That’s right. A rich fantasy life is a healthy thing. Keep dreaming.

But back to the museum. Along with a small group of friends we were allowed in early before the general opening to the masses and then given a private tour of the exhibit before the crowds of ‘common folk’ descended. As we moved from room to room we had the chance to view original works of  Renoir, Cézanne, Gauguin, and Paul Signac who worked some kind of magic with dots! I realized in fairly short order that I’m no particular fan of Renoir nor was Cézannea particular thrill but all in all there were some remarkable paintings including this one titled “Rest” by the Danish artist, Wilhelm Hammershoi. As we art aficionados are prone to say, “something about it spoke to me.”

But my appreciation for this piece was little compared to what I felt when rounding the corner into one of the rooms I suddenly found myself standing directly across the hall from vanGogh’s “Starry Night over the Rhone.” Let me search for a word here.  Awesome. Powerful. Stunning. Magnificent. Breathtaking. All that and then some.

Among his full body of work vanGogh created several paintings featuring a starry night sky as the primary subject and while this wasn’t the most famous one (“Starry Night” came later in his life) I was none the less transfixed by the incredible energy and boldness of the night sky with every star casting light downward, becoming illuminant on the ripples of water. It truly was breathtaking, and while I used that word once already, the exquisiteness of this painting is double worthy of its application.

I stood across the room about 15 feet away for some time and then as the others standing in front of it began to flow toward the next painting my beloved and I walked up to the painting and stood as close to it as the tape boundary line on the floor would allow. I’d crossed a similar line earlier that morning in front of another painting before I was swiftly  reprimanded by a rather cranky man with a walkie-talkie and an attitude and was acutely aware his eyes were still burrowing into the back of my skull. Even from the position I held on the permissible side of the line I was close enough to vanGogh’s painting that I could have reached out and touched it were it not for Mr. Cranky Pants with the walkie-talkie. An original painting by the incredibly gifted extremely tormented Vincent vanGogh and I was within inches of a canvas into which he’d poured his energy and talent. It was….and here comes number three….breathtaking to consider, but still I became aware of something as I stood within an arms length of the painting that surprised me and then left me feeling a little dissatisfied. Standing that near to the painting the brilliant starlight reflecting downward through the deep blues of the night sky that had first appeared hauntingly captivating to me when viewed from across the other side of the room now looked like nothing more than an accumulation of small splashes and dare I say it, rather ordinary dabs of paint in varying shades of yellow and blue. The sense of awe in being so close to something vanGogh had physically worked on was still there but it was only when I returned to my former position on the other side of the room that the painting again took. my. breath. away. Breathtaking. That’s four.

By this time our friends had drifted into the adjacent gallery room and so we turned and began to walk away to join them but at the point I reached the threshold of the opening to the next collection I turned back and stood, transfixed once again by the painting of a starry night. Then  from out of nowhere I became teary-eyed and understood at once that there was more going on inside me.

So here I am. Maybe you are too. Nose pressed into the canvas of our lives, having lost sight of the bigger picture. There are days that come to us all when all we see are the dabs and splashes. Our lives look like a mess.  Nothing more than randomness and happenstance. No plan. No purpose. And when that’s all we can see then all we can feel is uncertainty, heartache, sorrow, doubt, and fear. What takes us to that place is different for us all. Coming to the self-awareness of being gay and overwhelmed with what that might mean and what it might cost. Coming out to others and walking safely through the emotional landmines of their reactions. Being blind-sided by the unexpected end of a relationship. Confronted by suffering and loss, whether someone elses or our own.  Whatever it is, it doesn’t feel good and it doesn’t look pretty. Not from here. Not now. Yet even from here our hearts tell us something that our eyes have yet to confirm. It tells us to take our comfort because no matter what it is we think we see or know from here, the painting is just as beautiful as it’s always been and the light that cuts through the darkness just as radiant as it once appeared. Our vision may be too narrow at this moment and our view too restricted, but there’s a gentle voice assuring us that the painting remains the same and that one day, from another angle that only another day somewhere ahead can provide we’ll see the painting again in all it’s fullness and it will be just as breathtaking, no, even more breathtaking than we now remember it to have been. That’s five and six.

Same headboard. Same but cooler brother. Same and still adoring sister.

