rule.

The kids are in the shower playing with shaving cream and a foot scrubber since the Man officially put the k’bosh on tubs until April 22. Seriously. April 22. They’ve destroyed our bathroom for years each time they take a tub in there. We find water dripping off the walls, covering the floor, popping the tiles off the surround. We scream, threaten, rant and rage and it’s always the same messy story. So last night he posted a sign and made it official. Leaving me with wreckage today as I started enforcing it. Anyway, they are there and I’m here at the computer trying to ignore the email I’ve just received that says “Now is the Perfect Time to Visit Britain”. As if there were an imperfect time to visit Britain (more on my love of all things British later). And I’m thinking about my dad. Who wrote a book. Last week. For my whole life he’s not writing a book and suddenly, last week, blam-he’s written a book. And it’s about the 10 second rule which basically says that you should do the next thing you’re reasonably certain Jesus wants you to do and you should do it now. My dad has a system for everything, even obedience and perhaps someday you’ll be able to pick it up at Schuler’s and read about it. Anyway, it’s a good system and I’ve been trying to use it lately. Been trying to be more spiritually impulsive, because when I pause and think I lose the guts to do the next right thing and then the moment is over and I’ve missed out. And so has God.
So yesterday in the doctors office (more about this later) I sat across the waiting room from a young woman who looked sad. So sad. I can’t describe it, but I know I’ve looked like that before. Where every part of your body seems to say, “I give up. I got nothing left.” I hurt for her. And God was nudging me to tell her it’s going to be ok, but I didn’t know her and this doctors office is a Psychiatrist’s office and probably filled with all kinds of loony people like myself, so what in the world would keep her from thinking I’m completely off my rocker? So I didn’t say anything and my hands started to shake and I felt an anxiety attack coming on and before I knew it she was walking out the door.
I caught her in the hall and told her I didn’t know if she knows Jesus, but I had a strong impression that He wanted me to tell her that it was going to be ok. That she’d be ok.  It was ok. And she thanked me hesitatingly and got into the elevator, putting an end to my daydream of her breaking down and talking to me and me having all the right answers and her leaving with Jesus. But the result part isn’t my deal. It’s Gods. The obedience part is my deal. So, I’m praying for her and leaving the results up to God and asking that He give me the courage to act more quickly next time because I’m pretty sure this was more like 7 minutes than 10 seconds.  And I hate it when I have to ask my kids to do something a million times before they do it and I’m sorry I do that to God all the time.  All the time.
And now since Lucy is squawking and we’re very likely out of hot water, I can spend the afternoon reminding myself that there are no perfectly obedient people, only a really forgiving God who is willing to teach me this lesson a million times before it sinks in.

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