Kissing It Up to God

Which is not to say “kissing up to God”, which is something else entirely. And let’s not ignore the in-joke that within my critique group, my nickname is God. Occasionally someone says, “OMC”, meaning Oh My Carla. 🙂 Nearly two years with these wonderful ladies and that joke never manages to get old. (I’ll write up an explanation of where the nickname came from another time, but it was brilliant, and I have the lovely and talented Jaye Garland to thank for it.)

Yesterday I was in such a state, I nearly gave myself an anxiety attack. So many things going on that I have no control over. I did have control at one point, but when the interview was over, my control ended. Still, I panicked over the results. It took me hours but finally I decided I needed to let go and let God take over. Once control is out of my hands, it’s much better in His.

Now, I’m the last person you’d call a Bible thumper. When we first moved to PA, I wanted the boys to have a solid Lutheran foundation, but we had problems finding a church that tolerated Alex. (What a lovely Christian attitude, treating a child with a developmental disorder like he was a leper.) As a result, we haven’t been to church in over 10 years.

Also, when I started working full time and Sundays became the only day to catch up on a tiny bit of sleep, I could only hope God appreciated that I showed my devotion with my actions rather than with my words. I firmly believe that standing in church on Sundays makes you no more of a Christian than standing in the garage makes you a car. Even the Bible says that words without action are meaningless. (Don’t quote me; I haven’t read it in a while.)

Regardless, I wear a cross on a chain around my neck, and honestly, simply by hanging over my heart every day, it makes me feel better. It’s like the saying about wearing a cap with your favorite baseball team on it: it’s not a hat, it’s a flag. It shows the world who you support, what you’re about, where you come from and what’s behind you. It’s the same thing with my cross. I’m not given to Tebowing, but I can see how it brings someone comfort. (We won’t get into my badass crush on Tim Tebow. I’d happily arm-wrestle Katy Perry for a date with him.)

In the stress that went on yesterday, I managed to forget this. It took me hours to really let go, mentally. I ran and it helped a lot, but it wasn’t enough because on the drive home from the gym, my mind raced with thoughts of potential problems that could result, depending on the outcome to be chosen by someone else. Know what? All my worry didn’t change anything but my blood pressure, and not for the better.

For the time being, all I can do is wait to hear the decision. What comes after, I’ll deal with it when I know. I can’t fight the unknown, and there’s no point in worrying about it. Whatever happens, happens. I’ve kissed it up to God, and for now I’m just going to do the best I can with the situation I’m currently in. If I ever forget, all I have to do is look to my heart.

BTW, if you’re Tim Tebow and you happen to be in the Philadelphia area any time soon, feel free to drop me a line via the email address in the Contact box. I’d love to set something up. 🙂

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One thought on “Kissing It Up to God

  1. My kids used to have a game where they’d stand on either side of a football, lift it together, shout “TEBOW!” and then put it back on the ground.

    Not that this has anything to do with what you posted, but I still thought I’d share. 🙂

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