Divine Raspberries

Sometimes, words escape me. (Don't act so shocked!) Sometimes, they overwhelm me. Tonight, words are not enough.

Just this morning in Bible class, we were asked if we ever felt like God spit on us. I know this sounds funny to many of you. It sounded funny to me. We talked about Jesus spitting in the dirt to make mud to heal blindness, not once but twice. "Jesus was a spitter." The thought was bad, but the ensuing conversation made us all gag. The sermon this morning asked a similar question, and I had to emulate (I was quiet!) the snort from forming a good spit. (Bible school teacher and his wife and DH and myself were all quite impressed with my humor and timing.) I seriously could not stop myself. I needed that laugh.

Do you ever feel like you get spat upon when expecting a different kind of healing? I feel a small bit like that this weekend.

I recently asked for prayers for my father, and now I need them for my mother. Mom had a mild heart attack on Friday. She will be in the hospital until after some tests on Monday. She is diabetic, and has sores on her feet from walking too much at work. The doctor was contemplating how to save her feet without amputating a pinkie toe, but those thoughts had to be put on hold when she went to the Emergency Room for her heart.

Asking for prayers for someone else is easy. I forget to ask them for myself. I am stressed again. I really don't like fidgeting from such a long distance. My friend said this morning that "hovering is so much better". She's right. She speaks volumes of wisdom from experience.

Living so far away from my family is a hard decision I made many years ago. My parents' health was much better back then. I have a hard time when friends, and even my husband, get to see their families so often. It starkly reminds me of my humanity, and the 100% mortality rate we share. I know it is the way of nature to bury our parents, but I don't want to have to do that just yet. I guess you could call it selfishness, or maybe it is more laziness or poverty. I just don't have the emotional wellbeing to watch my parents fail. They have worked so hard all these years, to make a good life for me and my brother, and to support themselves in their golden age. Sickness has ruined so much of that.

I think I have said too much. I did not say that I was at a loss for words tonight. Words are not enough, because my heart is crying out to God, and my mind has no idea of what words fit that. I am glad that I have the Holy Spirit to be my thesaurus for prayer.

The rain is falling. It smells wonderful. Wet, noisy, clean, cool and refreshing. I have an intense desire to go out barefoot and jump in a puddle. My yard is certainly a swamp by now, I should go dance and sing in the rain. Where is my umbrella? I need to have it to do the dance properly, right?

Is this Jesus' spit in the healing mud?