Letter to the Living God
Dear Lord, at last I'm beginning to get Your drift.
Or think I am.
But I realise that if I'm making
a mistake here You'll show me
(in your own subtle way)
by pulling the carpet from under my feet,
pouring buckets of water over my head,
involving me and/or my nearest and dearest
in accidents both internal and external
till I finally get it.
It's taken awhile to
realise
that You are The Master Practical Joker.
In this circus ring of life
I had You as the ring master.
I see now he isn't the boss at
all.
He's just a big red herring in a red jacket
cracking a whip and
stalking about
in shiny black boots. There to fudge the issue,
make me
take my eyes off the ball.
You, Lord, are the Chief Clown,
the One Who
Knows what's going to happen next,
the only one with the whole
scenario,
as well as all the buckets of whitewash (and worse)
to pour
down the front of my unsuspecting trousers.
You are the Big Guy with the
rubber truncheon,
the One who shifts the ladder when I'm half-way
up,
pulls chairs away when I sit down.
To keep me alert, on my toes (as
it were)
I see now why You have both a smile and tears
painted on Your
face.
A smile of encouragement and tears that it takes so long
to teach
this thick apprentice the tools of the trade.
As I endeavour to balance
on the tightrope
encumbered by these ridiculous long shoes,
with my
wide-topped garish-checked pants
and my ill-fitting jacket through which no
hands protrude,
I see You shake Your head, "Life needn't be so
difficult
but you have choice and if you insist
on these self-imposed
encumbrances, so be it."
Thanks, Lord, for keeping me on as the thick
apprentice clown.
As I struggle out of these ridiculous long shoes,
I'm
going to miss them, You know; they gave me a sort of excuse
for failing. I
mean, how could I possibly
master the tightrope in these? But without
them?
Please keep warning me, by whatever practical joke You wish,
not
to look ever again to the sleazy ring master for guidance.
I know now who
he is;
after all he gave me the outfit, though I chose to wear it.
He
knew I'd blame the shoes when I fell on my face,
so making my
apprenticeship that much longer.
I know this has taken a while, Lord,
But I thank You now for the chairs that weren't there,
the falling ladder, the tweaked carpets,
and even the buckets of paint.
I don't
suppose for a moment that I've fallen
on my ass for the last time,
but
maybe next time, as I'm falling, I'll realise why,
and laugh with You
as
I ruefully rub my butt,
shake my head and say, again,
"I should have
seen it coming....." |