Grace-period

As I struggle to extend the grace to myself that God did and does, the pit pulls me deeper and deeper. An argument with a loved one. Physical pain. Problems at school. Conflict with work. I. Want. To. Smoke. Because I don't care, indifference, because I don't know what else to do, intolerance. I am getting tired.  I am feeling worn down. Is this a test?  Some crazy sound check from heaven?  Peace, I can somewhat understand, sure, that all things will work out eventually in some crazy way because You write with crooked lines.  But joy???  Are you nuts?  Was Paul nuts when he wrote this??? I don't feel peace, simply resignation.  I have no joy, just the stillness of an icy morning before tree branches break under the weight. How much more are You planning to throw my way?  When are You going to pick up some of this weight?  I don't think I can carry much more.  And, just for the record, I am gonna say it: ...

Gripping the wheel, panic rose. This was not supposed to be the way the evening ended. "Ok, God, please, I know you can do anything and this is a selfish prayer, but PLEASE start the engine!" I pleaded silently as I turned the key. The engine didn't so much as click this time as the lights began to dim. "YOU have got to be kidding me!" I yelled at God as much as myself. I thought about the things that kept getting in the way earlier this morning: I didn't get up on time, I was going to pack additional clothing but the dog ate my flip flop, the car started just sluggish enough to get my attention but not poorly enough to send me to the garage, and I received a traffic alert before picking up the kids that there was an accident on our route. I debated on whether to come, to fulfill our commitment, and made the choice to continue. And now I felt like an idiot for it. The diagnosis for the car ended up being a dead, fused, gone to the netherworld of ...

I have friends and family that are puzzled, or perhaps even put off, by my choice to do church. Of course, the real story is that I never expected to be here. I didn't want it. I didn't think that I needed it. I didn't believe in it. And I blame it on my husband to this day. At the time I didn't see it so much my choice as an ultimatum. Our marriage was in trouble. And individually we were in trouble. He was angry. I was lost in depression and self destruction. Together we were just wounding one another. What had been working wasn't. We couldn't ignore and pretend. The pain became great enough that the husband came to a place where he could go no farther and said, "We either go to church or we get a divorce."  Really??? He thought those hypocritical and judgemental church people could help?! It was obvious to me that he hadn't met many church people. I mean, we flirted with religion occasionally during our marriage, but it was never terribly helpfu...

As tornadoes rip through America's heartland, yet again last evening,  Facebook posts urging for prayer multiplied. But one persnickety poster quipped, "pray and maybe it will disappear...never mind." Families and friends pray for those struggling in the grip of despair and addiction. But people still struggle. People are still lost.  So what does it mean? Is it that God doesn't listen? Doesn't he tell us to ask for what we need? Isn't he a good Father who will take better care of us than our protective earthly fathers?  Then what the heck is going on? Isn't prayer about asking for what we need? If I don't have my prayer answered, am I not asking right? Not faithful enough? Do I have some sin that has made God deaf to my prayers? (My grandmother gave me that fear years ago.) I really don't like those questions. It seems like it is a trap. If I answer one way, I have no faith. If I answer another, I am a fool. Still, I don't ...