Dance of the Gooberheads

The Lord has heard my cry for mercy; the Lord accepts my prayer. – Psalms 6:9

God must have a sense of humor. I can’t imagine His not having a hardy one when He relaxes in our home. He pushes the recliner back and kicks open the foot rest, then wiggles into a comfortable position just to watch the entertainment our family provides. Better yet – He continually teaches me through it.

I recently popped a bowl filled of water in the microwave. Punching the timer to 1.25 minutes, I hit the on button then headed to the drawer to grab an oven mitt. I slipped the mitt over my right hand just in time to open the microwave and retrieve the boiling water. Between the thickness of the mitt and the steam in the microwave, I lost my grip on the bowl and scalding water careened down my hand and arm. Shouting was an understatement. Hopping around the kitchen in agony, trying to blink away the tears only led from one disaster to the next. My older son grabbed the mitt and yanked, taking with it, hide and all, while my younger son, grabbed my arm and buried it in the ice bucket from the freezer. Though the three of us orchestrated a perfectly in-sync dance of idiots through the kitchen the fact remained, I had scalded my hand and arm seriously.

After several hours of ice, and the pain that accompanies a nasty burn, the redness had centered itself around my wrist and was joined by a bit of swelling. In the living room I could hear my adult children roaring with laughter as they shared the story with my husband. I furrowed my brow and starred at the burn. This really wasn’t funny. It hurt. Still my family found great humor in the fact that as I hopped through the kitchen I found myself stepping in the scalding water as well.

Feeling a bit sorry for myself, I emailed my friend Mark and relayed the story to him. He immediately returned a concerned note and suggested I put myself on the prayer list. I couldn’t put such a gooberhead thing on the prayer list. Still, Mark reminded me I wouldn’t hesitate to put his gooberhead antics on the list – I snickered because he was right.

I spun my chair around and gazed out the window at the rain. “God, it was a stupid accident. Really embarrassing.”

“Entertaining, at least,” the Father remarked, “still an accident.”

“I’m embarrassed. Wounded.” That’s when the Father chuckled out loud.

“Wounded. Shesh, your gift in writing is coming out. Interesting choice of words – wounded. However you word the phrase, it was still an accident and you were…okay, wounded.”

I could feel His sarcastic tone. “You want to know about the gooberhead things?”

“First of all, I already know about the gooberhead things. And secondly, why it is so hard to ask? We’ve been through this time and again.”

I hung my head. “I don’t know why.”

“I do.” The Father leaned close and whispered. “Pride.”

The words shot through me like a bolt of lightening. “Pride?”

“Yes, pride. Get the hint? Put the dance of the gooberheads on the list. I care about those things as well. I hear even the gooberhead prayers and for the record, they aren’t gooberheads to me. That’s strictly your term. Humorous as it is, that one is uniquely yours.”

Isn’t that amazing? The Father wants to hear every detail, good, bad or indifferent. He hears our cries for mercy and accepts our prayers. Lesson learned – again, the hard way.

Prayer: Lord, when I am stubborn, forgive me. When I am foolish, love me anyway. When I’m a gooberhead – keep me safe.