Sunday’s Sermon

My husband and I went to church last Sunday.  We usually do.  But, sometimes it just hits me harder than others.

Sometimes, the sermon hurts.  And not in a good way.

Last week,  the earnest young preacher talking was sharing a story about his health.  He has congenital heart failure.  He’s doing all he can to deal with it, but his doctor wanted him to do more.  Not medicine.  Not surgery.  A diet.

A vegan diet to be precise. For 60 days!

Seriously?  I mean who asks their patient to participate in that kind of craziness?

My reaction fit in nicely with the next part of the sermon.  The minister said it didn’t take him too long without meat or dairy to realize that he was running to food for comfort way too often.   Maybe, even more than God.


That’s when the hurting started.  I sat there in those overstuffed gray chairs and realized that God is not always my first thought in times of happy or sad.  He’s just not.  I want him to be, but I figure He’s way further down the list than any creator of the universe ought to be.

There’s my husband.  I am 100% crazy about my shy, sweet, best friend of a guy and he knows exactly what to do to make me feel better.  Sorry Preacher,  but it sometimes involves ice cream.  On a bad day ice cream and pizza.

Then,  there’s my kids.  They are truly magic and I show up every day to get a front seat to their lives. Any bad mood I tumble into can usually be solved with a few minutes talking to them.

Heck,  there is even just the  experience of living life.  I love it.  I love how a clean house feels and the way people greet each other after a long absence.  I love how puppies nuzzle your cheek and the way ice cream melts down your hand.

If I am upset, or sad, or happy, or mad God is not always my initial go-to.  I’m sorry God.  I really am.  You created all this crazy stuff I love and yet I give it more credence than You.  I’m not sure why.  I just know I do.  Maybe, it’s because I can taste ice cream and hug my husband and feel the prickles of grass  when I walk barefoot in the summer.  You really made things difficult when You made yourself so silent. I sometimes feel like You are the test case for playing hard to get.  How much more simple would this faith thing be if there were literally signs. Just little yellow post-its stuck against the blue sky that said, “Hey, don’t forget I’m up here.” No brainer.  Cut and dried. Easy.

I’m not sure what I will do with this new found revelation that I am seeking mint chocolate chip before our Heavenly Father, but I suppose I’ll think about it a lot.  I’m sure God will use those same thoughts to grow me up a little bit more and I am absolutely certain I will write about the whole thing.  Writing is always a way for me to process and relax and—-shoot.  I think writing might be on the list too.



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