Swingers and The Holy Spirit

Just yesterday I wrote a letter to God, and you may be surprised to know He is already answering me. I woke up a couple of hours before I could conjure up the energy to get out of bed. That is just how it is lately, with the big black cloud over our home: First, we have stupid Mim and Cat Breager, and the lawsuit that won't go away. Then, we have swinger neighbors.

I'll assume if you don't live in California, you cannot even comprehend such a predicament -- people that re-did their entire backyard to accommodate every swinger in a 100 mile radius. No, they didn't put in a trampoline for the kiddies, or a pool to entertain friends, or a fire-pit to relax with a glass of Merlot after a long day. They made Swinger Haven. A petri dish for every venereal disease known, and those not yet discovered. The very thought makes me shiver and want to go suck my thumb in a corner, curled up in the fetal position.

I think most of the swingers are local, though sometimes they travel farther to come and swing, because Rick watched one guy one time who was lurking around the neighborhood at 10:30 at night who had flown in from a far off place, and was in a rental car trying to find this swinger destination. That is kind of the way it goes. You see, we have finally figured out that they put their swinger ads on some random network, hook up with fellow pervs, and then the pervs call a secret telephone number. I'll assume they have to answer some pertinent swinger questions, and upon approval, they get directions to the exciting swinger destination. Kind of like answering the right questions on a radio contest to win a trip to Hawaii without the legitimacy and the FCC's approval.

Thank goodness for my 6'3" husband who, though especially kind, can pose an intimidating figure when needed, since he was able to run off aforementioned pervy swinger with just a few abrupt words. I, on the other hand, am not as intimidating even though I swear I am quadruply crazier than anything Rick could even imagine. I mean, when I strolled down the street to find an obese man, chomping on cake, leaning his big plump elbow on the top of his car, and staring at my sweet son like a hawk stares at a white, unblemished bunny, while Austin mowed our lawn. It took every thing within me to refrain from leaping over that obese man's car and clobbering him the way my grandma used to threaten to clobber salesmen who uninvitedly came knocking at her door. Let me say this, my grandma had a .22 caliber rifle behind her door. I used to think that was a little overkill, but now, I see her sage rational.

Instead of relying on a firearm, I turned to that rotund man and said, "Can I help you, cause I live here you perv, and I think you need to leave right now." Now see, I don't think calling a pervert a "perv" can really be offensive, because it's like calling me a "white girl." I know I'm white. I'm not denying it. If you called me "blondy," still no offense taken. I'm not really sure he was offended by my choice of words, or my posture. Anyway, he left.

That day and many days since, the Holy Spirit has worked over-time, in asserting self-control within me. Poor Holy Spirit. He probably didn't know how hard it was going to be with this one, but really, I didn't know that pervy swingers would be my neighbors. Regardless of how the Holy Spirit feels about me, I love him for keeping me out of prison and off crime blotters.

Then, there was the day that we were barbecuing at the neighbors house directly next to the swinger house. Rick got an unfortunate peek at another obese naked man in the buffet line at the swinger house. He looked greenish after seeing that, and a little ill. Chloe, only eleven at the time, saw a naked man while riding her bike down the street. I felt certain that God was saying that I had permission to hurt people, but couldn't find it anywhere in the Bible. I hate when that happens!

Then, just a day after I had written a scathing letter to the swingers saying things like, "We KNOW what you're doing and it's not AQUA THERAPY like you said it was!" and "We don't like the perverts you invite into the neighborhood glaring at our children." I had Rick read it, since while I value pat honesty, he is sometimes -- OK, oftentimes, my good sense, and he calls me in off the perverbial ledge. He finally convinced me that I should hold off on giving them that letter until I simmered down a bit.

Well, the very next day in the third shift of swingers (there'd already been shift one that started at 8:30 a.m., and the second shift that came around 12:30 p.m. in the afternoon), a woman ran into Rick's car. Rick had to go get her in the swinger backyard. He did, and fortunately she was the only clothed woman. See how God's goodness works out? She came across the street, and instantly denied any fault. Then, orchestrated by God in heaven, the woman said, almost in slow motion like a scene in a movie where you cannot believe what you're about to hear, the woman said, "I did not hit your car, and I wouldn't lie about it, because I'm a...(slow motion time) C-h-r-i-s-t-i-a-n." Oh, no she didn't. Hand in the air, like I was doing a exorcism in some canjun witch doctor hut, "In the name of Jesus Almighty, get behind me satan!" Rick's face dropped. Didn't he tell me to go in the house? Well, this mightily disobedient wife stood firm on my lawn calling up verses for every crazy New Age "your a reflection of me and I'm reflecting love back onto you, while we reflect onto each other in our one united reflection of love" defense. Say what? I think they had the heat turned up too high on their swinger sauna, because this lady was rambling the craziest stuff I ever heard, and I'm from California -- I've heard my share of crazy ramblings!

Pretty soon the swinger hosts came marching across the street to defend their "friend," though the lady readily admitted she had never met the hosts before. The volcano had been spewing, heating up, and bubbling under the fragile surface, and now, it was about to blow. All said, there were heated words exchanged back and forth: Really, nothing too ridiculous, except that they said we were probably paranoid about the possible risk their lives posed to our children. They said that their daughters were not harmed by such things, though I thought that the results of one of their daughters being a stripper, and the other being a self-mutilator spoke well enough for themselves. I didn't say anything, but I hoped that they might eventually see it for themselves.

Well, a couple of weeks have gone by. They're still swinging, but much more subtly. The swinger guests park farther away. I tried googling their address to find exactly what they were doing, and eventually found in my detective work that there are hundreds of swinger sites. One site proudly announced that my area alone had over 7,000 swingers online at 1:30 p.m. on a Tuesday afternoon.

It has been sobering to know that regardless of what I think is going on, or what should go on the sin of man elicits him to do whatever he allows himself to give into, which is sometimes so contrary to God's will. I'm no different. In fact, if I contradicted the overworked Holy Spirit in me, I'd be no different in my bouts with anger against these people.

How has God answered me today? Well, I woke up and got to scare Austin while he played Xbox, smooch on Chloe while she awoke, and snuggle Sophie. While I was snuggling Sophie, kissing her sweet cheeks she said, "You can kiss me and it won't make a difference." Seeing that as an invitation to keep on kissing her, she eventually said, "OK, I guess it does make a difference, because I know you love me." That is how God has been with me. That is how He's answered me. He may not make a difference in my life today, ending a painful lawsuit, or getting me away from Swinger Haven, but He takes care of me in other ways, so that I know He loves me.