I’ve been thinking about God a lot lately.

Not in some kind of deep, formal, liturgical way. No in more of a blue jeans, come over for cake, I’m sorry that that happened to you way.

I feel like I’m getting a vibe from him. That we are speaking the same language. Communicating. Dishing. Commiserating.

Commiserating because it occurred to me the other day that God is, above all, a parent. A parent to all of us. Poor God.

Do you remember the heart ache you caused your folks? I do. Lots and lots of heart ache. Slammed doors, broken curfews, angry yelling, resolute sullenness of the variety that should be admired. And, that was just when I was a teenager. Don’t even ask for a list of the ways I hurt them when I became a young adult. Yikes. A married mom with kids? I was a jerk. Sure that I knew everything. Haughty and arrogant and hard to be around. But, I think I hurt my parents the most those times I hurt myself. Did things I knew weren’t good for me. Took all of their good advice, threw it away and continued on my self-destructive path.

Why? I don’t know. I wish I did.

What is it in us that makes us do those things? To not look out for ourselves? To continue on paths we know are leading no where fast. To run towards bad even when we fully recognize it.

I was telling my husband the other day I sometimes feel like people I love are blindfolding themselves, climbing into a greased luge, pushing themselves off a steep incline towards a cliff that falls to deep waters where piranhas and alligators are waiting and just at the the moment they are about to go off that cliff they look at me and beg, “Please help me.”

I bet God feels like that too.

I bet he bows his head and rubs his eyes tiredly.

Maybe sometimes he wishes he could just take me by the shoulders and shake me. Ask lovingly and exasperated, “Why? Why do you have to do everything the hard way? Why will you not let me help you? Why don’t you just trust me?” I bet he wishes he could auto-pilot this stubborn girl. Drive my life to only good places.

Instead he gave me choice. A free will. Instead he loves me in spite of myself.

I get that. I spend sleepless nights trying to get other people out of the messes they have created. I cry over them. I do everything I can to help. But, if I’m honest, sometimes I give up. I get frustrated to the point that i quit calling. I quit offering advice or help. I quit believing that anything is ever going to be different. I act like me. But he doesn’t. No matter how stupid I am or all of the creative ways I think of to mess up my life he loves me.

So, honestly, I really do wish I could have him over for cake and apologize for how difficult I am. For not listening. For causing him sorrow. I wish I could clear away my humanity and just follow his lead. I know it’s a life long process. I know I’m not even close to being there. I know it would take an infinity of cake dates to apologize for all of the ways I have hurt his parent’s heart, but I wish I could try.

So, I say a little prayer. I say I’m sorry. I ask for a kinder heart and for a little more wisdom and to surrender even more. I promise I won’t start smoking and I make my bed.

He will get me there.