Bones and Flesh

I set my alarm for 5 a.m.

Monday morning. Gym workout before work. Oxygen magazine, which went bankrupt earlier this year but now is back, was clenched tightly in my hand.

It was a great workout. I tuned everything out except the music pouring in through my I-Pod. I performed pushups, squats, kicks, lunges and tabletops kicks.

Lovely.

I got back home, my muscles shaking but feeling worked and made my household list.

I've been trying to get household chores done on Saturdays but it's not working out very well. I simply don't feel like cleaning all day Saturday. This week I'm going to try and do a little every day.

Today's list:
Clean sheets for Will.
Downstairs bathroom.

Will's been bugging for raviolis for supper.

Tonight is his night. Tonight we're having spinach ravioli lasagna.

Cardinals, Red Sox will play game four tonight and we will be watching. Growing up with the Blue Jays, I can't help but root for the Red Sox - the American League team.

The bones of a day.

Bones alone do not a day make. A day needs some flesh.

Here's some flesh.

God is in the messy, the hurtful, the painful. I don't look for him in those places because I believe my anger, my ugliness, my pride is more expedient, more effective at getting what I want. Power. I want the power. Looking for God in the middle of a hurtful or messy situation would be relinquishing my power, the tool I use to craft the situation into something I can control and shape.
I rarely look for God. My first reaction is to subconsciously ask myself, "How am I going to handle this?"
God in my messy.
God in my painful.
God in control.
Job went through inexplicable hardship he didn't ask for. God was in it. God had control.
"Where were you when I......." God asks. "Have you ever..........?" "Can you..............?"
No God I say with bowed head.  I wasn't. I haven't. I can't.

But you can.