Broken Toy

This isn't a reactionary or post-trauma post, this was my way of explaining to my very dear friend, Peter, why taking my life out of God's hands and into my own never works. Unfortunately, by recycling my little story, Peter now knows just how very pleased I was with myself for coming up with it in the first place. Oh well.

"I'm like a kid who’s been given a beautiful, complicated toy and is being taught how to work the toy. My father patiently and lovingly shows me how to not just play with it, but how all of its little parts work so I can enjoy it best. But I get excited mid-lesson and run off with the toy to enjoy it, thinking I can work it all on my own. I'm so happy to just have the toy all to myself, no sharing, no lessons. My father patiently and wordlessly stands by, knowing what's next. After a short while, I soon become bored with, then frustrated, and finally furious at the toy and pound it to near uselessness, but still father stands by. I know my father's there; I want to pretend the he's all smug and is doing this as revenge or punishment. Neither is true, the father just waits for me to come back, eager to help me but knowing I have to decide for myself. The last thing I want to do is the last thing I can do, I crawl back to my father with my now broken and totally screwed up toy and cry. My father scoops me up, places me in his lap, and helps me fix the toy until we can pick up where we left off in the lesson. He tells me he loves me so much."

Like I told Peter, I can't promise that this is all 100% theologically sound, I can promise it's much more complicated, but this is how it feels to me. If you're reading this, whoever you are, no advice from me; just know that if you've messed up or broken your life, you're not the first, you won't be the last. We're in this together and I believe God can fix it.