Me and Randy playing with my new race car set on Christmas morning.
Yes. I wanted and got a race car set.
What do you mean you aren’t surprised?
What are you trying to imply?

Out on the golf course with my brother.
Yes. Race car sets and golf.
Seriously. Back off.

The point I’m trying to make is that Randy has always been the kind of big brother every kid sister wishes she could have; a big brother who spends time with you, plays with you, puts up with you, and lets you follow at his heels closer than his own shadow.

To this day it’s a bit of a mystery as to why my brother would let me do that given that I was….
just a little bit of….
an obnoxious little sister.

Hopefully the passing of years have found me less obnoxious (just a little less maybe?) but my brother has become no less the big brother that any kid sister could wish for. Are you getting the idea I still adore him?

When it was time to come out to my family, he was the first one I told and like a hundred times before he was there when I needed him to tell me he loved me and would be in my corner. Okay. And he also said he didn’t get the whole “gay thing” but that he just wanted me to be happy. Good enough. More than enough.

And eight years later when I was sucker-punched by love and D and I were to marry, he was the one who didn’t hesitate to walk me down the aisle and to stand beside me and with me in the love and support I’ve grown accustomed to from my big brother.

Just like any brother – sister relationship it hasn’t been all pony rides and caramel corn. We’ve had our moments.
…..“You brat!”
“You creep!
…..“Shaddup!”
“No! You shaddup!”
…..“Mommmmmmmm!”

And then we made up. We always make up. That’s what real love does. It ruins you from holding a grudge.

I have another brother and a sister. He is strong, true, and good. She is generous, determined, and insane (which I mean in the best of possible ways.) Awesome. Amazing. Equally cool.  But I’m not writing about them.

I’m writing about  Randy because Randy was diagnosed less than a year ago with ALS, also known as Lou Gehrig’s Disease. ALS is what Morrie in “Tuesdays with Morrie” had. There is no cure or treatment for ALS and the  average life span for someone is 2-5 years following their initial diagnosis.

Randy’s ALS began as a slight limp in one leg a year ago. Today his mobility is limited to a wheelchair. In a time too soon to even imagine he’s going to be paralyzed and unable to communicate though his mind and intellect will remain untouched.

My brother’s going to die from ALS. As a family we’re devastated by the thought of our future loss while at the same time being so thankful that for now we’re all together. We’re thankful too that Randy not only has the loving support of an incredible wife, our entire family, and a network of caring friends who all will be journeying with Randy through this time, but he has the financial means to adapt their home to meet his changing physical needs and buy the equipment that’s so vital in helping him maintain a level of independence as the disease progresses.

Randy and our family realize this isn’t how it is for so many living with ALS who lack a wider network of support and have limited access to the equipment and resources that help ease even a little of the devastating burden of this disease.

To honor the brother who walked me down the aisle at my wedding ten years ago, I’ll be walking to support Randy this September with the rest of my family in a”Walk to Defeat ALS”, a three mile fundraiser that will raise money to provide equipment, resources, and support for people living with ALS and their families in Oregon and Washington.

You know  I don’t ask for financial support to keep this blog going but now I’m asking that you’d consider making a donation toward ALS by sponsoring me in the walk. I know there’s a number of equally worthwhile causes that need support and one of them may well have personally impacted you or your loved ones as ALS has done me and my family. If that’s the case then continue to contribute in that direction. But if you have a few bills to spare, then consider my hand outstretched in your direction. I’m not above begging. Not for people like my brother and their loved ones like my family. Any contribution you can make, whatever size it may be, will make a tangible difference in the life of someone living with ALS, and if there’s no loose change in your own coin jar then get your friends to come over here and read this post.  Your rich friends that is.

To learn more about ALS or make an online donation go to my personal ALS page here, or send checks made out to “ALS” to:
Grace Unfolding Ministries
P.O. Box 1319
Danville, CA   94526

And finally, and yes I know this has been a long one but it’s not like you had anything else to do, here’s a short video clip from a recent gathering of family and friends as Randy talks to us about the financial and emotional burden carried by those living with ALS. Randy. Did I mention he’s my big brother. How cool is that? How lucky am I?

I was surprised to read recently that Portia de Rossi has legally taken on Ellen’s last name to become Portia DeGeneres. While I understand the motivation behind taking on your spouse’s last name for the sake of love, shared identity, and all that, what is totally beyond me is giving up a luxurious sounding last name like “de Rossi” for a clunky one like “DeGeneres.” Yes. I’m just that superficial.

