From Sunday

These were some thoughts I had shortly after I woke up Sunday morning. I didn't have a chance to get them posted then or yesterday, but no time like the present, right?

I had the question pass through my mind: Does God ever fail anyone?

To answer this, you need to define what it means to fail. I think solely in human terms relative to God, the answer turns out to be, "Yes." This is largely based upon the expectations we have of God. And our primary comprehension of God is a super Santa Claus or a big human being. He's there to give us what we want. This is clearly a case of mistaken identity. God is so far beyond our comprehension. What we want and desire, while not irrelevant as far as God is concerned, is so far beyond the point of what He chooses to do in our lives, should we allow Him to do so. In this sense, God is not the one who has failed; it is we who have failed to comprehend how other God is.

I think the only possible way we can consider that God might fail us is when He appears to be silent. I went through over a year of unemployment, and there were indeed some quiet times for me. I'd read, I'd pray, but nothing appeared to happen. Most people would say nothing happened, but I can't say what did or didn't happen as a result of what I went through. Did God hear my prayers? I'm sure that He did. Was He unmoved? I can't say. It would appear He said, "No", but maybe it was "wait". How can we claim to know that our prayer was unanswered until we have a resounding "No"? Could not God be working even now to answer those prayers in the timing He knows is best? Ultimately, I think this is also a misunderstanding of Who God is.

The other thing I was thinking about... well, a little background on me and my personality. I'm pretty shy and quiet; I'm used to being by myself since I am an only child and there were no other children in my neighborhood. In school (and church, even), I was picked on, teased mercilessly, and called all kinds of names. I never fit in with any group, and even today at 40, I still feel like I'm not a part of any group. Not that I'm teased now, but old lessons die hard. To let someone in is virtually an impossibility for me, though I have done it after knowing someone for a long time. To trust someone is pretty hard for me. To think that someone could actually care about me is even more difficult. So, when I've needed help with something, it's usually gone undone until I absolutely couldn't take care of it myself. And asking for help with something was a great stressor in my life.

But, when someone actually helped me with something, my heart sang, for here was someone that thought enough of me to put off what they wanted or needed to do and help me out with whatever it was I needed. And the help provided, while appreciated, was not the reason I was happy, but the spending time with me, that's what I remember. Spending time with me is my second love language. The first one I've resigned myself to never experiencing; once or twice a year for someone to tell me I'm okay and worthwhile is more than I can expect, but it will have to do. I guess this ties in with the second one, that to spend time with me tells me I am worthwhile.