Dangerous DIY

I get this crazy idea at least once a day- I can handle this on my own. Then I have to give myself a lecture, something like this: Bonnie, don't you know BY NOW that you can't DIY. You can't D (anything) Y. (My attempt to be grammatically correct just ruined a perfectly good acronym. There- you see what grammar can do to you.)

I'm realizing that I need to bring everything to God... everything. He is a true friend who will always be with me- and I can't really count on anyone else.

I used to think it was somewhat invasive that God knows all my thoughts. If you are one of my Former Facebook Friends, you may know that I say most of what I think anyway. It's not a good trait. My older sister also told me one time that my face is like an open book. I want to be transparent and honest but not to impulsively say all the negative things. Even when I do, though, nobody knows everything I think. It sometimes seems strange and not exactly comfortable that God knows everything, literally EVERYTHING in my mind. (You don't always think about that either- admit it. If you did, you wouldn't be thinking MOST of the things that you are thinking.)

It's not invasive, though, because He created my mind. If you built a machine, wouldn't you be watching to see what it was doing? Yeah, I know, we're not machines. But the Bible compares us to clay pots. It's an analogy and you're going to have to be okay with my analogies because this is my blog and I can say whatever I want to on it. I could say something really, really crazy right now and there wouldn't be a thing you could do about it.

(God, please help me to say something encouraging right now, instead of something crazy).

Now, you see how I modeled that for you? I had an impulse to say something really deplorable and I took it to God and He helped me not to, now follow my example, dearly beloved.

Seriously, though, I am going to start praying about this blog, just like I'm going to start praying about the things I say to the kids I take to Bible club, and to the ladies at Piedmont Women's Center where I started volunteering, and to people I work with (including Drama King- the guy who trained me and really, really gets on my nerves). Because I can be encouraging to people, but only when I put myself aside, and pray about it. I've prayed about some things, and I've not prayed about other things, and things I pray about always turn out so much better, as I'm depending on God. ALWAYS!!

Sometimes I'm a like a machine who thinks she can fix herself, and just falls apart, with gears and screws all over the floor and Part A where Part C should be and Part B between the toolbox and the wall. And there's my creator, just standing there patiently, knowing all about it and waiting to fix it, and I'm ignoring Him in my DIY arrogance. I could save a lot of trouble and hurt by going straight to Him.

Here's a poem I wrote a while ago about this. I've been wanting to write a new poem but haven't had time, so I'll have to do Throwback Tuesday for this one.

My index fingers find their way
To the ridge on F and J
I know just how to take control
I've spent my whole life in this role.
The blackness clacks beneath my hands
But words don't flow out as I planned
For spell check bolds the faults I'd hide
And caps lock blares my silly pride.

At least this story's all my own
I write the way I will be known
I can escape at any time
Insert, page down, delete this line.
The backspace key is so perverse
Just when things can't get any worse-

I feel His presence next to me
The author of eternity.
His nail scarred hands are reaching out
He says, "Give me the keyboard now."
I say, "Wait, wait, I'm almost done
Must write myself while I'm still young!"
Enter, page break, then assess
Ashamed to let him see my mess

He gently pulls and I let go
My story's such a flop, I know.
And yet it's mine- and I feel fear
He'll edit all that I hold dear..
I watch Him closely as He reads
The sorrow for the things He sees
The errors underscored in red
I can't take back the things I said.
The Editor of time and space
Reads every word, still holds out grace
Forgives, deletes my past, and then
Empties the recycle bin.

I'm thankful that it's His to write
Brand new lines across this white
I love this sentence that He planned
But then I see the ampersand.

I try to tab ahead of Him
He gently takes control again
This paragraph is taking shape
Can't deal with it, I press Escape.
"Look, I'm fine, I'll type the rest
I've learned my lesson, I know best
But when you took control from me
You could've fixed the backspace key."

My story falls apart once more
I throw the keyboard on the floor
I say He doesn't even care
He waits until I kneel in prayer.

Oh, God, this story's not my own
So type it for yourself alone.