Personally, I lean toward defaulting to a hyphen but now that I think about it, there’s just no good way to hyphenate their last names.
De Rossi – DeGeneres.
DeGeneres – De Rossi.
It’s a hot mess either way. Okay, I reverse my original position. Good decision Ladies.

During one of those summers of my childhood when I grudgingly spent more Saturdays attending stuffy church weddings than I did playing outside and splitting root beer popsicles with Joey, my next door neighbor, I realized that every bride was required to trade in her last name for the last name of the groom. I found this whole tradition stupid and was determined that when I got married there was no way I would ever give up Cadonau, the last name of my grandparents and parents, a name that held all my family history, my heritage, and an important part of my identity. I love my last name. I love being a Cadonau. And yes, I realize now that my objection was weakened in that my grandmother and mother had both given up their family names to take on the Cadonau name. Did I mention I was young at the time and my train of thought often ended before the caboose?

At some point along the way I told my Mom of my intention to never give up our family name and in a perfectly mom-inspired moment she said, “When you get married you’ll love your husband so much that you’ll want to share his name.” Hey! Now that I think about it, could my aversion to giving up my last name possibly be what made me gay? I wonder if the Family Research Council has ever considered this as a first sign of homosexual tendencies in young women. Makes as much sense as some of their other theories.

As it happened D had the very same feelings about giving up her last name. She loves her last name because she loves her family history and heritage as much as I do mine and so I don’t ever remember us considering any option other than going with a sweet little hyphen linking the two together. We never took the letters of our last names and tried to mix them into some new amalgam because we had way too many vowels to contend with and while some couples create a completely original last name I just couldn’t see myself as Anita PixieDust or Anita RedMoonRising. Oh come on. If you’ve ever spent anytime around lesbians in Berkeley you’d know how painfully close to reality those names are. There’s every chance that right now some Bay area lesbian couple is saying, “Hey! PixieDust…that works!” And to the two of you, you’re welcome. I aims to please.

So we hyphenated. My last name first. Her last name last. And the reason for settling on that order? Is it because I’m the tool-belt lesbian in our relationship? Well. Yes. And while that explains why there are 14 holes behind every framed picture hanging in our living room, it doesn’t explain the order of our last name which was determined by an evening of saying Cadonau-Huseby, Huseby-Cadonau out loud until we mutually agreed that Cadonau-Huseby sounded better to the ear. Score! I win!

Just kidding. A little bit anyway.

So if you’ve never legally changed your name there’s a whole process you have to go and if memory serves me correctly (which it seldom does) it involves a mess of legal forms, a repeating announcement of a name change request placed in the local paper for a month, and then a formal appearance before a Superior Court Judge who upon determining the name change isn’t motivated by some nefarious purpose such as alluding the Feds, stamps the forms and grants your request.

I have a couple clear and wonderful memories from that day back in November 2002 at the Alameda Superior Court House. The first is waiting downstairs in the lobby until we were called to appear before da Judge. Both D and I were fairly giddy that day and with good cause. We already knew from the vows we made each other on our wedding day a few months earlier that we would be together until death do us part, but in taking on each other’s name it felt like we were taking one more step in sealing our commitment as well as knowing that from that day forward whenever we signed or spoke our last name it would be making a public proclamation that we were a committed couple. No longer would anyone mistake us as friends, room mates or girlfriends. And so we were all a’twitter (which predates tweeting for those of you too young to spice your vocabulary with expressions from ancient times) sitting on a bench off in a corner of a dark wood-paneled lobby waiting to see the Judge, and as is more often than not the case we were looking like two women ridiculously in love with one another. Sitting side by side holding hands, talking in whispers and giving each other warm goopy love eyes. (Reading that just now either elicited a gag or an Awwwwww from you depending on your tolerance for goopiness.) Let me clarify for the record that we’re usually a little more reserved in public displays of affection but this was a special day and besides that, the lobby was empty except for one woman who happened to walk by us at some point and smile in our direction.

The other memory I have is entering the court room along with a dozen other people who had filed similar name change requests. We sat for a few minutes in the front two rows of the otherwise empty court room until we were directed by the bailiff to stand as the Judge entered. We stood and as a big wooden door swung open in the front of the court room the woman who had passed us by earlier in the lobby entered wearing the long black flowing robe of the Judge.

