September 24: His Work, His Voice, "Carol" Dip Monday

So, I had an interesting conversation in my Sunday School class yesterday morning.  We were discussing the valleys and peaks of our lives.  In particular, we were discussing how to maintain hope when your life is in the toilet, and how to recognize God's voice and blessings.  Most people, when they are in real trouble, will turn to prayer of some sort, whether it's to some kind of "higher power" or Jesus or Jehovah or Muhammad.  As the saying goes, there aren't any atheists in foxholes.  When the chips are down, we turn to God (in whatever form) to pick those chips up for us.

The topic came up about how we sometimes don't recognize God working in our lives or talking to us because we're too wrapped up in ourselves.  When I get up in the morning, I immediately start going through my list of what I have to do.  Work.  Teaching.  Papers and quizzes to correct.  Kids to get to dance and daycare.  My mind doesn't stop.  Then, of course, as the day goes on, all the other noise of the world crowds in, grabs my attention.  Rain and bad tires on my car and doctors appointments for children with ear infections.  Most of life is an unending parade of worries and distractions.

And in the middle of all that is God, talking to us, working for us.  We are just too preoccupied to take notice.  For example, in August one day, I was worried about money (probably the biggest noise in my head all day, every day).  I was looking at bills and paychecks, thinking, "This just isn't going to work."  I could come up with no solution to reconcile the shortage of cash.  I closed my eyes and said a little prayer, something like, "OK, God, I handing this one over to you.  Can't handle it.  I need a break."

Within a couple of minutes, my wife called and told me I'd received a letter in the mail from the city of Marquette, where I spend most of my days working/teaching.  I thought it was another reminder to pay a parking ticket that I've been ignoring for quite some time.  "No, no," my wife said.  "I opened it up, and there was a check inside for $250."

I sat there, stunned.  Finally, I said, "What's it for?  Is there a note or something?"

It turned out I was getting paid for a couple of poetry readings I did this summer as part of the U. P. Book Tour.  I couldn't believe it.  It was out of the blue.  I'd never been told I was going to get compensated.  In fact, the year before, I did quite a few readings for the Book Tour and never saw a dime.  I wasn't looking to be paid.  I wasn't expecting to be paid.

When I spoke with one of the organizers of the events, he said, "Well, when we paid all the bills, we had money left over from the grants we received.  All the authors got money."

The nonbeliever would call it a coincidence, good fortune, whatever.  I call it God's work or God's voice.  God made me stop, take a deep breath, and surrender.  Then God stepped in, rolled up His sleeves, and did a little miracle.

That's what I'm talking about.  Worries never accomplish anything, except maybe disrupting sleep and ruining dinners.  Worries are all about fear, and fear is the exact opposite of faith.  It's the worrying we all do, every day, that interferes with our ability to recognize God's work, to hear God's voice.

Today is Carol Dip Monday.  I'm going to ask a question and then turn to the great Christmas book of Dickens for an answer.  Perhaps, when I do this little exercise every Monday, God is at work, giving me an answer through the characters of Scrooge and Tiny Tim and Fred the nephew.  I like to think that's the case.  So, my question for today is,

Will I ever be hired as a full-time professor at the university?

And the answer from Charles Dickens (and maybe God) is:

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were only in joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the closet door, and ran into his arms, while the two young Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim, and bore him off into the wash-house, that he might hear the pudding singing in the copper.

Martha doesn't like to disappoint her father, Bob Cratchit, and God will not disappoint me.  No joking about it.

Saint Marty will be a full-time professor at the university, according to the Christmas Carol Magic 8 Ball.  And God.

Time to unplug and listen!