How to Believe God When Life Stinks Like a Poopy Diaper in a Hot Minivan
The trouble with life is, it stinks. It stinks like a poopy diaper in a hot minivan. It stinks like a poopy diaper in a hot minivan, in July in a Walmart parking lot, with my keys locked inside, 5 crying kids, and $312.86 worth of groceries, spoiling in the summer sun. Standing outside the van I can see, even if I had my keys, the wretched funk, which the van seems to manifest on its own, will be magnified a billion times over, by that bargain store brand butt cover filled with poop, I inadvertently left on the seat.
Sweat trickles down my back. My brainstem argues with my cerebrum, I should do something.
If I faint… yes, faint. Play dead. Then sympathy will be the crutch that carries me through. If I collapse to the concrete, in a deliberate and dramatic display, I will not have to deal with this latest catastrophe. I will be rushed to the hospital, and I might get an IV full of something fantastic.
I haven’t had lunch since 1995. If I faint, I will get lunch. Granted it will be hospital food, but it will still be lunch. And if I am hospitalized, someone else will have to unload these groceries, balance the checkbook, and deal with that smell… on the seat, sweltering in the summer sun.
Do I fall backward?
If I fall forward, I will mess up my face, and right now that is the best part. If I fall backward, my ample butt will indeed lessen the damage, but what if I crack open my head? Then they might have to shave my hair. That would stink. The summer heat is working its magic, maybe I won’t have to decide, and I will just pass out and get a free pass to be… nothing.
Not the problem causer.
Not the problem solver.
It’s altogether too much. I can hear the kids complaints, I can sense the ice cream melting. I can imagine the smell as it grows in magnitude… from that stupid poopy diaper that is a metaphor for my life.
Perhaps this nonsense is nothing compared to the fire you are walking through.
Maybe, you are facing illness, the end of your marriage, financial ruin, a job loss, or … worse.
And faking faint isn’t the answer, it would only mean more hospital bills, things fall apart when you do. You press on, clinging to fragments of a dwindling belief in a God that restores.
As I muster the endurance to write this post, it is a bad time of day. The Google, Social Media, and powers that be will balk at the time of day, week, and month for posting this, still my fingers fly. If I am the only one that reads this, let it be said… I believe.
Really, it makes no sense, foolish in most eyes. Who am I to encourage or preach? Who am I that still believes? Yet, I do. I press on, I will not back down, I will not be swayed. No, I will stay upright and conscious.
The Lord is STILL my shepherd;
I have everything I need in this moment.
Eventually, He will show me rest in fields of green grass – not on the hot pavement of Walmart…
I believe He will lead me to quiet pools of fresh water, and there I will have lunch… Quiche, some salad… peach iced tea with Sonic ice, and something wickedly fabulous for dessert.
He gives me new strength, when I least expect it and when I need it most.
He guides me in the right paths and talks me out of nonsense – that will only add to my problems,
Just as He has promised.
Even if I go through the deepest darkness,
I will not be afraid, Lord,
for I BELIEVE you are with me… I believe it, even though it seems like a fantasy, I believe.
Your shepherd’s rod and staff protect me, I believe you are still there.
You prepare a banquet for me, see aforementioned lunch,Who am I that still believes? I won't back down, & I won't be swayed. No, I will stay upright & conscious #JesusClick To Tweet
where all my enemies can see me, but I can’t hear them asking for more juice or to help with math… I am perfectly content and satisfied.
You welcome me as an honored guest – beloved daughter
and fill my cup to the brim with more peach tea and Sonic ice…
I know… yes, I believe, that your goodness and love will be with me all my life… and your house will be my home as long as I live.
Satan is bad.
God is good.
From somewhere deep in my soul I muster the wherewithal to search for the number… pop a lock. I hush the children, I remind them that we have a Sonic gift card, we will get peach tea and French fries, maybe a ninety-nine cent corn dog, if they will just cooperate. Then, I make my request, I give my location. Finally, I call my husband, begging his pardon, and ask him to transfer the last of our meager savings to checking to pay the locksmith.
Satan is bad.
God is good.
With the windows rolled down, the ice cream and that stinky diaper long gone, the children and I feast on sweet tea, French fries, and corn dogs, there was enough for two shakes, we pass around. We laugh about the nonsense and the baby that sleepily fists soggy fries with his toothless mouth.
At my worst, I contemplate fraudulent hospital stays, where I check out and wish I was better, different, or just in a coma.
At my best, I acknowledge my birthright. Daughter. Beloved girl of the Most High. I walk in His favor. He is for me. He is with me. And I will not even stumble, that He will not know… He knows where I am lacking, He knows just what I need.
Satan is bad.
God is good.
I choose to believe.
And just for today… I got lunch.
I pray that if you read this you know, He is a good Father. Do not lose hope. Fall into the arms of a loving Father. Eventually, it will make sense. He is for you and with you. You are doing just fine.
May your floors be sticky and your calling ordained. Love, Jami
Psalm 23:1-3 The Lord is my shepherd;
I have everything I need.
2 He lets me rest in fields of green grass
and leads me to quiet pools of fresh water.
3 He gives me new strength.
He guides me in the right paths,
as he has promised.
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