I am a theist, and my burden is often to stumble across various reasons that things happen—or at least the lessons within them. When I say them out loud, I always feel foolish. It’s awkward to admit that things mean something. Even small things. But I prefer to live in a world where they do.
Saying that God is pulling the strings to get my attention always sounds egocentric. But he is capable of multi-tasking. And worrying about sounding egocentric has never really stopped me before, now, has it?
Anyway, I think there are two things that God uses most often to teach us stuff. No. Three things. Yeah, probably three. He likes to work in threes.
1.) Death (See: Chickens, Jesus)
2.) Waiting (Known as the distance between the time you want something to happen and the time it actually does happen, which can be fruitful if you let it.)
3.) Humans (Especially humans who say things that initially make you feel enraged but actually turn out to be true.)
I am a victim of No. 2 today!
For me, there is a pattern in this pregnancy of waiting, being let down, enragement at the doctor’s office and then this part. This is the part where the Teet who recently lost a baby sneaks back into my head and examines my thoughts and actions and shakes her head in disgust. I would punch me in the face if I were still her.
I think about that time in January that I drove back from Dublin with a completely different ball of rage. I remember that despair, and I know there are women going through that right now. There were probably some in the waiting room at the OB today. And if they heard me bitch about a rescheduled ultrasound?…I’m so sorry. I suck. I forget. And I suck.
Eventually I will learn that I have no concept of how lucky I am to be in this situation. And when I do, I can more quickly abandon plans to murder, or at least be grumpy. Tasmanian Tot keeps reminding me of this every hour or so with a slap or a kick or an elbow or whatever stump he or she uses to beat on my uterine wall.
God is like a needy boyfriend (one who can give you eternal life in paradise, fortunately) and is always finding some new ways to bring me back to him, where there is peace and understanding and well … there’s not much rage-ahol. It’s what our pastor calls our “innermost selves.” I think that might be a Methodist thing. I need to remember that I don’t have to be completely broken, lost and emotionally devastated before I can hang out with the Lord, who gives perspective. But it takes training.
I mean, if I had spent ANY time thinking about what would happen if they didn’t use the flashy sound picture thingy on my belly that day, and what it truly meant in the long run, (Nothing.) then I probably wouldn’t have wasted an hour of my life being upset. And this can apply to a lot of other situations, I think.
I’m cool, baby. I’m zen. I’m blessed. I haven’t forgotten. I’m thankful.
I am writing this for someone. It might be you.
And tomorrow, the chickens are scheduled to be executed at 8 a.m. So expect a lesson from No. 1.
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