I’ve learned that there’s no point in dressing up my language when I talk with you God, so you might as well hear it: it’s just a big #%$&! mess. There. I’m sorry – but I’m not sorry. You know it–and so I need your help.
God, please help me to remember that when I go to work, I really report to you. This guy, this fragile, broken jerk being my boss is just an accident on the flow chart. I do want to honor you and be faithful to you when I do my job. I tried hard in this case; really, I did. So the fact that I got inappropriately reamed out is, I guess, rather an academic point. But it sure doesn’t feel like it right now.
So okay God; thanks for always loving me. Here are the words I’m obliged to say, but you know I don’t much mean: “I forgive Jerry.” You always come around and slowly give me the gift of genuinely forgiving; please do it again.
In Jesus’ name. Amen.
David B. Smith writes from Southern California
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