The thing is, though, they will. And what are you going to do when you get poked in the patootie? I can tell you what I do: I scream and yell, and chuck a colossal conniption. I tell God what He needs to do to remedy my situation. Then I sit and wait for Him to comply.
So as it turns out, I ?m not really one of God ?s advisors. I don ?t hold a lot of influence when it comes to Divine Policy. I ?m not even on His payroll. So where did I get the idea I could tell Him what to do? Not sure. But I do know it has never worked out very well for me. Cases in point:
Just married and looking for work so my husband can finish school and go on to graduate school. I ?m pretty sure I ?m a hot property. I mean, after all, I ?ve worked at E.F. Hutton. I spent a summer working at the National Institute of Fitness. I worked on the stinkin ? BYU Standards Commission, for Pete ?s sake. Oh yeah. They will all want me. It ?s just a matter of me choosing my prospective employer. So I put on my best business suit, borrow my mother ?s briefcase for effect, put on my glasses so I look smart, and trot over to BYU ?s International Student office (no idea if they exist anymore). I am sure I have the job. I have lived in Germany. I speak German and French quite well. I have informed Heaven that this is the job for me.
I never hear back.
Okay, so their loss. God is just protecting me. I will move on to bigger and better things. But after about six weeks of looking every day, the bigger and better things are dwindling to a job filing cards for an in-home business, and flipping burgers at Burger King.
Needless to say, I find some humility. It is inversely proportional to the size of our dwindling bank account. I tell God I will take any job He wants me to. I ditch the briefcase, the glasses, and the attitude. I hear a rumor that a new software company is starting up. I pray for help and go see if they are still hiring. I find out they aren ?t, but get an interview anyway for some reason. And even though my right eye has inexplicably swollen to the size of Heritage Park and I look an awful lot like Quasi-Eye-o, the Hunch-Eye of Notre Dame, I get a job. They add me on to their finalized group of technical support operators. I spend the next eight years working for WordPerfect Corporation in various marketing capacities, travelling, and doing things I never would have done at the International Student office.
So, the splinter in my backside was that I didn ?t get any of the jobs I planned on getting. I felt persecuted. Then I felt desperate. Then I felt humbled. And then, I learned what I was there to learn, and got a job that wasn ?t even available one that was a great benefit to me personally, and to my family.
Ah, such glorious tutelage. Surely I never repeated the mistakes I made that summer. (*snort*)
Well, there was the time I lost an opportunity with an agent because I was going through post-partum stuff and couldn ?t imagine that God wouldn ?t keep the man on ice for me until I felt like writing. Never mind just having the faith to do it right then, and most likely finding release and healing in it. (Really? How could I have forgotten the Hunch-Eye of Notre Dame experience?)
And then there was the time I refused to work with impossible-seeming circumstances, and missed a trip to Israel. (Hello, Hunch-Eye.)
And, after all that, I still spent so much time mad about how certain situations in my life had turned out that I dragged out my own healing process well past its expiration date. (Hunchity-Hunch-Hunch)
I think I ?ve just about learned my lesson now. As I slide down the banister of life, splinters that embed themselves in the back of my front should be taken right to the Doctor in the Sky for immediate consultation and removal. It ?s just easier this way. And even if He tells me to hop on one foot while drinking a McDonald ?s Shamrock Shake and reciting the scout oath, there ?ll be a good reason for it, and it will makes sense eventually. (I should point out that I ?ve never actually been asked to do this.)
So, the next time I ?m sitting in the temple next to my 95 year old grandmother, and my body has fallen asleep from the waist down, and I ?m dying to shift positions, and God whispers to me to just wait a minute before I move, I ?m going to do it. Who needs to involuntarily pass a trumpet blast that echoes around the room and sends your grandmother into body-wracking silent hysteria, and you into permanent mortification as most of the people in the session refuse to look you in the eye once you hit the celestial room? Not me. No siree. I'll take the splinters to God and learn how to carve them into the next step upward in my progression, thank you very much. Trumpet-blasts, Hunch-Eyes, raging hormones, impossible dreams, and totally awesome brief-cases notwithstanding.