D and I sat down again with the others and waited while one after the other were called to stand before the Judge and each time, she would ask them a series of questions concerning their reasons for changing their name. “Are you changing your name to avoid any standing charge of criminal action? Are you currently involved in any legal litigation under your existing name? Are you a registered sex offender? Is there any other information I should be made aware of pertinent to your request for a legal name change?” After receiving a volley of “No. No. No. No.” from each applicant the judge would sign a document, hand it to the applicant and so order that their name change had been granted.

Though we were as giddy as we’d been down in the lobby a strange solemnity fell over us as we stood before the Judge. It was like being a fourth grader who having done nothing wrong still finds their palms growing clammy and sweaty when called to the principal’s office. So there we were, standing side by side with adolescent sweaty palms when the Judge looked toward us and said through a smile, “Having stumbled upon the two of you downstairs it’s quite apparent why you’re appearing before the court today requesting that your last names be changed. Your request is hereby granted. Congratulations to the two of you and best wishes for your future!”

So while exchanging de Rossi for DeGeneres is a little like exchanging a wagyu steak dinner for a Spam sandwich on white bread, I get it. Congratuations Ellen and Portia DeGeneres.

Oh, and before I forget….

___ Fuji apples
___ Sliced turkey breast
___ Sweet potatoes
___ Milk
___ 60-watt lightbulb

God loves you.

You’d think by now I’d have come up with something new to write about; something with a little more sparkle and glam. Edgy. Catchy. Fresh. Not only to keep you coming back for more but I have an ego and occasionally that ego wants to impress and dazzle.

Oh Anita, you are sooooo clever.
Oh girlfriend, how you weave those words.
That last post was brilliant. Really. I stand in awe.

Hearing such praise from the woman in the mirror is nice but not all that satisfying since she tends to say what I want to hear.

And it doesn’t help my ego one little bit that there are so many incredible bloggers out there writing really amazing posts nearly everyday. I don’t know how they do it but however they do it, I admire them like crazy for doing it. And I’m green with envy. Just a pale shade of green. Not grass green. More like the green on an unripened lemon. Like the way too cutesy pastel green on my iPhone 4 bumper that makes it look like a baby’s chewy toy rather than a serious high tech mobile communication device for adults only.

But getting back to other bloggers who blog frequently and proficiently, I’ve seriously considered stealing their ideas, the only problem being that some of them actually read my blog in the seconds they have to spare between writing one post and uploading another one and being guilty accused of plagiarism isn’t something I find particularly endearing.

So instead I guess I’ll just keep pounding out the same old message.

God loves you.

And when my next post ends up sounding a lot like my last post I’ll try to take some satisfaction in knowing that some things are really worth repeating. After all, can any toddler ever get their fill of being read to from “Goodnight Moon?” Now there’s a plot that keeps you coming back for more. But then, so does God’s love.

What got me to thinking about all this today is reading an online announcement this morning that Whosoever, the online magazine for GLBTQ Christians is also celebrating their 15th anniversary.  Whosoever has consistently provided a wealth of spiritual encouragement and support for GLBTQ people all these years and so I send heartfelt kudos to Candace Chewell-Hodge and all those who have contributed their writing to keeping it a thriving and life-affirming ministry. They  were and continue to be on the frontlines of shaping the vibrant online community of GLBTQ Christians we all are fortunate enough to participate in.

I only have one little question. My original start up date (housed in the now defunct online gay neighborhood of Geocities West Hollywood) was the summer of 1995. Whosoever Magazine has a start up of the summer of 1996.

2010 minus 1996 equals 15 years….

Am I missing out on some kind of newfangled math or have I inadvertently time-traveled into the future?

Regardless, no matter how we each arrived at 15 years, it’s nice to know that along the way Candace and I were both blessed with a hyphen of our own, and oh, do I love my hyphen.

I also want to say how moved I was by the emails from others of you who said you weren’t writing for a copy of the book for yourself but to simply thank me for offering the book to those it might encourage and letting me know you were praying for those women who would be receiving copies.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again….you people are all that and then some!

Which obviously explains my first year in therapy.

