I’m sure that when Christopher Columbus sailed off to unknown lands in the days of yore, the folks back home in Spain expected him to return bearing all sorts of exotic merchandise and food. That’s pretty much how I feel now when my husband goes on a solo voyage to the grocery store.
Joe and I employ two completely different strategies when we shop for groceries. I use a list and generally stick to it, gladly bypassing entire aisles if I know that nothing on my list is located on those rows. Not Joe. He slowly advances down each and every aisle, carefully inspecting each shelf so he won’t overlook anything he might want to snag and bring home.
It’s always quite entertaining and surprising when the mighty hunter and gatherer returns home from one of his grocery expeditions. Along with standard fare like bread and milk, Joe has brought home such “treasures” as Mongolian fire oil (I’m not kidding), sweet banana wax peppers, and mild golden pepperoncinis (little green things guaranteed to send you hustling for the Tums).
But even some of Joe’s more normal purchases can be a bit … interesting. The other day I noticed some paper towels he had gotten at the grocery store. I noticed because warning sirens were going off in the home décor section of my female brain. The paper towels were white, pink, purple and blue and they were mounted on a holder that is attached to our hunter green wall. The effect was less than aesthetically appealing.
I nonchalantly asked him, “Uh – how many rolls of these paper towels did you buy?”
“Eight,” Joe proudly replied. “Why?”
“Well, it’s okay, but they don’t really match the wallpaper very well.” He looked confused but was savvy enough not to invite further comment by vocalizing the question that was obviously forming in his brain: “What difference does it make if they match?”
I take partial blame for the paper towels. After nearly 28 years of marriage, I know that when Joe volunteers to go to the grocery store, it is my responsibility to compile a list for him that is utterly and unbelievably specific. If I wanted plain white paper towels, I should have specified, “Paper Towels – plain white, or white with a pattern that is printed in ink that matches a hunter green wall, and this does NOT include pink, blue and purple.” I just forgot to be specific.
Sometimes I feel that same way when I see how God answers my prayers.
I ask God to help me become more patient, and I soon find myself stuck behind the slowest drivers in the country; I ask God to help me learn to be more content and the doctor says, “Looks like you need surgery”; I pray for peace and suddenly I’m overwhelmed by a tidal wave of commitments, pressures and noise in my life; I ask God to increase my love for people and folks appear from nowhere to stomp on my last nerve.
“Wait God,” I complain. “That’s not what I asked for. What about my list?”
And He patiently reminds me: “I’m the potter, you’re the clay. You gave Me your life, now trust Me to run it. When I don’t give you what you want, I’m giving you what you need, and that is better.”
And I say, “You’re right … And, by the way, was that Mongolian fire oil Your idea?”