O.M.G.

O.M.G. - and I mean that. Not in the preteen, Justin Beiber "I can't believe it, gag me with a spoon!" way. But in the "Oh. My. God." divine intervention kind of way. That's what happened to me this morning on the way to work. A ginormous O.M.G.
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> This week has been tough for me. I have felt really sad, lost, frustrated - like an Eeyore version of my tapioca pudding-blob self. Like I am some sort of gray vapor - just existing, waiting for God's next big move to come and save me. I have been complaining, pouting, playing the blame game and just being rotten - mostly to myself. It's not that I don't believe God will come through - it's that I just can't stand to be where I am anymore and it's rotting me from the inside out.


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> This morning, I got up early and read the first chapter of John Burke's book "Soul Revolution." A lot of what he talked about was having a relationship so deeply rooted in love and trust for God that we begin to feel alive. ALIVE! I like the sound of that. That we begin to have a life that - and I quote - has "excitement with peace, adventure with security and lasting intimacy with contentment."



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> And while all of that could've contained its own O.M.G., it was only the beginning. He then focused on our willingness to hear God. Reading this, along with some really thought-provoking, soul-baring, vat of coffee requiring questions - had my wheels turning this morning. I felt, for the first time, in a long time, that what I was doing was not working. I needed to fire myself. So I handed it over... for about an hour and ten minutes at least. Until I turned out of my neighborhood.
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> I made the turn out of my neighborhood and started heading the back way through Ballantyne to Starbucks (like I needed additional caffeine at this point!) My nasty, rotten egg voice started chiming in: I hate my this. I hate that. Why is my life like this? How did I get stuck here? Ugh. Groan. Despair. Yuck. Puke. Blah. And then I stopped and said out loud - No more. No more.
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> At this point I had made the turn onto Lancaster Highway and my pep talk was going along swimmingly. I sound so manic don't I? Up. Down. Up. Down.
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> On the left hand side of the road is an old abandoned house that I've never really noticed before. The windows are boarded with plywood. The yard is overgrown. The paint is peeling. At one point in time, it was probably a beautiful little country home with a family and a dog and maybe someone who played guitar on the front porch. But it looks like that family just up and left.



In the split second I pass this house, I hear a voice in my heart that says "I wonder what treasures lie inside?" And like a pin prick to a water balloon, I immediately burst - into big, fat, meaty tears. And I'm not a crier.



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> I cried because that voice wasn't mine. I know it wasn't mine because if it had been mine, it would have rambled. It would have wondered about the possible vintage furniture and dishes still inside. It wouldn't have been succinct or even grammatically correct.
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> It was God. And He wasn't talking about the house. He was talking about my heart. He was talking about my every day struggles. "I wonder what treasures lie inside?"
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> O.M.G., right? I've never had that happen before.
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> And while I know I will continue to ride the rollercoaster of doubt and faith, I arrived at my desk - at the end of a hallway, in an industrial office park, in the hood - thinking...I wonder what treasures lie inside?
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> Thank you God. Thank you.