a plan for everything, but unless your plan involves me dying in a firery car crash on a city street with a posted yet severely ignored speed limit of 30mph or stressing myself into an early grave at the checkout counter at the Coney Island Home Depot (worst one in the NATION), I'm not entirely sure what it is I'm supposed to be doing here. Yes, I know I'm an Army wife and we are supposed to have that little plaque in our home that says, "Home is where the Army sends us!" but frankly, that's just not my style of decor nor my philosophy on life. Home is a sandy beach in Florida. Plain and simple.

We've been living here in the Big Apple for about 8 months now and I've moved through different phases of acceptance. First I was literally screaming and jumping up and down that we were coming. Then I freaked out that we were coming. That phase lasted a while and involved me sending oodles of emails to current NY'ers asking them pressing questions like, "Should I buy a super puffy coat for my 2 year old, or just a medium puffy coat?" and "will my speaking of the English language be a problem there?". Then we arrived in the dead of winter and it was too darn cold for me to really have any other emotions until Spring arrived and my brain thawed out. Sure, I think it's pretty cool that we live here and obviously our friends do too because we've had more guests here than anywhere else we've lived. We have had some great opportunities to see and do cool stuff and we've met some great friends. But Lord, I am just astonished at the people we encounter here. We have friends here and obviously I'm not referring to them. I'm referring to the general population of crazy that seems to have congregated here on this island and surrounding borroughs. Lord, how did they all get here and what does that say about my recent arrival? Are you trying to tell me to get back on the meds?

Anyways, Lord, I've never been confrontational, verbally anyway, but you've given me the opportunity to encounter some insane, confrontation-worthy stuff since we've been here. And you've allowed me to keep customer service hotlines & survey companies in business (because good or bad, it's important to report!). And you've given me this computer and an English degree (although I'm a stay-home mom now and cannot be held responsible for poor grammar, mispellings, and incomplete sentences. This is a blog, not a thesis). I have always been better at communicating my feelings through writing (mainly because my tongue is always in my cheek and my foot is always in my mouth so speaking is usually not an option), so maybe I'm here to communicate to the masses on behalf of the Human Race Complaint Department. Maybe I can share a little of my frustrations in the hopes that others will not have to experience them. Maybe I can share some of my funnies, because you know how I love a good laugh. And maybe this is how I can make it through the next 18 months here before we're off to some place new (preferably south of the Mason Dixon Line por favor). Perhaps all those "dear God!" moments I have are part of your plan for me. Maybe this blog will, somehow, help me figure that out.

Amen.