Sometimes I lose Mondays. Other days, too, but more often Mondays.
I “lost” one yesterday. At least that’s what I thought.
The disappointments all ganged up and clobbered me. I’d put my hope and trust in people, and well, people let you down, and some let you down more than others, and more unexpectedly, and that’s like a dream wherein the floor you’re standing on suddenly retracts and disappears, and down you go, falling, falling, and you know how that feels in a dream, but it feels a lot worse in life.
So I “wasted” the day — well, much of it — weeping and fuming and wailing (when no one could hear) and grumbling and growling (silent or not, depending on whether I seemed safely secluded).
And I knew all through the process (at least in my head) that I needn’t fret, because God is my all, all I’ll ever need, and I should be trusting Him instead of people… “But God… But, God!…”
It was a refining fire. I knew it, even as I watched all that ugly, stinky dross come floating up from my impure insides for Him to pour away, and make me shinier cleaner, purged of all my angry hurt.
Yes, trust not in a human (Ps 118:8-9, 146:3; Mic 7:5)… even self! I surprised and disappointed me as much as anyone else did.
Was it good? Bad?
The bad was the attitudes I hated seeing in myself.
The good: my God who listened like the perfect loving Father He is — and walked me through the learning. And when I got all done and, worn out from my flailing, came at last to rest (in His arms), I knew I’d just gotten a good, needed lesson.
The whole thing. I needed the disappointment, to get me back to trusting the reliable, drawn back to Him instead of drawn away to my foolish idols.
He is good, and that’s what made it good — not a wasted day after all.
… And today is Tuesday.