Truth and Solitaire

I need downtime.  I'm pretty sure I've mentioned that before now.

And, often times, my downtime comes in the form of a few mindless games of solitaire.

Sunday night, Coralynn asked if she could curl up with my while I played.

Sure.  Why not?

As we sat there cuddling in the chair with the laptop on my lap, I played solitaire.  And, she helped.

Here's the thing, though.

She doesn't know how to play.  At all.  She's 2.  She's the Bits.  She is not the solitaire genius she believes herself to be.

After about 10 minutes of her assistance, I was getting frustrated.  This was supposed to be an exercise is cuddling and mindlessness.  It was not supposed to be her barking instructions at me every 3 seconds.

I asked her to stop. 

Nope.

I started to put her down, and she started to cry.

I can't handle hearing her cry so I picked her back up.  (And, spare me the lecture on letting her cry.  It isn't going to happen.  Thank you.)

As I sat there, I put the laptop away.  I cuddled my Bits.  She relaxed into my arms, starting sucking her finger (spare me that lecture, too), and sighed peacefully.

It got me to thinking.

Bits doesn't know the rules to solitaire, but she still was going to fight me to get her way.

How often do I do that? 

I tell God how I want things to go.  How I think things would be best.  What steps should go next in my life.

I'm just as bossy as the Bits and every bit as clueless.

*I started this blog post a few days ago, but I never had time to finish it.  I'm not sure I thought it would end the way it does.*

Today, the Lord, who understands I'm a slow learner, went over the point again.  And, of all things, it started with a text message before 8:00am. 

Lisa, give me a call when you get a chance.  It's not urgent, but I'd like to talk to you before Monday.

Without knowing the why, my heart sank.  Call it a feeling.  Or a cynical nature.  Or whatever.  I knew.  I knew where this phone call was going.

I hung up the phone and bawled.

Hurting for hearts that don't yet know to hurt.  Weeping for what might have been, for what I thought would be, for what I had planned them to be.

And, that's where I found Jesus. 

What I thought would be wasn't ever going to be.  It was all my plan, but it wasn't ever *the* plan.  I was weeping because I didn't get my way like a Bits that didn't get to play solitaire. 

Yes, the hurt is real, and I totally reserve the right to hurt.  But, as is the unfortunate trend of my soul, I sunk into blaming and complaints of unfairness.  The arrogance of that drops me to my knees. 

I don't know all the rules to this game of life, and I certainly don't know the master plan.  Do I trust the Author of life to know how to write my story?  I'm trying.  It's hard.  (And you have no right to lecture me on that.  It is hard.)

I'm just thankful that Jesus doesn't leave me on the floor crying.  He picks me up, cuddles me in close, and let's me find comfort in His arms.



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