Dear blog,
I know you and I haven't had a chat in a while. So I guess we'll chat. A lot has happened since we last talked. My world has changed drastically. It's like someone blindsided me, and I'm just totally baffled.
It's like I woke up one morning, and God said, guess what, I'm going to take away your dad. Not only that, I'm going to take everything you've ever known and loved and I'm going to turn it upside down. Now howdah like that?"
And God's sitting there, rubbing his hands together, sayin, "Okay, Steph, now's your big chance. What are ya going to do with this whopper of a trial?"
And poor little Steph looks up, scratches her head, and says, "I don't get it? Is this some kind of joke. Because it's not really that funny?"
God looks down and says, "Well, maybe not. But I'm refining you, making you better."
Bewildered Steph raises her hands in confusion, "God, I thought that refined things were bad for you. Like sugar and that sort of thing. You know it's not all that healthy? Refined stuff causes cancer, and stress is not healthy, is it?"
God smiles. "Yes, you're right, refined things that man makes are very undesirable and corrupt. Their silly ways at playing God never work. When they could be following me, they seek to discover ways around me. But my ways are not your ways. Your refining isn't my kind of refining. When I refine, I make better. I make perfect. You understand?"
Steph shakes her head. "I don't know. I'm feeling pretty homogenized right now, and far from being better. God, it feels like your cooking me in the Microwave. How much longer do you want me to fry? I'm afraid if you leave me in here too long, I'm going to go up in a puff of smoke."
God laughs. "I don't microwave. I've use a really nifty a melting pot. When I'm through with you, there's going to be a lot more to you than just smoke. I'm thinking more on the line of Gold."
"You mean coal. It's black and sooty."
"No, G-O-L-D, as in shiny."
So when is this "gold" going to happen. I'm not feeling shiny. Feels like you hate me, like I hate me."
"Hate is a strong word."
"Yeah, I know."
"So why do you think I hate you. Why do you hate you?"
"Because you must think I've got some terrible flaws to put me through this. So others can't help but think the same thing."
"That's what Job's friends thought too. But they were wrong."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Why then?"
"Why not?"
"Why not?! Why not? I'll tell you why, because it's lame. Everything was perfect before this came along."
"Really, your family was perfect?"
"Well, almost."
"Almost isn't perfect. And that's why."
"Gosh, your a perfectionist."
"I'm God. Can't help it. It's in the genes."
"In the genes?"
"Yes, and its in your genes too. You are my child, so you can't be content with imperfection. I want to make you perfect."
"I don't see how you're going to make me perfect with this trial, God. I mean, it seems like it's bringing out everybody's flaws, and everybody is just getting nasty and rude and mean, and those who are nice are getting hurt."
"My son was bruised for your transgressions, do you think you are above him?"
"No...but."
"But what? Trials will bring out the best in some, the worst in others. It's all apart of the refining process. You see, I can't fix things people hide. Like resentment, or unforgivness. Once those things are out in the open is when they can be fixed (in place) or fixed as in repaired."
"Funny reasoning."
"I thought you said it wasn't funny."
"Funny as in---strange."
"Thank you. My was are peculiar."
"Yeah, I agree."
"I'm glad you finally agree with me."
"I do?"
"Yeah, you do."
"God, I just have one more question, I mean, since we're all agreeing and everything. Why do I feel so alone? Why don't people believe me? Haven't I been honest all my life? Haven't I tried to do my best with what you've given me? Why do I have to carry this load alone. Sometimes I just get so tired.
"I sent my son to this earth, and they didn't believe him either, and he was perfect.
He died on the cross, and I had to hide my face from him---he was alone, tired, and tempted. You have never been alone, and you never will be. My son took care of that so you wouldn't have to."
"God."
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
"Your welcome."
"Oh, and one more thing."
"I'm always listening."
"You know those trials you were talking about?"
"Yeah. But I prefer to call them 'love notes,' because I send them to those I love."
"Well, after all this perfecting is completed, could you send those, 'love-notes,' you call trials, somewhere else. I mean, I'm feeling overly-loved."
"Gosh, I don't know. I love you lots."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
"Awe, you're just sayin that."
"No, I'm shouting it! No more love-letters. Not unless they're flowing with milk and honey."
"Oh, but they are."
"You have a very active imagination."
"So do you."
"If they were filled with milk and honey, how come I'm not drinking a glass of milk, and dipping my fingers into a sweet honey-jar, right now?"
"Perhaps, if you took a look around you, you would see the wonderful blessings I have heaped before you. They have always been there."
"Always?"
"Yep,"
"Gosh, I need a new pair of glasses. Hey, is that glass half full, or half empty?"
"Only you can answer that."