Anyway, the other night while browsing through the Kindle store on my iPad (a shameless mention of my newest bright and shiny object), I downloaded the free sample of her book, “Like Me: Confessions of a Heartland Country Singer,” and by the time I finished the freebie pages, she had me roped in. I’ve only read the first quarter of the book but I’m telling you, if the rest is anything like I’ve already read, it’s good.

How good? Let me tell you. I believe in time Chely Wright’s “Like Me” will stand shoulder to shoulder with Mel White’s “Stranger at the Gate: Being Gay and Christian in America” on the impact it will have on the lives of GLBTQ Christians. I would bet my entire change jar that most of you have read “Stranger at the Gate” and that it took nearly as many of you a step further in your personal journey to reconcile your faith and sexuality. I know of people who said reading White’s book saved their lives and one day, if not already, others will say the same thing about Wright’s book. While the specific details of her life are different from the many of us who’ve never had a number 1 hit on the Top 40 Country Chart, there are places in her story where it’s hard not to wonder if someone crawled inside your head and heart and wrote a chapter from your own life.

Dear God, please don’t let me be gay. I promise to be a good person. I promise not to lie. I promise not to steal. I promise to always believe in you. I promise to do all the things you ask me to do. Please take it away. In your name I pray. Amen.

Does Chely’s hidden prayer that began in her youth sound at all familiar to the secret prayer you prayed over and over again? Did you know you were somehow different from all the other girls in school but not know why? Was everything you knew about homosexuals limited to what you heard from the pulpit on Sunday morning and so you knew you couldn’t be one of them? Before coming out did you ever confront a Christian friend out of love when you learned they were gay? Did you date the opposite sex in an effort to do the right thing (or become a right person) then wonder what was wrong with you when you didn’t have any of the feelings you thought you were suppose to have? Did you ever feel so much despair and hopelessness living with your secret that you considered taking your life? Like I said, there are times when the stories and feelings she shares are so similar to mine (and possibly to yours) that we should band together and demand a percentage of the book royalties.

So here’s the giveaway. I’m going to give five new copies of “Like Me” to the first five people who email me at anita@sisterfriends-together.org but before you dash off an email, keep reading because I want to ask a favor. If you’re straight, don’t send an email. If you’re gay or lesbian and live in the assurance of who you are before God don’t send an email. If you can only read one language and that language happens to be Lithuanian don’t send an email.

Instead please let these five copies go to five people who right now are standing in that uncertain place where so many of us stood at one time and who need so much to be encouraged in their journey to truly know they are God’s beloved just as they are and fully as they are. So if you’re cool beans being a GLBTQ Christian then put the brakes on your send button and those of you who are in need of a little hope right now send me an email and be sure to include your name and mailing address. The first five emails I receive will be sent copies of the book. No questions asked.

And it’s good for us all to be reminded now and again that the power of story isn’t that it’s told by a celebrity or hardbound under a full-color glossy cover jacket. The power of story is in the story itself and just like White and Wright you have a story to tell…spoken across a table, written in an email, posted on a blog, told over the phone, shared with a friend, revealed to a stranger…and telling your story has everything it needs to save a life.

Maybe two or three.

Whatever you do, never underestimate the power of your story.

I regularly follow Carol Brammer Blotz’s blog My Heart Goes Out, and I continue to listen and be touched by the music of Ray Boltz. It’s been ten years since I heard Thank you the first time and dog gone if it still doesn’t get me. On her blog today, Carol explained why she’s willing to promote Ray’s new CD, True. Be sure to jump over to her blog and read what she has to say in her own words. Words spoken by a woman of honesty, compassion, and understanding.

After reading that Ray had released a new CD I fast tracked over to Amazon to order a copy, and upon arrival I found rather interesting and certainly amusing. At the top of the order page for True is this photo of the CD’s cover with a ruggedly handsome Ray Bear. Personally, I think he’s looking way more adorable than in his mustached and fuzzy perm days but then, aren’t we all? I’m referring of course to the fuzzy perms. The mustache, not so much.

Now this is where it gets both interesting and amusing. At the bottom of the Amazon page for True in the usual section highlighted “Customers Who Bought Related Item Also Bought…” were recommendations for 5 different fingernail polishes ranging in color from barbados blue to neon whimsical, and an easy dozen knitting books including Fairy Tale Knits: 32 Projects to Knit Happily Ever After and Son of Stitch ‘n Bitch: 45 Projects to Knit and Crochet for Men.

