A Lesson in Trust

You stand there on unstable footing, head tilted back in defiance of doubt, eyes locked onto the intended target, and arms outstretched in abandon of reason. 

You stand there staking all on the assumption that your request, will not go unanswered. Your collateral is the times before that you were not left wanting. Already you seem to have forgotten the times you cried in frustration and confusion as to why your outstretched arms did not yield immediate escape from your unpleasant, uncomfortable circumstance. Or perhaps you can somehow sense that when your call to be lifted goes unnoticed, it is for your own good. 

You stand there; your default assumption that your cries do not go unheard and will result in the fulfillment of all your needs. To assume anything else is to imply failure of your supplier, and for you, that is not an option, that is unfathomable. Yet the one in whom you trust so totally is I.  I who suffered no pain in your creation, I who go home at the end of the day and miss the midnight pangs and tears. 

Still I think of how my heart leaps with joy when I see your little arms reaching up to me, needing me. I think of how privileged I feel that you call out to me, knowing that I will not ignore you, that I in fact can not turn a blind eye nor a deaf ear. I think of how much I love you... then, then I think of a much deeper love. A love greater than which is not to be found among man. A love that is only imperfectly mirrored in my constant answer to your cries and your unwavering belief that they will be answered. 

You stand there in innocence teaching me through your wise example the relationship of trust that I ought to have with my Father. Reminding me of He who more than me can supply all needs. He who promises to keep in perfect peace the child who keeps a steadfast mind and trusts in Him. You unknowingly live out a perfect example of the trust I should adopt. A trust strengthened by memories of the times before when He met my outstretched arms with His warm embrace. A trust nurtured by the realisation that the times when I was left to cry for some time, resulted in a stronger, more patient me. 

My dear child, you teach me the true meaning of The Stand; to stand arms high and heart abandoned in awe of the One who gave it all. To stand my soul surrendered to the One in whom I find my identity. 

Father, All I am is Yours. 

Why I Can't Complain

So, I'm sitting in my garden outside my locked house for which I don't have the key, and I'm thinking, there are just so many reasons that I can't complain about this unfortunate situation. 

The most obvious reason is of course that it's my own fault for leaving the keys inside... but there are far more reasons that require further analysis and some insight into the details of the situation.

I've got time, so allow me to spend it counting my blessings...

First of all, this whole mess occurred due to the fact that I failed to transfer my keys (along with everything else I needed) from one handbag to the next. This sheds light on the fact that I own more than one handbag... I have quite a few actually, to match the large collection of shoes I've amassed, not to mention that I actually have a house to be locked out of. 

But yes, let's move on from the more basic blessings that we all allow ourselves to take for granted in such situations. 

I wouldn't dare complain about the fact that my keys were the only necessary item that remained locked inside the house. Had I also left my wallet, my phone or the documents I needed for the appointment that I managed to make, I would have been in a far worse situation. 

I could complain, however, that God didn't answer my pleading prayers that the door would miraculously open, that the keys would mysteriously surface in my bag or even that I would have absentmindedly forgotten to lock the back door before I absentmindedly locked the front door with my keys still inside. I even mentioned to Him that, being the considerate pray-er that I am, I was willing to settle for an unlocked window... I did everything short of promising to fast and pray for a few weeks afterwards in thanksgiving (although I thought about it so maybe that counts as a prayer?)... 

But He did answer my prayers, just not how I'd specified... He chose to answer my prayer differently, simultaneously answering an earlier request that He provide me with some fresh blogging material, and the time to devote to it.

How'd he answer my prayer you ask? Finally, something to complain about, in about 2 hours, I have to walk a mile to collect a spare key from my landlord, walk back home to unlock the door and collect my key, walk back to return the key and finally return home for the evening... (yea He chose to also answer my prayer for motivation and opportunity to increase my exercise, talk about killing 3 birds with 1 stone). Of course that complaint is synonymous with complaining that I serve a wise, hearing God with a sense of humour, have a kind landlord, and have 2 well functioning legs.... So basically, I guess I can't complain. 

Night Out

Its Saturday night and my crocks and untamed afro stand in marked contrast to the heels and hairdos adorned by those surrounding this high street bus stop.
My mind flashes back to a similar scene of a girl in a black dress and red heels just the night before.

I suddenly recall noticing the sympathy she exuded observing those who chose to respond to the music's insistence that he no want no boring whine. I see her wondering under whose authority the revellers were claiming to be blessed, and in whom and to whom they were promising to hope and pray.

She watched silently as individuals willingly obedient to the influence of the drink she had only earlier consumed migraine skanked, dropped down low, and whined 'pon a profane word like a bicycle. 

She reminisced being struck with the realisation that she had paid money to enter a dark, hot, room where smelly smoke was pumped into your face, the music constantly degraded you to an object to be ogled, bent over and rubbed up against, and the company was less than desirable. She had paid to be subjected to unwanted attention, advances, and physical contact. 

I snapped back to the present and looked around at those at that bus stop wondering how many would end the night in bed with tomorrow's regrets waiting to hit them over the head and subject them to a slow, painful recollection of the nights activities, this time without the support of a liquid mood enhancer. 

I looked around and thanked God that the girl in the black dress and red heels, despite ignoring the nagging feeling that she was in a place she didn't belong; had, had a night she'd never forget, rather than one she couldn't remember. 

Dress - £12, Shoes - £20, Clutch - £8, Makeup - £15, Hair products - £10, Preparation time - 4 hours, Mood enhancer necessary to ensure a good time is had - £20, Taxi - £10, Entrance - £5, Mood re-enhancer - £10, The realisation that I agree to spend a small fortune every other weekend in order to conform to society's definition of what's fun, priceless...