Still, I Ask

I don’t think it is sinful to think about how God thinks, and I think that since He gave His children a sense of humor, He too has a sense of humor, and doubtless laughs thunderously at some of my thoughts about His thinking.

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Surely He laughs when I beg for blessings that I want, but don’t need. For instance, I love to sing, but can’t; even so, I ask Him to make an Elvis of me. It hasn’t happened yet. Even when the preacher exhorts us to wail out at the top of our lungs when singing all those beautiful hymns, I don’t, because I fear my cacophonous croak will offend my pew neighbors. Still, I ask. To the Lord I speak first each morning, and to Him I speak last at night. I petition Him for what I want at dawn, and thank Him for what I got at dusk. I still ask Him to help me sing better, but, alas, I blare like a braying burro, which is all right according to my preacher, who says the universe’s Choir Leader loves to hear His children sing, no matter how bad it is … even as bad as mine. Since nobody is around during my predawn petitions to the Giver of all good things, I rattle off a fairly lengthy wish list. How He must laugh when I ask for a Harley-Davidson festooned with American flags! Still, I ask. Such a request is utterly preposterous, but others are even more preposterous. For instance, although my ancient body can no longer withstand the hard work of raising crops, I ask Him to cut me a check so that I can go back to the Mississippi Delta and buy the farm I worked most of my life, and still love to the depths of my soul. How silly is that! What do I expect — a loan from the Lord to float down out of the sky? Still, I ask. I also make realistic requests of Him. I ask for the courage to be a more stalwart soldier in the battle against evil forces I feel are seeking to make my country something it was never meant to be; I ask for the ability to touch students’ lives in ways that please Him; I ask for good health, and many other beneficent blessings. Like the Lord, I too am a father. When my children were growing up and asked for things they didn’t need, I remember how I always responded, so I think I know how God thinks in such matters. Now that my daughters are grown, I suspect they realize that they were more blessed than not that I often said no, as in hindsight I realize that I was blessed when that still, small voice within my conscience said no. I won’t quit thinking about how my Maker thinks, and I won’t quit importuning Him for wants, not needs. He knows what is best for me. Still, I ask.