It’s Not Just the Israelites, It’s Me

My house is torn apart with no end in sight. Maybe we should have stayed at our clean apartment.

At least then we would be settled and enjoying each other before Matt leaves for military training. Instead we’re preparing to be apart by working, stressing, and fighting.

“God, I can’t even take a break to write.”

“I don’t have a roommate for drill weekend,” Matt texts. “Will you come with me?”

Two days in a clean hotel room with nothing to do but write? Evenings with Matt away from the mess? “Of course I’ll come with you.”

“I did this for your good,” God says, “to humble and test you so you would never say, ‘I’ve achieved this on my own strength and energy.’”

Wow. I’m an Israelite. I’m complaining about the miracles God’s doing in my easy life. I can’t even imagine if I was hot, hungry, and thirsty in the desert.

After a few days, all freezer food tastes the same. Years of wafers, and I’d be whining about catching scurvy and salivating for a hunk of meat.

The Israelites look forgetful and ungrateful only because God’s telling their story from his perspective. God freed them from slavery, provided food and water, kept sandals new for forty years, and won battles.  

He gave them paradise.

“But we’ve been stuck in the desert for 40 years, God,” they whine. “These giants could kill us, God.”  

I say the same things. “This house has been a trash can for so long. My husband’s leaving me. This really is hard, God.”

But God says, “You thought you’d never find a better place than the rental across the street. Then I bought you this house so Matt could own and you’d be three houses from your sister while Matt’s away.

“You thought encouraging Matt to follow me meant losing a weekend monthly. But I gave Matt this officer position and you a monthly vacation right when you needed a break.”

“I’m sorry, God. I always wonder how you could exceed my spectacular imagination. But you always do. I could never have earned this.”

“I did this simply because I love you.”

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