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I spent four years living with a pastor’s family, but I had no idea the Old Testament was this stinking depressing. I’ve been flipping through some of the books named after people, you know, Isaiah and Jeremiah and all those guys. Man, if I was trying to focus on positive thinking today, I really picked the wrong material. So far, it’s been about God punishing his children, calling them whores, warning them about all the plagues and devastation he’s about to visit on them for their idol-worship.
And still I keep flipping from page to page. It’s like when your body’s so anemic you can’t stop eating spinach and red meat even though the best you can do is gag them down.
Here’s a passage about the day of the Lord, except it’s not all trumpets and angels like Sandy’s husband preaches. No, this is a cruel day, with wrath and fierce anger — to make the land desolate and destroy the sinners within it. See what I mean about real happy images here?
I’ve had enough of this. I check the clock. Is it really almost noon? I’ve had this book open on my lap for an hour and a half, and I still haven’t received a single word of comfort.
I really need God to speak to me like he did last Sunday through Grandma Lucy. I need another promise like that, something I can hold onto. Heck, I’ll take anything just about now as long as it’s not a verse about dashing someone to pieces like pottery. Who knew the Old Testament got so dark?
I’m in Psalms now. It’s Sandy’s favorite book. Says she can always find encouragement there. Well, the first chapter I read ended with something like, You’ve taken everything away from me, and the darkness is my closest friend.
Thanks, Sandy. That’s real comforting right there.
What am I doing wrong? Sandy and her husband are always talking about how the Bible’s this living, active entity that God can use to speak to you directly. I’ve been searching its pages for almost two hours and haven’t gotten a single message from the Lord. Don’t you think he knows I’m waiting?
I pray. Somewhere in the back of my head, I remember that youth pastor with dreadlocks saying we should ask God to speak to us before we read the Bible. Maybe that’s where I made my mistake.
My prayer isn’t fancy or long or anything. I just ask God to tell me something about my daughter. Let me know if I did the right thing putting her back on the ventilator. If she’s not going to make it, I need to be prepared. I’m so sick of false hope.
I don’t feel any better after I’ve prayed, but I remember that same youth pastor telling me God’s the same no matter how we feel.
I flip to the middle of the Bible. Psalm 118. My eyes scan the page and land on one verse as if it were highlighted in neon.
I will not die but live, and will proclaim what the Lord has done.
And there I have my answer.