God Is Not Mean.

Today, though, I choose to worship a God whose justice is beyond my understanding in all particulars but this one that my children have taught me:  God is not mean.

God gave me a husband who loves me and children who are not horribly sick and a job I like and a mother-in-law who passes on her cars to us for their bluebook prices and, two Sundays ago, eight newborn Labrador puppies who are just now opening their eyes….  God hears my prayers and answers them in my best interest, every one of them, although I sometimes don’t recognize that he has or agree with him about what my best interest might be….

God is not mean.  He chose me, despite my own frequent meanness.  He chose me when there were better people.  Better mothers.  Better writers.  Better Christians.  Better cooks, probably.  There are so many others that he could have chosen, others that I hope he will choose, every one of them.  And after he chose me he has kept on choosing me:  rewarding me, reassuring me, burying me in blessings.

Our God, I have learned from my daughters, is the God of promises — promises of healing and happiness and all good things — for those who look forward to their own fulfillment.  Promises available not only in the Word of God but in all creation, in newborn puppies with their eyes still closed and ditches and frothed milk and silly games.  In children.  In our ability to imagine heaven.

— Patty Kirk, Confessions of an Amateur Believer, p. 229-232

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