Scrambled Eggs

Today has been an Anxious day.  My brain is the consistency of soggy Weetabix and even the littlest things have seemed a bit much.

Someone knocked over my coffee and I jumped half a foot.

My eggs exploded in the microwave.

The washing-line collapsed: and me along with it.

None of this matters.  In fact, there’s more here to be thankful for than worried about. (Coffee! Scrambled eggs! Microwaves! Clean washing! BRILLIANT)

But

– underneath are the things that do matter.  The Real Worries. Too big to handle – and too big to name.  Friends who are struggling.  Family members who are sick. Bills. Deadlines. The simmering anxiety beneath the to-do lists.

What happens if…? What will I do when..? How will X cope if…?

I fight them with Great British Bake-off and crosswords.  I hang them out with the washing and watch the line sag to the floor. I feed them sugar and coffee and box-sets. Mary Berry keeps them at bay: for a moment.  But then they seep back.

So I pray.

And I don’t know what I’m praying about: at least to start with.

‘The eggs Lord, the EGGS’.

He listens and He doesn’t laugh, (or if He does it’s quiet).  So I keep going.

‘It’s not really the eggs.  I don’t know what’s wrong.  I’m worried  – about these people.  They’re hurting and I don’t know how to help. I can’t explain why things are so hard: and I wonder myself.  Why are they suffering? What’s going on? I’m not in control and they’re not in control – so, are you? Are you really?’

We sit for a moment and I sigh. ‘I can see how you’ve worked in my life Lord.  I see how you’ve worked in the past in theirs.  But this?  Why are you letting it happen?’

I open the Bible.  I read about people losing their health and their children. Then, I read about God losing His child. I watch the crowds, mocking Him as He’s nailed to the cross.  His friends, abandoning Him. His family, despairing. His enemies, convinced they have triumphed. It’s wrong. It looks like evil has won.  But then – the cross becomes the victory.  The shame becomes glory. And the mourning turns to rejoicing.

It’s not how I would do it. And I don’t get it.  But if God can use the worst evil ever and make it the greatest good – I can trust Him with my friends.  I can trust Him with the washing.  And even when the eggs explode, I don’t have to.