Last night I called my dad on my way home and told him I wanted to go to church with him in the morning; they go ridiculously early (it starts at 7:45) but I made sure to wake up at 6:45 to be ready for him to pick me up.

After what seemed like an eternity of waiting, I started reading a book and when I hit chapter 2 decided to see what time it was. 7:51, and I had two missed calls. but no voicemails. My dad didn’t answer his phone, leading me to believe that he was in church. At 8:00 I stopped reading and laid down on the couch. And then I started crying, because I haven’t seen my dad in over a month and I miss him.

Feeling sad about my earthly father made me think about my heavenly one, and I was trying to take comfort in the thought that God doesn’t leave me crying on a couch, ready to go but left behind. Except I realized that is exactly how I frequently feel about God.

No matter how still my heart, how open my will, how clear my hearing… I frequently am left feeling alone and wondering if I got it all wrong. It makes me feel more alone than if I’d never woken up early or taken time to brush my hair or even take my vitamins so I’d be ready to go.

As it began to sink in that I will not be going to church with my dad, I realized that all of my tears would not make him come pick me up. I could cry and scream and my dad, in his undeniable love for me, would still not appear at my door.

And sometimes that is how it goes for the Lord, too. But it does not discount or deny or dilude his love for me, for us. It give me the opportunity to display my faith, to trust wholly in my father(s) and their judgment or plans, one being incomparably more perfect than the other and more deserving of my wholehearted faith.

My mom just found me, and she is going to take me to Starbucks. Little blessings.