Say hello to Layla (hi Layla!).
We don't always get our way. I could make a list of Things I Deal With That Were Not My Choice. And you'd be impressed. In fact, I could make that list based on today alone.
You probably have one too. Maybe you have one for today too. And yesterday. And tomorrow.
I don't know about you but I pretty much hate it when I don't get my way. After all, I had a plan. And it was a good plan. It would have worked brilliantly and now I don't have my plan and probably have something ten times worse instead.
When I don't get my way and I'm mad about it, I don't put on a cute little costume like Layla's and go to the party. My party is what one may call A Pity Party. And I go all out. I pity in style.
Sometimes I have to get all the pity and pouting out of me - like a kegger of misery - before I turn the corner on my attitude.
The whole time I imagine God watching my spiritual temper tantrum with a smile. He knows what I don't - that His plan is so much better, but I likely will not understand. Ever. Not this side of eternity anyway.
It turns out I have to trust, but I do it begrudgingly. And I suspect God is okay with that too. After all, Jesus was God incarnate and knows the misery and trials of being human. Even though he seems to have successfully avoided pity parties, he had to deal with some real creeps. He got mad at some, but he did it in a really righteous way. And then he went and loved the people who are likely not on our party list at all.
Fortunately my existential angst and ensuing pity and pouting doesn't happen as often as it used to. Maybe I am learning something. But I take great comfort in knowing that God regards me with the eyes of love and forgiveness. Like a father watching his pouty child. Like an owner watching his cute dog in a party costume.