The night God danced the 'Moon Walk' in the middle of the rain

I love it when it rains at night -- I get “crazy.” When left all alone in my room, especially when the rain-soaked branches of the mango and chico trees outside my window seem to reach out to me as the leaves dance to the rhythm of the downpour, I stage a party. Alone. In my room. And I truly enjoy it.

Last Thursday night was no different when I locked up myself in my room. It was raining hard and I decided to enjoy the thunderbolts that served as my rock-n-roll music. The successive lightning outside provided the mood lighting from time to time. The recalcitrant raindrops that wended down my windowpane were my audience. I was enjoying my time for myself until I got a text message from a friend — a priest friend.

“Do you still think about entering priesthood?” was my friend’s inquiry. I remember asking him two years ago if I could still make it to the seminary. It was a question borne out of my desire to look for something else to do in life.

“No more,” I answered. “I don’t think I have the calling for it.”

I sent him an SMS again: “Can you just imagine the seminary with me there? Gosh, I’ll teach Jesus to dance and laugh non-stop at the seminary! And I’m sure God will love me for that.”

End of text conversation.

I continued to enjoy watching the rain outside, inside my room. Then my wild imagination set in. I was pregnant again with ideas, with random thoughts. Perhaps because of the messages I sent my priest-friend, I thought of God — with casual revelry and reverence.

I looked out my window and imagined seeing God dancing in the rain. How come Jesus was never portrayed as a carefree being, enjoying every raindrop that he, too, created? I became childlike in my queries. The more I imagined seeing God prancing in the rain, with the lollipop-like streetlamps in the village providing him that sacred illumination, the more I felt safe despite the frightening volley of lightning.

The more the heavens sent the downpour, the more I continued to wonder: If I enter God’s house and he hears me singing at the top of my lungs, will He call my attention with a “Sshhhhhh…”? If He does, I will simply reason out: “But my Lord, you were the one who gave me this voice. Pardon me but you just can’t stop me.” Then I will continue to sing. And God will just scratch His head as I endear more myself to Him with my singing.

Because I know He has a heavenly voice, I will coax Him to sing with me. He can probably strum a guitar and we ditty together. Perhaps a “kundiman” or some folk songs like Rosas Pandan or Lawiswis Kawayan. We can also do a duet of pop songs. How do you think it will sound if God sings Pyramid — He will rap the part of Iyaz and I will ape the voice of my goddaughter Charice. I’m beginning to hear God’s hearty and crusty guffaws. Now, God is laughing harder than I am. 

Many times I wonder what is the face of God when he smiles, when he laughs. I often wonder if God has ever laughed out loud. No one among my Religion teachers told me that God has ever laughed. But I’m sure He does. There are so many funny things happening around, how can God not help but laugh? Does God also experience laugh-tear — the kind of laugh that is painful already to the belly, the kind that streams tears down the cheek because it is such an unadulterated happiness?

And how do you talk to God? Can you be casual? I’m sure he also gets tired being very formal all the time.

I am certain I will not ask Him what makes Him cry. I already know the answer. I made Him cry many times. Yet, still, He loves me just the same. So, I will just focus on asking Him non-sense and child-like stuff like what brand of shampoo does he use, what kind of soap he lathers His body with. How many times does He take a bath in a day? How many pieces of clothing does He own? Does He also wear socks when it’s cold at night? Does He wear Nike or Adidas if He wants to run to take the stress out. Or does He get stressed out at all?

Oh, and I will dance before God. I will entice God to dance with me. No one has ever told me that God has ever danced. I’m sure, being omniscient, God knows how to dance. If He’s able to create trees whose branches sway to the hymn of the wind, I bet my last penny to God that He can also dance. Imagine God doing the “Moon Walk.” Wow! He must be a cool, cool God!

When we get tired of dancing, I will probably have the chance to tell Him about my pains and he will say, “Don’t worry about them. You’re healed.” Now, that’s heaven.

And He will probably tell me: “Mind the beautiful things that come your way. They come aplenty. The hurts and pains are there sporadically to remind you that better things are in store for you. I will not leave you. I will not desert you. I always keep my promise.” 

“What about the letter I sent you the other night? Is there a chance that you will answer it?” I will ask God. I write Him letters every day, every night — some I say out loud in the form of prayers; some in the form of kindness I show to others, even to those who are unkind; others I write down in my journal.

God’s reply to me: “Regarding that particular letter with that particular request, I decided not to address it first. No. 1, that request is not the one for you. No. 2, I’m still negotiating with the right one. So, just relax. No. 3, I am here to surprise you. So, get ready, ‘k?”

“’K, Lord. Thank you.”

I will continue to ask him: “How’s my Tatay doing there in heaven?” I’m sure tears will well up my eyes. And God will dry my tears, like He always does every night.

I want to hear from God, “You’re Tatay is in a much better place now.” But knowing God, He will not even say that. It’s already understood that life after death is sweet. 

I’ll ask God, “Do you cook? What’s your favorite dish?” Will he like my Nanay’s sinigang sa bayabas na tilapia or my mother’s hamonado and morcon? Perhaps He’s a vegetarian or a pescatarian like me. Or does God ever get hungry?

I will even ask Him if He ever washes the pans. Wow! That’s really something if God will say he washes the dishes.

And, I will also have the temerity to ask Him: “Do you get mad? How often? How quick do You forgive?”

At the end our conversation, I will confess to God that I am not the normal religious man. But I believe in Him and thank Him and talk to Him like a best friend every day.

This time, however, the “crazy” 38-year-old kid in me just doesn’t talk to God. I also dance with Him. Even in the middle of the rain.

(For your new beginnings, please e-mail me at bumbaki@yahoo.com or my.new.beginnings@gmail.com. You may want to follow me at http://www.twitter.com/bum_tenorio. Have a blessed Sunday.)