Find Jesus (Free Parking)

 

Come to Church, Find Jesus (Free Parking)

I saw a sign at the traffic lights today — Come to church, come find Jesus, free parking — and for a split second -

I wondered if Jesus could cure menopause,I am in

Because if he could, I’d be parked up in that holy car park before you could say perimenopausal rage. But realistically, being a man, I doubt he’s got much to offer me in the hormonal‑imbalance department.

It did make me think though: what would the Bible say about menopause, neurodiversity, dyslexia, audio‑processing issues, and the general chaos of being a woman with a brain that runs on its own operating system.

Probably nothing.

Women’s bodies weren’t exactly the headline act back then.

If I were one of the disciples, I reckon I’d be the one making the fishing nets and cooking all the food — the practical one in the background, keeping everyone alive while they all argued about miracles.

And if there were any strong female disciples, I’d follow them, because I could never worship a man; if belief were going to work for me, it would have to come through a woman who actually lived a life like mine.

The irony is that neurodiversity already comes with magical thinking — a kind of personal god, but one that only exists inside your own head. And then there’s that song, God Is a DJ, which always makes me laugh, because maybe that’s the only version of God I could get behind: someone spinning tracks instead of commandments.

So maybe the sign wasn’t a sign, maybe it was just a sign — but it still made me think about belief, menopause, identity, and how much I’d love something, anything, to make life feel like it used to, rather than this strange rotation of sometimes‑me, sometimes‑not‑me.

Free parking though. Tempting.

My brain - voice note

1. If Jesus could cure menopause, I’d be there in that free parking spot in a heartbeat — but let’s be real, he was a man, so I doubt he’d understand the hormonal apocalypse.

2. I wonder what the Bible would even say about hormonal imbalance, neurodiversity, dyslexia, audio processing disorder — probably nothing, because women’s bodies weren’t exactly centre stage.

3. If I were in the disciple crew, I’d probably be the one making the fishing nets, cooking the food, doing the practical graft nobody notices but everyone relies on.

4. Were there any strong female disciples? Because if belief were going to work for me, it would have to be through a woman — I could never worship a man, not with the life I’ve lived.

5. And the irony is that ND brains come with magical thinking anyway — a kind of personal god, but one that only works inside your own head.

6. And then there’s that song — “God is a DJ” — which always makes me laugh, because maybe that’s the only version of God I could get behind.

7. So maybe the sign wasn’t a sign, maybe it was just a sign — but it still made me think about belief, menopause, identity, and how much I wish something could make life feel like it used to.