Today was the culmination of a week of death by a hundred duck bites. Little irritations, more accurately called first world problems made me feel hopeless. There were also a couple of things that were big deals. My now former PCP tried to block the refill of medications that are keeping me alive. I have been scared and exhausted most of the week. I reached a point where it seemed like the most logical thing to do was throw decency into a mental ashbin and be an utter toad.
The email with a video link that was meant to encourage me by revealing that I failed at the usual human things most humans do because God wanted my undivided attention did not make me feel encouraged. He wants me all to himself according to this person and the video they sent. Really? With all the billions of considerably more appealing people than me on the planet right now? Fine. I'll be the worst girlfriend ever. So I left a snotty comment om the diocese's Facebook page.
I screamed, "I hate you!" at a video of the president when he talked smack about Memphis.
I flipped off someone for winking at me and giving me a thumbs up.
So how did God repay this horrible behavior? I went to pick up what I thought was going to be single bottle of something I probably already had. The delivery drawer slid open and almost got stuck with the armload of my much-needed prescriptions. All of them were labeled 0.00 on the price line.
As I drove home, I thought about a story we used to tell at the Episcopal Student Union:
One day I felt angry and neglected. I called upon God and asked, "Why don't you love me?"
He told me to go to my refrigerator and open the door. It was full of food that fueled and nourished me. Then he told me to go to my closet. Was it not full of clothes to cover, protect, and sometimes even delight me?
What was the question again?
I called a friend who is a priest and told him what was going on and that I really did not deserve to be loved and yet there was the proof of my sparrow's care (Matthew 6:26) sitting in a pile on my kitchen table. He reminded me that God sees the whole picture. He was there through five years of sickness and transplants and blindness and knows that I am perfectly imperfect. All he asks in return is faith in the promise and the price he paid for me. (John 3:16)
"I'm so awful." I snuffled as I choked this out.
"Well, that's a gift, too," he said, "If you didn't feel disturbed, that would be cause for worry."
He's right. Even though I stubbornly hang on to scraps of guilt, I know how blessed I am. I know he's right.
Peace,
Jas
The email with a video link that was meant to encourage me by revealing that I failed at the usual human things most humans do because God wanted my undivided attention did not make me feel encouraged. He wants me all to himself according to this person and the video they sent. Really? With all the billions of considerably more appealing people than me on the planet right now? Fine. I'll be the worst girlfriend ever. So I left a snotty comment om the diocese's Facebook page.
I screamed, "I hate you!" at a video of the president when he talked smack about Memphis.
I flipped off someone for winking at me and giving me a thumbs up.
So how did God repay this horrible behavior? I went to pick up what I thought was going to be single bottle of something I probably already had. The delivery drawer slid open and almost got stuck with the armload of my much-needed prescriptions. All of them were labeled 0.00 on the price line.
As I drove home, I thought about a story we used to tell at the Episcopal Student Union:
One day I felt angry and neglected. I called upon God and asked, "Why don't you love me?"
He told me to go to my refrigerator and open the door. It was full of food that fueled and nourished me. Then he told me to go to my closet. Was it not full of clothes to cover, protect, and sometimes even delight me?
What was the question again?
I called a friend who is a priest and told him what was going on and that I really did not deserve to be loved and yet there was the proof of my sparrow's care (Matthew 6:26) sitting in a pile on my kitchen table. He reminded me that God sees the whole picture. He was there through five years of sickness and transplants and blindness and knows that I am perfectly imperfect. All he asks in return is faith in the promise and the price he paid for me. (John 3:16)
"I'm so awful." I snuffled as I choked this out.
"Well, that's a gift, too," he said, "If you didn't feel disturbed, that would be cause for worry."
He's right. Even though I stubbornly hang on to scraps of guilt, I know how blessed I am. I know he's right.
Peace,
Jas
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