stories, lessons, and a lot of nonsense

walking barefoot

My dad had a rule that was contradictory to most parents: always wear shoes in the house. It wasn’t that he loved having dirt tracked through the house, but he didn’t want us stubbing our toes and breaking them or stepping on something that could really hurt us. I’m not sure if it was out of concern for us, or because he didn’t want to be bothered with that stuff. He really loves us, compassion is not his strong suit. So if I stepped on something and it cut me or I stubbed my toe pretty good, his first question wasn’t, “Are you okay?”. He wanted to know why we didn’t have our shoes on. That may sound cold to some (probably not anyone that reads my blog, since I scared away all the sensitive people long ago), but it’s not like he didn’t warn us. Breaking that rule led to our getting hurt. No sense complaining to a guy who knew it would happen; he knew, and so he made a rule.

I think that’s how a lot of Christians are. I know I am. I’ve screwed up a few times here and there, and when I do, it tends to lead to some kind of hurt in my life. Then I take my problem to God and ask Him to kiss my boo-boo and make it all better. That’s not how it works, of course. Some times it takes time for those boo-boos to heal, depending on how stupid my stunt was, and I shouldn’t get impatient with Him while I wait.

Don’t get mad at God when you stub your toe, when you’re the one walking around without shoes on.


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