Of That I Am Certain

She’s not contented to let me be who I am—to leave me where I am. I like where I am.
Or, at least, I thought I did.

I can ask her any question, but she gives me, not the answer, but a new question. She pushes and pushes and pushes me. I don’t want all that pushing.
Or, at least, I thought I didn’t.

It’s always the big issues—never the minutiae of the day. It wears me out. All that pressing and pushing. I like minutiae.
Or, at least I used to.

Just when I think I have something figured out—she adds a new calculation or number to the formula. I don’t do math.
Well, I used to not do math.

When I ask for a straightforward answer, she always comes back with, “Maybe you should pray about.” There she goes again, a question to answer my question! I don’t want to pray and wait, I want an answer. I am not patient.
But I am learning to “be still.”

“How’s your spiritual walk?” she’ll ask. “It’s good,” I respond. “Really?” she says. “Okay, I’m not walking! Don’t you see how fat I’m getting?!” I “snark” back. “Really?” she says. It’s exhausting I tell you! I hate it.
Now I ask others the same question.

Isn’t it amazing that she wants so much more for me? Notice I said “for me,” not “from me.” She never wants anything from me; maybe that’s not fair. Does she care? She doesn’t.
I mean, she does.

She cares so much she doesn’t want me to be who I am or leave me where I am. Inertia isn’t an option. She wants so much more for me.
It’s very Christ-like don’t you think?

She “spurs me on” to be restless with me, and so does He.
Of that I am certain.