In January, I posted about being grumpy with God. In that post, I said I'd never been grumpy with God myself.
Strike that. It happened Sunday.
Wait, let's back up.
Saturday afternoon, I was asked to do a monologue for Sunday morning (yes, I shared with you ahead of time—I wrote it, and I figure stuff I write is fair game for my blog). The idea had been tossed around, but not decided, so I had just a few hours to memorize the monologue. I was freaked out at first, but I got it under control and had the thing memorized and ready to go.
The first service was great. Well, not great. I got the thing out and only missed one line. That's great in my book. I prayed hard that God would carry me through it, and he did.
Then came second service.
I prayed again that God would carry me through, since did such a smashing job the first time. But then I got onstage and my mic wasn't working. The mic pack itself was on, so whether it was malfunctioning or I wasn't turned on at the soundboard is still up for debate. I had an awkward moment while I fiddled with the thing (which I typically don't do) and then something started to work.
I thanked God. Yes, he was going to carry me through again!
And then I had no idea what to say next. Not. A. Clue. I made something up. I went on.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw something moving. It was me on the ginormous screens next to the stage. The camera feed wasn't working first service, so this was new to me. It was in my peripheral vision and terribly distracting.
Again, I forgot what to say next. I made something up. I think I may have even skipped to the last few lines (which were the ones I had trouble memorizing to begin with) just to get myself off that blessed stage.
I was embarrassed. I was mad that my mic didn't work and that no one told me about the 20-foot-tall me, and I was mad that I messed up so horribly. I know that hardly anybody knew what I was supposed to say, but there were pauses so pregnant that they could have belonged to Octomom. I went home and sulked.
Then I had to stop sulking and go to the grocery. That's when the pain came in. My back with its ruptured disc, which God has so miraculously healed, started to hurt so much that I almost needed to call my husband in to rescue me out of the middle of the grocery. I ended up going through the checkout, and the ladies behind me were nice enough to empty my cart for me. A Meijer employee helped me put the bags in my trunk. Then I had to cancel plans with a friend so I could ice my back and try to forget about the most painful shopping trip ever.
What a day.
The only thing I could think of was, "God, why did you let me fail? I asked you nicely! You've carried me through before! And what's up with my back? I tell everyone how awesome you are because you healed it, and now it's messed up again. It doesn't make sense! I've been giving you all the glory for it—why would you want to mess that up?"
I know how awful all of that sounds. And how ridiculous the idea is of God trying to mess up my testimony. Why I assume God should do whatever I tell him to do is beyond me (and thanks to Rachel for pointing that out). He's not subject to my every whim, nor should he be. That's what makes him God and me Rachel.
I don't really have a lesson in all of this. I can't tie it up with a neat little bow today and tell you that I've got it all figured out. I don't. In fact, I think I kind of gave God the silent treatment today. So if this is the worst blog post you've ever read, you can put the blame squarely on that choice. My choice.
Oh, wait. I guess I did learn something. Just now. While writing that. Which means it's not entirely thought through, but...
When I'm angry at God, it's all me. My choice. God's not angry. God's not giving me the silent treatment back. I'm choosing to be grumpy with God. Choosing to think he didn't want to help me. So I can also choose not to be grumpy with God. Choose to wait for him to show me his reasoning. Wait for the miracles that could follow Sunday's episode if I'd just give him a minute to let his plans play out.
So that's what I'll do. I'll assume Sunday's awfulness is going to a good cause.
There's your bow, people.