To Talk to Him as I Should

Dearest Rachel –

I honestly forget which service I was at this weekend where I heard about it, but one of the pastors I listened to described a cartoon of God, sitting at an ornate cloudy desk, as might be found in a heavenly office. One’s focus wasn’t so much on Him and what He was doing, as such, as it was on the in-box marked ‘Requests’ that towered out of frame. The desk also included a sort of out box labeled ‘Thank Yous,’ but its stack of papers barely reached above the lip of the tray itself.

The point of the cartoon, as I’m sure you might guess, is that we come to God with the seemingly infinite number of requests, but once (if?) we get what we want from God, we so often forget to thank Him for what He’s done for us. As with the healing of the lepers, it’s barely a one-in-ten chance that we remember Who has granted our request, and express our gratitude to Him.

Now, in their defense, it could be argued that the Jewish lepers were headed to the priest to perform the ritual to declare themselves clean; the Samaritan would have had no such tradition to attend to, and as such, did the only thing he thought was appropriate for the occasion in returning to thank his Benefactor. Still, there’s no question it reflects rather badly on his colleagues – and by extension, on us when we, like them, forget to offer thanks for prayers answered.

However, I bring this up not so much as some sort of lesson (as if you needed one from where you are, in His presence), but rather as a bit of a confession; and one a little more involved than a matter of mere ingratitude. Sure, I probably could stand to offer my thanks to Him more often, especially considering what I’ve been able to do with my life (the Grand Tour from this past spring being a prime example), but the lack in my life is a little more serious than that; I’ve not been going to Him on a regular basis in the first place.

It’s not a matter of not being on speaking terms with God, by any means. There’s still the blessing at most every meal; indeed, it sometimes seems like others (apart from my folks; in that case, the responsibility falls to Dad to handle) look to me to offer the mealtime blessing. I don’t know what causes them to regard me as some form of éminence grise in this situation, but that seems to be the way things go. I take the role when it’s extended, but quite often, I find myself reacting internally to it in much the same way as when we were back in college and our university was consistently receiving top marks in some national magazine ranking; we would look at each other and wonder “if we’re considered to be number one, what does that say about everybody else?” I’m not qualified for this role, but someone has to take the part.

I comfort myself (if that’s an appropriate way to put it) with the thought that at least I’m not bombarding Him with requests for this or that. I’ve slowly learned that there’s little point in asking Him for the things that I want, since it’s so rare that they correspond to what I really need. God gives us the latter (although I suppose it should still be asked for: “give us this day our daily bread,” and all that); whether we receive the former depends on how well the two concepts align. I’m painfully aware that the things I might want are not necessarily needs, and as a result, I can’t expect them to be given me, nor should I be upset with God when they aren’t. But in that case, should I even be bothering to ask Him for such stuff in the first place?

Likewise, there are some things that the Lord would be perfectly fine with me having, but they aren’t things that He gives directly. It’s true that “the Lord helps those that help themselves” isn’t scriptural (apparently, it comes to us from Aesop and his fables), but there’s a certain logic to it. I can’t pray to lose weight, and not do anything about my diet or exercise regimen; I need to actively do things in order to obtain the results I want. Even with ‘Megumi’ (assuming, as always, that she exists and the Lord is willing that I find her), I can’t expect her to drop out of the sky and land in my lap, nice as that might be. I have to put myself out there and actually meet women, and determine for myself if this or that one could be her. Somehow, in the process of doing, I neglect to ask in the first place. Perhaps I need to ask for motivation in the first case and discernment in the second, both of which I unquestionably need, but it never quite occurs to me to do so.

To be sure, I often conclude that He will do what He will do, and it would be presumptuous of me to think I could change His mind, so why bother? Likewise, if He knows what I’m going to say before I say it, what’s the point in saying anything? Even talking to Him about my day (like I do here with you, since that’s what we would do in life together), when He’s seen it all as it went down, and knew what I was thinking at each step along the way (and probably remembers each thought better than I do now) seems pointless. I’ve been told since childhood that He just wants to hear from us, but I admit to having trouble understanding His desire to have us tell Him what He already knows… and as a result, it’s difficult sometimes to talk to Him as I should.

All of which seems like a worse problem than a matter of simple ingratitude – although, is it at least better than raging at Him for the things I’ve lost?

In any event, I hope that you could see your way clear to keep an eye on me, honey, and continue to wish me luck; I’m going to need it.