Wordy Wednesday: Cause and Effect

I have lately been interested in the natural out working of those small throwaway decisions that comprise the vast sea of the ordinary work day. You know how it goes. You begin to do one thing, are reminded in the middle of it that you were supposed to do another thing, drop what you're doing to go attend to it, are interrupted on the way by a child who needs a bandaid, forget both tasks, stand there wondering what you were doing, find your phone in your hand and then fifteen minutes later realize you were on Facebook for no apparently good reason. No task is finished. The house is a wreck. You have wandered around in the imaginations of your heart, like the wicked, and you go to bed exhausted and angry with everyone but chiefly with yourself.

I always feel like God should protect me from the consequences of this way of life. Look, I reason, if I could keep a whole thought in my head, if I wasn't interrupted every tiny second, maybe I could do some kind of lasting work that is of interest to someone and value to the kingdom. But because I can't, it must not be my fault. So God shouldn't allow any bad things to happen to me.

For example, I know the natural consequence of taking a pan of baked potatoes out of the oven with a thin towel is a real live burn, But, there aren't any hotpads clean and that is because of the circular sisyphean motion of my life. Surely some kind of divine miraculous protection from my own stupidity, because it must not be my fault, is in order.

Don't worry, I didn't burn my hand. I was saved by not even having a thin towel but flailing about in anger and frustration and finally grabbing the tea cozy which never did anything nasty to anyone but daily serves a useful and friendly purpose. The potatoes were delicious. I bring this up merely as a hypothetical example of what might have happened and also what has happened in the distant past.

Of course, in my usual pharisaical way, I believe very strongly in natural consequences for other people, especially children. So when I discovered that Alouicious had been sitting around all day, spinning in his chair and doing nothing at all, it seemed good and right that he should go, once supper was over, and return to his studies. This shocked him a great deal because he's been banking, day after day, on me forgetting who finished what and then having the energy to do anything about it. He worked solidly from 6:30 until 8:30, with only occassional moments of getting up to complain.

It is probably this cushy American Christianity that has been spoiling me and making me think that the details of life shouldn't be a pain in the neck. I slip so easily into the complacent idea that if I have done anything self denying or “loving” for Jesus or anyone I should be protected, divinely, from slicing my fingers on errant pieces of paper, or everlastingly hurting myself on tin cans. Doesn't God love me? I mutter angrily. Why is he allowing me this unspeakable suffering?

Likewise, when things fall together into place and the day rolls along in the beauty of order and wonder and peace, I am quick to toddle along to Matt and say, “I had a really good school day. I got the children into their math and I read to them and I baked delicious life giving bread and I carried on in a reasonable and rational way” and then I pause, hoping he will congratulate me for my greatness.

The main thing is not to read the news or the bible. Otherwise my whole way of being comes crashing to the ground.