A Southern female comedian talked about her travels. She said traffic gets so bad she says, “Sweet Jesus, help me merge. Help me merge.”
Burst of hilarity from her audience.
Except from me. I ALWAYS ask the Lord to help me merge. If I don’t, I would leave Kansas City for Lawrence, Kansas through New York. That's one long detour. I can’t bring myself to enter that lane of speeding cars, none of which plan to let me enter unless the drivers give me a shove.
I also ask him to change my personality, prevent my sore throat from getting worse, and help my dish turn out well for the potluck. Believe me, with my cooking it's necessary.
One of the wonderful benefits of salvation is that chaos doesn’t rule. If my dish fails, he might use it to feed a hungry dog. Maybe the dog hasn’t eaten for days and now he can start the long trek home. One piece in a large puzzle, I don’t fit the whole perfectly. Squeezing and shaping must take place to make me fit the space, and it hurts. This lump of clay has nerve endings.
What a relief that God takes care of my large and small concerns. He keeps his eye on me, along with the mother who opens the door to two soldiers with news from Iraq. At the same time, he stands by the man burying the wife of fifty years, and the man who can’t see an end to his physical pain.
God has no limits. I don’t sit on the line, listening to his recording repeating, “Please Hold. Your call is important to me” for the fifteenth time. My call IS important to him.
Praise the Lord.
Photo from "Confused.com".