Okay, so I thought it was funny anyway.

My intention to spend today blogging in the glow of my laptop with a Bible on one side and a cup of coffee on the other was superseded by happenings that were never in my plan book.

God must have been guffawing himself silly.

So here’s hoping for Friday, but shhhhhh….don’t tell you know who.

]]> http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/chuckles-in-heaven/feed/ 1 http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/iswear-isin-ipad/ http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/iswear-isin-ipad/#comments Thu, 15 Apr 2010 20:59:28 +0000 anita http://www.sisterfriends-together.org/?p=4853 Today I decided to take my bright and shiny iPad out for it’s first blogging test drive to see what this baby could do besides beat me beyond humiliation in Scrabble.

And so for the past two hours I’ve been contently sitting here at Starbucks tapping lightly on my glistening little tech toy on my post Sin, Salvation and a Savior when….taking a deep cleansing breathe….the internet connection dropped and everything was lost into the irretrievable abyss of thin air. Don’t ask for the details of how such a thing could have happened. Any answer I could give would be rated R for strong language and violence.

And here I was, blogging just the other day that I didn’t believe in hell. Sigh.

It seems apparent that iPaininthebutt and I need a little time of separation from each other for the ongoing health of our relationship which means today’s intended post probably won’t be happening. I apologize for that because I know the past two weeks have been a blog black hole around here while I’ve been catching back up on life (i.e. washing, dusting, scrubbing the toilet bowl, making undistracted eye contact with my wife…) following the joyful chaos of Lent and Easter.

Expect a new post on Monday however there’s a chance that if iPaddy behaves we could put our differences behind us and try again later today, and letting me win just one game of Scrabble would be a good start on the road to reconciliation. I’m just saying.

And still, I’m only just realizing how much it’s taken from me in terms of my energy and my attention. Every day I miss my mom. Every day my thoughts and prayers turn toward my brother. Every day I’m a little more physically tired than I’m use to being. And because of all these changes in my little corner of the world; the losses that have already come and the potential losses that lay ahead sooner than I would ever care to imagine, I’m finding it a little more difficult to focus on my writing and as I’ve done in the past, I only ask that you be patient with me through this time and that you continue to stay connected to SisterFriends until I can find my breath again. I think I’m getting there.

That’s one of my personal reasons why over the past couple posts I’ve moved into a blogalogue about God’s love and why I don’t plan to go in another direction any time soon. After all, when you’re weary and worn, when the past has left you brokenhearted and the future appears paved with further hardship and loss, what else is there to do but lean fully into God who is able to keep you grounded in a hope that calms all fear and a joy that surpasses all grief? (You do realize I’m not just referring to my life but yours as well, right? Okay. Just checking.) I don’t know about you but when that’s how life looks to me, then hanging out in God’s love is the only place I want to be. It’s not that pitching our tent here changes the past, makes the future any more certain, or answers all the questions that continue to cloud our hearts, but at least we know this; that when we anchor ourselves into God’s love we stand in a truth and reality that is unchangeable, absolutely certain, and unquestionable. God is Love.

For my benefit and I hope and pray for yours as well, I’m going to be spend the next week or more blogging a series of random reflections on the love of God. That’s all they’re going to be too, just random reflections. They’ll be concise (if you can believe that any where within me lays the ability to be concise), in no particular order and with no particular structure. Just your basic stream of consciousness kind of ruminations. Care to join me? I hope so. I really do.

May this modern translation by Daniel Ladinsky of an ancient poem by Kabir get your own ruminations ruminating.

WHAT KIND OF GOD?

What kind of God would He be
if He did not hear the
bangles ring on
an ant’s
wrist
as they move the earth
in their sweet
dance?

And what kind of God would He be
if a leaf’s prayer was not as precious to creation
as the prayer His own son sang
from the glorious depth
of his soul -
for us.

And what kind of God would He be
if the vote of millions in this world could sway Him
to change the divine
law of
love
that speaks so clearly with compassion’s elegant tongue,
saying, eternally saying:
all are forgiven – moreover, dears,
no one has ever been found
guilty.

What
kind of God would He be
if He did not count the blinks
of your
eyes
and is in absolute awe of their movements?

What a God – what a God we
have.