Was it coincidence that I survived the trials of my youth?
In first grade and again in the second grade I should have died from the complications of pneumonia but I lived.
My seventh grade English teacher almost knocked my block off but I ducked and she missed and fell off her stilettos. She screamed at me to '"get out of my sight!"
To this day I don't know what my transgression was.
I should have been expelled from high school for attending the Christmas party sponsored by the choir. I was inebriated and made a spectacle of myself. Mr. Quistorff just kicked me out of the party. I had violated the sanctity of the girl's restroom when pursuing a girl I liked.
Clad only in a light jacket I blundered into the late December sub- arctic cold into a wooded area where I fell down in the snow. When I awoke I was disoriented but I made it home with an auspicious entrance. Mom made me mop it up.
I was eighteen and drag racing on US-2 while drunk. We had just left Aidelle's Hideout, a beer bar that only sold 7 0z. bottled beer. Then we raced through one of the main thoroughfares in Ironwood, slamming on the brakes when the lights turned.
I thought life was over when my parents died within two years of each other. I was 22 and felt such overwhelming sorrow and grief and God saw me through it.
These events led me to a relationship with Jesus Christ, (not the beginning of perfect sainthood.)
I've had periods of unemployment through no fault of my own and eventually landed on my feet. When I didn't land on my feet I rebelled against God. He didn't answer my prayers. Some job interviews looked so promising I felt I had the job only to feel the bitter sting, of alleged over- qualification, under -qualification , inexperience, etc., etc. I didn't yet know God delighted in me.
When I was in rehab the thirst, the all-consuming drive to drink booze left me. It's been 26 and one-half years since that time and I still do not feel inclined to drink- even when life sucks. I was almost dead from the booze in August of 1989, rebelling against a God who wasn't doing right by me. Yet He restored me and I don't drink because He gives me the gift of sobriety each day. The obsession is long-gone. I'm not claiming it will never return but I receive each day of sobriety, one at a time.
In treatment I was acquainted with the passage of Scripture in Psalms 18:16-19 which ends with "he rescued me because he delighted in me." By the way, Bibles were contraband in the treatment facility. I mysteriously, without intent had one in my room. I was too drunk to even think of smuggling it into detox, but it was there!
The only way I can understand why God delights in me is through our dogs, a beagle, Skittles and a Scottish terrier mix, Snickers. They are cute and sassy and they do sin, like the time Skittles tore off the upholstery from the front of our couch because her bone was stuck underneath. We were out shopping for new carpet then. My wrath was so intense that my hands trembled. My tantrum was an 8.0 on the Richter scale. Poor Skittles slinked away, head down and tail between her legs. She steered clear of me until I simmered down and still she cowered in a corner. I spoke forgiveness softly and tenderly while stroking her head. She, in turn licked my hand. Her tail waged weakly.
I was moved by her contrition and I forgave Skittles. I delight in her! I love her! She is a part of my life and we go on long, sometimes adventurous walks or take naps together.
Snickers committed the ultimate transgression in chewing up one of our remotes. It was the Sony that controls the home theater amplifier. I was so angry that I was stammering and spitting. Snickers sat on the floor looking up at me with the expression, "Is there a problem?"
It took quite a while for Hurricane George to blow out. I was sitting on my recliner and he jumped up on my lap and snuggled into me. "Are you sorry, boy?" He licked my hand. Good enough!
I know God forgives transgressions but the only way I can wrap my mind around God delighting in me is the parallel with the dogs. Snickers has riled me repeatedly and I still delight in him, "a good boy, a fine boy," I often say. Skittles wanted to rumble with a golden terrier walking down the other side of the street. She created quite a commotion and I had all I could do to control her. (Beagles are very strong!)
I say "good-night" to each of them each night, reminded that I delight in them.
