Yesterday a guinea pig made me angry at God.
It had been coming. The guinea pig was the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. I'm quite aware of how ridiculous this sounds. I'm also aware this isn't right, afterall, who am I to be angry at the Creator of the Universe? But I was. Kinda still am.
Two months ago we moved back to the town where my husband and I grew up. For 18 years we had been living in California where we started our family, had a nice home, a church family that blessed us beyond belief, and friends that were our family. We left it behind to connect with our roots. To give our kids green grass and lightening bugs. I thought it was what I wanted, I thought it would be great, I thought it was what the Lord wanted for us and now I think I want to go back and this was all a big mistake.
Before you launch into the "How's Your Heart Checklist":
✅I've been praying about it. ✅I've been in the Word everyday. I still feel the same. I still feel like God isn't saying a thing on the topic. Actually, He doesn't seem to be saying anything about anything I've been bringing to his attention. I thought maybe I am too needy and instead of asking, I should be thanking for the blessings I do have. ✅So I've been intentional in praising.
All I'm getting is a dial tone.
We have found a house at our new locale, but can't do anything about it till our old house sells- which it's not. The realtor says it doesn't look promising, but I remind myself nothing is impossible with my God. We have desperately been church shopping and can't find what we want or where we feel a connection. We continue to seek, because scripture says eventually we will find.
I feel like we are in limbo on every level.
It's not just been about me though, I've been petitioning heaven for those I love: a dear friend who died from cancer, his sweet wife he left behind; my friend fighting immigration laws to be reunited with her husband and how she spent Valentine's alone; a friend from high school and her devastated family who lost one of their own to a battle with cancer as well; for my lonely kids to make friends; our sixteen-year-old devising a plan to go back to Cali because he hates it here so much.
It's tough.
I'm questioning God and everything else. I feel as if the things I've been praying for shouldn't be on God's radar anyway, after all, people in the world don't have clean drinking water, others need doctors and food, people are being trafficked. Who am I that I should even matter? I have the basic necessities and I'm praying for a freaking house. Why does it matter to me? I guess the better question is, does it even matter? Because if it does, He ain't talking.
I was thinking it was just his will not to answer right now concerning the house, but nothing is being answered in my favor, is it possible that I'm just asking for everything wrong?
Enter the guinea pig. We were having a particularly rough day yesterday. Everyone was bickering, shoving, getting on one another's nerves so I decided for sanity's sake to go for a drive. I told the kids it was a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure drive. At certain stop signs and lights I'd ask left or right and they had control over where we would go. About 40 minutes into the trip we decided to visit a farm auction so the kids could see the animals and we could stuff our feelings with soft pretzels. The time was enjoyable and as we were leaving we saw a tiny guinea pig in a cage laying on its side breathing heavily.We brought the little fella's condition to the attention of one of the nearby workers who reached in, scooped him out and headed to the trashcan. The waterworks welled up in all of our eyes and I asked the man if we could take it instead. The man obliged but his stern farmers face knew we were just prolonging the inevitable. I was determined to prove him wrong because...Jesus! And that's what we named him, Jesus. We took that little guinea pig and wrapped him in a cloth diaper I had in the truck to keep him warm and began the drive home. We prayed over this little guy, like prayed-prayed, like Benny-Hinn-heal-what-ails-you prayers. I had the faith of the mustard seed, I was certain that if I told the mountains to move, they would have said, "Sure thing, Erica, to the left or the right?" Piled in the truck with the heat going and the radio on we were joyful, singing songs, laughing and imagining how to retell the story to Brian and my parents of how Jesus entered our lives. We only had twenty minutes until we were to arrive home when our efforts failed or maybe it was just God's lack of effort. Jesus breathed his last breath and lay limp in Brynna's hands. Seriously. God, could you not have given us this? Given us little furry Jesus to show us in a tangible way that despite appearances you are still with us in this? That you care and all that other stuff was going to be okay? The answer was No. A big fat nopety-nope.
I know I have no right to question the Creator of the Universe, and you can think I am teetering on blasphemy, but I'm still kind of mad that Jesus died. That I'm doing the Christian check boxes and he is making me out to be a liar in front of my kids, in front of the friends asking me to pray, and making me question is this for real. I have no right to be angry I know, but feelings are a funny thing.
