I love my wife! Let me just get that out of the way at the outset. She’s beautiful, vibrant, a wonderful mother and a cold slap of common sense reality when I need it.
Well, like most days, but today in particular.
I was talking to her about a particularly bad day I had the previous weekend: You see, every now and then on my half-hour commute to work, if I’m not jamming on some obscure Pink Floyd or thinking up ideas for the next incredible blog post, I enjoy a little “quiet time”. It’s a time to reflect, to ease myself into (or out of) my day; or a time to commune with God. And that’s what I was on doing this particular morning.
I was asking God to take care of my wife because she’d not been feeling well. I asked Him to look after my kids so they behaved and didn’t cause mom any additional undo stress. And, I prayed that I might be an example of Christ to those I would come in contact with that day, both customers and fellow employees. Something to the effect of, “God, I would really like to be more of a light for You at work; to be an example to those who may be far from You.”
Then I added, “If need be God, if the right words don’t come, provide them by Your Spirit. Let them be Your words, not mine.”
I told her it genuinely confused me that, when asking that God use his Spirit to give me words should my words fail, I would have the type of day that I had. It was horrible. I was a real smartass. (For those of you who know me, even more so than usual.) I thought, where was God? Did I miss a busy signal in the prayer phone on the way to work?
“All lines are busy; please try your prayer again later.” *click* Rrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
You know my wife’s immediate reaction?
“Maybe you’re praying that God make you into someone you’re not meant to be.”
“I think you have this mindset of what a Christian is supposed to be,” she continued, “But maybe that’s not how God sees you. You’re trying to be this prim, proper, hands-folded-in-constant-prayer kind of Christian you think you’re supposed to be. And that’s fine for people who are genuinely built that way. But that’s not you.” She laughs at this point, “That’s definitely not you!”
“You’re more blunt, honest,” she continued, “And yeah, you can be a smartass, but who’s to say God can’t use that? Who’s to say He’s not using you now? When He’s quiet like that, maybe He’s saying, ‘No. No, that’s not what I have in mind for you. That’s not who I want you to be.'”
“God wants me to be a smartass?”
“Well . . . yeah. Maybe. For now.”
I don’t know, but for some reason that clicked with me. I think I’ve been so wrapped up in trying to be the type of Christian that I see other Christians trying to be; the type of Christian that Christians “like”, that they’re comfortable with, that I forgot that maybe that’s not me. Maybe that’s not what God wants me to be. Maybe that’s not what I want to be. If we were all this cookie-cutter image of a “proper” Christian—you know, the pressed, white shirt, skinny black tie, high water pants, little gold halo, eyes looking reverently towards the heavens—how boring would that be? How boring would heaven be?
When I get to heaven, I want the angelic choir to be backed by loud guitars and a double-bass drum kit! I want clouds with bungee cords attached so I can leap off, ruffle some unsuspecting guy’s hair then snap back up into heaven as the guy whips his head around in a mild panic. When Jesus turns the water into wine, I want it to be REAL wine.
But that’s just me.
And maybe God’s alright with that.