Behold, I Cry Out of Wrong

  The day I started to die was normal. I got the crane, it hauled me out of bed and we got ready and went to church. Then we ate lunch at Pizza Hut, came home and put the kids for a nap. Then because Reece had been gone for weeks and the garage was a mess we started to clean up a little. Then I felt a gush as the gates of hell opened. And that was the end of me. All the other shit is here, puked all over the pages. 

  Six years, 337 days later, I sit in church and listen to the evangelist rant and rave about miracles and how God moves and talks to him and through him and I have one question that I want to scream and scream until they all think I’m insane: “Why didn't you do something then? Why won’t you shut up? Quit telling people that their miracles are directly in relation to the amount of prayers they pray!” and then I go home and swear at the top of my lungs into the wind in the field where nobody will hear me. 

  Six years, 363 days later, the preacher talks about a house fire and how you have to clear away the rubble and rebuild something new in the place of what you used to have. And I can relate. I know about rebuilding stuff. My building is made out of glass and I’ve gotten cut hundreds of thousands of times while building it. And then I’ve cried and the tears burned in my cuts. So I don’t sing along when they sing Way Maker at the end of the service because it makes me want to scream. I want to know what he’s working on NOW, not “even when I can’t see it or feel it.”

  I can relate to Job. And I also think that like Job, if he actually showed up and demanded answers from me I would also feel like Job did at the end of the book. And at that point after God told me to offer sacrifices to save the idiots who offered all the worthless Christian platitudes, I might even do it. Coals of fire and all. 😏 But here’s the thing. Job got to demand answers from God too. God didn’t yell at him because he was sitting piously around the campfire scraping his boils with a pot shard and saying, “The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh, blessed be the name of the Lord.” 

  I’ve heard the preachers all my life ramble on about the patience of Job because they read up to chapter 2 verse 10 and then pick it back up at 42:10 like they never missed a sentence. It’s probably a bit too much emotion and feelings for an Apostolic Lutheran so they need to skip over the messy parts. It’s their MO. Always hide the messy parts, only talk about the pretty stuff. Copy and paste what you need to condemn people from the Old Testament and leave the rest so you look more holy. Stand on the street corner beating your chest like the Pharisee while you pontificate about your Publicanism and worthless worminess, all the while forgetting that pride is an idol and you’re worshipping it with your pride in your humility. Vanity, Vanity, all is Vanity. Solomon was absolutely right. And none of that prepares a person to be anything more than a Bildad, Eliphaz, or a Zophar. Spoiler alert!! Those guys sinned when they opened their fat mouths and so do you when you tell people God killed off their kid. When you create atheists and agnostics you’re sinning. And the truth of the matter is, that your intentions don’t count. The road to hell is paved with good intentions.

  The rebuilding that has happened has come from God… which is, I suppose, what you can consider the good working together for those that love him. I don’t know… I still maintain that it wouldn’t have had to get rebuilt if it hadn’t burnt in the first place. I think perhaps I’m still somewhere in chapter 40. Check back in a few years and we’ll see if I’ve made my way to 42:6 yet.