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I Got the Short End of the Stick
I have a major bone to pick.
It seems that in life’s grand scheme, God chose me as one of His helpers to bring the medicine of laughter to those around me, even though it’s the type of job I didn’t want.
We all play a part as God’s assistants while we help him orchestrate the details of His plan. Apparently, I was created for the sheer purpose of laughter at my own expense.
God handpicked my traits perfectly so I could be mocked while others observe my many trips, falls and splatters. The bruises I’ve sustained left a permanent mark on my body as well as my reputation. I’ve been the subject of mockery and an embarrassment to my family. It’s really quite pathetic.
Maybe it’s me, but I don’t find the humor in it all.
God knew it would be hysterical to watch a clueless, well-dressed fool juggle her purse and high heels in mid-air as she tumbles down a few flights of stairs. If you factor in her desperate struggle to fix her gnarled hair and her futile attempts to return to an upright position, you’ll realize that impact, execution and timing is everything when comedy is involved.
God’s brilliant.
As you can see, He chose the right specimen to be of service.
Now, I have no objection in helping Him carry on through my charades, but each time I bang into walls or cause bodily damage to myself, the blood I leave behind is proof that a bit much is required of me.
Enough is enough.
I personally don’t think this behavior meshes with my outer appearance, but I’ve learned not to question the way I’ve been made or the role I’ve been given for this world. God knows best. My destiny has been set and this is the way I’m to help carry out His plan. However, I wish I had been consulted first as to the way I was to help in the grand plan because in a weak moment, there’s no doubt I would have said, “No Way!”
The shame in this whole matter is there’s nothing I can do about it -- except to hope that the kinks continue to work themselves out as I age.
If I had my way, I would’ve preferred to possess the qualities of poise and gracefulness, like a gazelle, to complement my tall frame, but God obviously preferred the traits of klutziness and dorkiness. It just proves he must enjoy laughing as much as the next guy.
I don’t want to argue with the Big Guy because really…what do I know…but I think it might be easier and a lot safer for others to rent a Jim Carey movie and laugh at someone else for a change.
Agreed?
It may appear I’m upset with my maker for His choice to call me as a special helper who performs acrobatic tricks to bring joy to the world, but I’m simply just blowing off steam because I wanted some other schmuck to do the job.
The bright side is as I become older, I’ve noticed that the klutziness is waning and I don’t accidentally jab my fork into my gums as much as I used to when I eat. Skinned knees are still an occasional problem, but it’s been a really long time since I’ve landed face first on the pavement in front of my son’s school.
Thank goodness for little blessings.
My traits are now apparent in my daughter and I can appreciate them from the sidelines. More so, I appreciate the fact that I may be passing on my short end of the stick.
In retrospect, I realize the impact I’ve had on this world first hand through all of my suffering and how it’s my daughter’s turn to bring more laughter into the world. I’m beaming with pride – yet, breathing a huge sigh of relief.
While grazing through the newspaper, I recently noticed a “Help Wanted” ad for a writer. I think I might apply. God may be providing me a new way to help others experience a few gales of laughter.
Suddenly, He’s on the same page as me and I’m thrilled to pieces.
I’m ecstatic there’s a safe, new way to be of service in life’s grand scheme…and there are no occupational hazards.
Now, that’s a big help.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
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