It’s Me Again, God #1



It’s Me Again, God #1

Here I am, seeking refuge from my own humiliating self once again, God. You could have stopped it. After all, You are the almighty God of the Universe. You did’t have to let me walk down the hospital corridor, head held high, with “What a beautiful day,” careening from my mouth. I’d managed to go to the cafeteria and order a bowl of soup. Chicken noodle soup to be exact. This was a great feat for me; I hate eating alone. I have this fear of doing something stupid. I don’t know what gave me that idea. When I finished my soup, I headed back to the hospital room where my husband’s grandmother lay on her deathbed. I was proud of myself, all smiles and full of confidence. I greeted everyone who crossed my path.

When I entered the room, I went into the bathroom to wash my hands. As I was scrubbing I took a peek into the mirror to make sure everthing was in place. My mouth dropped open! Posed, proud as a peacock, on the end of my nose, sat a noodle. A chicken noodle! I wanted to die! How could I face the world again? My heart grimmaced with agony as I realized with much shame that my cheery disposition wasn’t the only thing greeting people that day. I withered at the recollection of the amused look on their faces. I assumed they were enjoying the day, as it was. In reality, they were enjoying the spectacle before them, the jiggling noodle waving hello with every exhuberant bounce.

“God! How could you do this to me? I am so embarrassed.”  I wanted to run home and hide under the covers. That old tune, “Make the World Go Away,” rang through my mind.

I gathered my wits, cleaned off the unwelcome protrusion and plopped myself in the chair by the bed. Grandmother was unconcious. At least she didn’t see my humiliation. Suddenly, her eyes opened, she looked at me, smiled, and then she was gone. All thought of the noodle disappeared.

In the ten minutes I spent fretting over the dangling noodle, she had been clinging to life. God, how could I be so vain? My little non-earthshaking humiliations are nothing in the greater scheme of things. Yes, you could have stopped me from walking down that corridor with a dangling noodle on my nose, but then I may never have learned some valuable lessons. I remembered the title of a popular book, “Don’t Sweat the Small Stuff,” by Richard Carlson. The noodle definitely was “small stuff.”

As I sit complaining over eggs cooked too long, millions are dying from starvation. As I complain of the constant flow of people in my home, millions more would give anything to have one person walk through their doors; loneliness their constant companion. When my children frustrate me, I am reminded of the childless couples who would give anything to be in my shoes. Disgruntled over a messy house, I remember millions that are homeless. Maybe a dangling chicken noodle isn’t such a big deal after all!



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