Wandering

I have been reminded to pray for provision.  It seems simple enough. (For a rootin', tootin' Christian, that is.)  Why should I need a reminder?  But I was so focused on my poor stewardship; I assumed I couldn't ask for help.  I didn't deserve help.  I thought I must first get myself and my bad habits in order before I could approach the throne.  So I never actually approached the throne...not for this.
Don't we do this with everything?  Each issue--financial, relational, situational--seems so legitimately our own problem to deal with.  We take care of our part, and then, only then, can we ask for help.  I'm gonna pretty myself right up, and then God will really want to help me, because he'll be so dadgum pleased with me.
Each time I wander in this wasteland I forget the Light I had before.  I don't have ears to hear the promises even when I read them, speak them.  I see the promises as meant for others, but first I have to deserve it.  I forget that the last time I was here I eventually learned that my Father loves me and wants to shower me with his love, even though I am a fly on a dung heap.
I've wandered for a long while this time.  For years now, I have been trying to make myself presentable, so that I could ask God for help.  Okay, seriously. I know that is nowhere in Scripture.  I know that.  But we lie to ourselves...or allow lies to enter in.  And we always believe that this time it's on me.  This time I really do need to get my junk in order before the King will entertain my company.  I don't deserve to keep company with the King.  Not only am I a peasant.  I am a selfish-hearted peasant.

I don't know what happened.  Maybe my feet got tired.  Maybe he had pity on me.  I honestly don't know.  But peace has reentered my soul in this particular area.  The proverbial lightbulb came back on, and I realized---I remembered I need to ask.  Not, "all I have to do is ask."  No.
I Need. To Ask.
Stop focusing on my weaknesses.  Stop worrying about the doom glooming overhead.  When dogs or wolves want to threaten another, they literally loom over the other's head.  Do I really believe the God-Father I have devoted my entire life--my children--to, wants to threaten me?  Where do you think that gloom is coming from?  Who is holding the stick?
My Father does not hold a stick.  He let his precious Boy be nailed to two huge, splintery sticks so I--so we all could be with Them.  How could I let myself forget that?
But he remembers.
He always remembers.
His people always forget.  And Christ came.
Because we always forget.
While I am sitting here with my stacks of pennies, forgetting, counting the want, he is who he has always been.  He is so much more than we know.
While my faith is catching up with my theology in this most pathetic way, He Is that He Is.
He loves me as a parent loves his child.  Except he told us expressly that as we love our children--and do we ever!--he loves us so much more.

I don't know if I am past this phase of wandering.  With its proof of longevity, it may persist.  But tonight I have faith and hope that my Father sees, listens, hears, responds.  Despite my weaknesses, and not because of my strengths, he loves me.  Whether I inflict pain, or pain is inflicted upon me, he loves me.  And oh, how I love him for loving me!

Thank you, God, that all of this is not for naught.