My eyelids snap open. Well, maybe not so much snap as creak and groan and slowly lift like a 5-ton portcullis being manned by a single, lowly soldier. My head rolls to the side and I take in the dismal sight of bright green numbers shining in the dark. Just as it does every day, my body has brought itself out of its mini-hibernation within that 15 minute window that is my internal alarm clock setting. My body rolls left and exits stage right, as I gingerly tuck in the blankets around my wife's sleeping form. What follows is the daily ritual of leaving the bedroom door open just a crack, feeding the apparently starving cat, showering/waking, getting dressed, and reading the Bible in my car as it warms up. Steeling myself for the day ahead, for which I seldom feel I have the strength.
Every morning I go through this routine, or some close variation thereof, and often spend much of that time dreading what new flavor of hell the day might bring. Chaos and condescension, stress and sarcasm, distractions and disrespect. Until very recently, this mental foreshadowing was its own unique, and reccurent hell. And it was of my own making.
During my current spiritual growth spurt as a Christian, I've had many an epiphany. Pastor Greg Laurie recently spoke to one of his pet peeves: people calling the the last book of the Bible "RevelationS", instead of the proper singular "Revelation". Personally, I believe that the book of "RevelationS" does indeed exist. It is the name of the book the Lord is writing within each of us every day. And he penned a new chapter in mine the other day, with a plot twist that I never saw coming.
On one morning much like the one I described above, I drug myself to work with all the fervor and excitement of a cow chewing its cud, wondering what the next crisis would be in this circus of horrors. "Heaven help us! The sky is on fire and the earth has split open wide enough to swallow whole cities!" "WHAT?!" "Actually, it's worse! We're out of soap!" Nearly every day brings a false Armageddon, and I was just waiting for today's. As the morning wore on, no cries for help reached my ears. No message in a bottle landed on my sandy shores. No Bat Signal lit the sky. The world was disturbingly quiet.
I headed toward the front office to drop off some paperwork, and on the way I ran into a co-worker that I've recently come to really like. He's a gentleman of probably 20-25 years my elder, working a thankless job day in and day out (like most everybody), and he always has the time to say those fine words so often overlooked in the English language, such as, "hello", "please", and "thank you." I bade him good morning and asked how he was doing. Small talk led to discussion of our respective Christmas plans. He mentioned that he was gathering warm clothing, camping gear, and toys for a nearby homeless camp that is "home" to several families who have fallen victim to lost jobs and foreclosures. This led us to talk about those things that we were thankful for and regularly took for granted. We spoke of our spouses and children and the blessings we each enjoy. It was one of the more heartfelt conversations I've had in some time. When we parted to go back to our separate duties, he shook my hand and told me that it had been a genuine pleasure to talk with me. The pleasure had been all mine. It was nice to find that I had much more in common with him than just the signature at the bottom of our paychecks.
What turned out to be even nicer was how the Lord used that conversation to plant a seed of revelation in my heart. It was days before I even knew it was there. And in fact, it flowered not amidst the morning drag, but at night as I readied myself for bed almost a week later.
I lay there, straightening twisted sheets, making sure the kids hadn't tampered with my clock while my wife got an all-too-breif reprieve in the shower, and fretting about tomorrow. That's when God penned in my book, "...and then it happened." It swept through my head like the winds of a stormy sea, stirring me from top to bottom. Why was I complaining about my work? I asked--no, BEGGED-- God for that job, and like the loving father He is, He gently placed it in my hands. I was like the brat who begs his parents for a bike, and then complains that it's not the color he wanted. I was being an ingrate and a fool. This job shelters my family from the weather. It puts food in their stomachs when they are hungry. It clothes them and bathes them and entertains them. They could be entirely bereft of all these things like the families in that homeless camp, if not for one gift. One answered prayer. And I'm the jerk that says it's the wrong color. Wow.
This also led me to think of all the other blessings that stem from that one answered prayer. People I've met and lives I've influenced; gifts of fellowship and growth. If I had given up on this job and sought another, I would not have had the conversation that led to all of this. How many more years might have passed before I received another such opportunity? Needless to say, my prayers that night were ones of humble thanksgiving. None of that, "Lord, please show me the job I'm supposed to have." I already have that.
Since that night, I find that same thought running through my head several times a day. When my workload doubles, or my boss is yelling about some insignificant tape-on-the-paws nuisance as if it were a ruptured appendix, I remember that those things are not cues to run for another job or complain about the one I have; it's a cue to thank God for what I've been given and for my ability to see it when others cannot.
"...and then it happened."
