Stumbling About In the Real World

 It seems to be inherently the human condition...that we run after idols and forget God. Idols like: money, boyfriends/girlfriends, prestige, the pull of a successful career, the adulation of people (thank you Facebook, for all those easy likes), and maybe a million other things that distract us. Our baser natures...the simplest of our natural, listing sins can become cruel masters of our destiny, starting with that easiest of flaws: laziness. It just feels so good to not do what we ought, to take the path of least resistance. Why get up and off my duff, to walk around the block, when I can just sit peacefully and relax these aching bones? All this stuff rusts if you don't move it around, but I like to attribute it to age rather than slothfulness.

And another thing, about forgetting God...you would think that after all this time, I'd remember how He works, and not neglect to be grateful for His crazy last-ditch rescues. He did that for me this very week. I wasn't paying attention to my bank account, as I am wont to do (if I'm honest). The second half of 2021 was a gargantuan distraction where I was ill with a newly-acquired autoimmune disease. I kinda forgot to keep working, since I was slightly preoccupied with trying to peel myself out of bed every morning and finding new ways to put my clothes on. We were bleeding money, attempting to find a cure, paying medical bills and trying every pill, supplement and voodoo doctor known to modern (and ancient) man. Somewhere in there, our savings got drained and my normal real estate pipeline dried up. I guess folks get nervous about hiring you to find them a house, when you're on the prayer list every week at church.

I might be the Queen of Freak-Outs and Ken happens to be the King of Calm. I can never seem to convey to him that there are perfect times to panic. I imagine I've worn him out with my dramatic life. Why would he need to react, when I'm doing enough for the both of us? This past week, what could have been construed as a really big train coming through town might have also been our latest meltdown. Yes, we still do that, even with fourty years under our belts. After our "discussion" was over, declarations were made, a peace treaty was hammered out and we snuggled up and went to sleep. There's no slumber like that in the whole world. We decided we'd eat beans and rice, order water wherever we went, and pray like mad. It's like I've been floating in the ether on my own merits and money, as if He wasn't our provider after all. We've been poor, not poor, then somewhere in the middle, and literally never missed a meal. What was I thinking?

After the peace treaty, well, I lay my head on the railroad track, waiting on the Double E. But the train don't run by here no more. Poor, poor pitiful me (apologies to Linda Ronstadt). Nobody showed up for my pity party and things just got worse. It was too cold, my bones were aching and God was not listening. I couldn't have gotten any bluer. Then we just up and went to church, Sunday School in fact. The class was about hymnology, which honestly seemed about as dry as old, musty pages in the back of some library. I showed up, with my bum shoulder throbbing like I'd had a beating. God likes to surprise me, I've found. He doesn't come in with the thunder or the lightning, or even with the whirlwind, but with the tiniest of whispers. It comes in after the storm, when you're spent and laid out on the floor. The army's done marched through and you've done given up. I really love that about God. He does what He wants, when He wants. He's not tied up with my timetable or my agenda. The longer I know Him, the less I know. I used to think I was pretty good. Now I laugh, because I understand that my sanctification isn't emanating from my pitiful "goodness" but from His blood-bought redemption. Where I'm seemingly going backwards, He's got it handled. Mysteries of the universe, for sure. 

Back to Sunday School...I was struck by the words of the hymn we were studying. It's hard to explain it except to say that it was describing how God pursues His people in love. He's not a safe God, though we make up all kinds of gods in our own image that have nothing to do with the truth. So I kind-of had an epiphany moment, where I suddenly just trusted Him with our troubles. I started crying and Ken (perfect Southern gentleman that he is) handed me his handkerchief with puzzlement over why I was carrying on in Sunday School like that. I reached into my purse, saw a strange piece of paper floating in the netherworld that is my handbag. When I unfolded it, there was a large check from long ago that I had not remembered to deposit, a significant oversight that God knew was there the whole time.

I might need to get saved.