God and I had a little chat last night.
Though, to be more accurate, as sometimes happens in my conversations both with people and with God, I didn’t do so well with listening.
If you’re a frequenter of my little blog, you may have noticed that for the last few posts, God’s been…a little absent. Not in actuality, as He never goes anywhere; but absent from these posts, at least in name.
We don’t seem to be seeing eye to eye right now, is the thing.
Or perhaps, more accurately, He’s got a plan that He hasn’t clued me into yet, and I might occasionally be throwing little fits about it. Big fits at times, even. With sharp, frustrated words thrown at Him as I rage against my right now, my everyday reality that I have selfishly, childishly, deemed as inferior.
Because the reality that there is something larger at work here is currently lost on me.
Getting angry at Him, capital H Him, is not entirely new for me. Several years ago I wrote in a Facebook note:
So I was rather frustrated…I kinda wanted to throw a shoe at Him. I was mad at Him, really…but I think that a God who can’t handle the infantile anger of His people wouldn’t really be much of a God at all.
Circumstances have changed many times since then, but my thought that He can handle my anger—nay, my confidence that he can—that has not changed. My anger is not the type that doubts His existence, omnipotence, or love; instead, it fails to see how those things are working in my life right now.
Christian Wiman, in his poem And I Said to My Soul, Be Loud, states this so eloquently:
For I am come a whirlwind of wasted things
and I will ride this tantrum back to God
And He is there, and will be.
Til next time…