Saturday, February 21, 2015

Que Sera, Sera, What Will Be, Will Be

by Lorilyn Roberts

Even though I don’t know my future, I will sleep well tonight. If I were a betting woman in my dreams, I’d make two predictions—I will not win a million dollars in the lottery—I don’t play, and I will never be President—thank goodness. You couldn’t pay me enough for that job. My older daughter used to tell me I’d make an excellent President—back before I became dumb during the teenage years. Fortunately, I have become smart again, since she turned twenty-one.

Now I get to go through being dumb all over again. My second daughter is at that age when boys flirt and cars excite. I worry once more—and remind myself God knows my heart-felt prayers for my children. Maybe I’m a little wiser—certainly a little older. At least I know what to expect the second time around. I have to admit, I look forward to the day I become smart once again, unless dementia sets in. We won’t talk about that.

When I was nine, one of my favorite songs was Que Sera, Sera; Whatever Will Be Will Be. My dreams for the future did not include infertility, infidelity, and all the injustices that come from living in a fallen world. When we are young, we are closer to God—before innocence is torn from us by sin. Kids easily believe in miracles or magic—call it what you want. No wonder when we are old, we must become like little children. Are we redeemed enough to see our Savior through the darkened glass of shattered dreams? A child sees the glory of a risen king—and asks no questions.

In retrospect, I am thankful God did not give me most of the things I wanted. He gave me what I needed. God’s gifts don’t always come wrapped in pretty boxes.  They arrive in more mysterious ways.  Sometimes it takes time to see His workings, and for somebody like me who is impatient, that is tough.

It would have been much easier to go to a store and pick up a book that read, How to Get Your Life Straightened Out, or How to Fix Your Broken Marriage, or How To Be Dumb During the Teenage Years. Just kidding. I didn’t need a prompt for that. I could read the book in a weekend, and bravo, come Monday morning, I’d have my life all straightened out. That would be so efficient.  So like me. 

God knew better.  He knew I needed time—only time would grow me into the Christian woman He wanted me to be. Only through the years where wisdom seeds itself would understanding be revealed—to write the passion of my soul and feel God’s Spirit through my words. God knew above all my heart and how I longed for children. Only He knew how to make that a reality (Lord knows, I tried).
Isaiah 55:8 says "For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways," declares the LORD. Someday I hope to fully understand what that means. It’s one of those “mysteries” that God will need to explain to me—if I still wonder after I see His scarred hands and feet. When I was married and shortly before my husband left for good, I read this passage and implored of God, “Oh, please, let not your ways include divorce. I don’t want a divorce.” I became paranoid. I trusted man more than God. I trusted a husband who had been unfaithful more than I trusted my heavenly Father who died for me. I feared the ridicule of my family and church, the whispers, and that the ugly wounds from childhood would bite me once again. Was I not even good enough to keep a husband?

Now I chuckle. On any given day, I may not be good enough for the most mundane task. I have learned to laugh at myself—even when I am the only one laughing. My daughters will tell you.

I remember that the time is fleeting, the pain temporary, and the future extraordinary. So I peck away at the typewriter, certain that I won’t go to jail for not filing my taxes—I just finished them today, and am glad to live another day. Why? So I can get out of bed in the morning, go to work, and pay more taxes.

I will remember to feed the dogs in the evening (or they will yelp), set the air conditioner to 77 when I go to bed (or I will sweat), and will fill up the car with gas—usually it’s on empty. That makes life exciting. I won’t speed down 39th Avenue where that female police officer lurks behind a sign (I would know), and I will get my half and half at Publix so my coffee will taste almost as good as Starbucks. I am still working hard to kick that habit.

If your life is like mine, most of it boils down to the mundane, the ridiculous, or the absurd. Without my Lord and Savior to remind me that this is “my passion,” I think I’d go insane. God’s voice inside me removes the edge, lowers my blood pressure, and convicts me of what’s important. He helps me to remember to pray for those who are hurting, and I delight myself in His Word—and wonder why I fail to read the Bible more often. Or curl up on the sofa with my Kindle and get lost in one of the books begging to be read—and write reviews for authors who wait with baited breath. I would know that, too.

I’d fail to find goodness in the land of the living without my relationship with Jesus Christ. His Spirit brings me hope—for my daughters to marry Christian men and have a dozen kids; for my future—to live into my 90’s like my grandparents; and forgiveness for my past sins—even the ones I don’t remember.

God gives me the drive to live life to the fullest—work hard, play hard, and not to sweat the small stuff. The small stuff is what trips me up, but I remind myself I will never run out of stories. I just need to be careful I don’t trip over my seven-pound cat. Even our Border collie knows better.

Regrets—don’t play that game. You will never catch a glimpse of the marvelous future held in store for you if you keep looking back. Even though the future is not ours to see—we see through a glass darkly for a little while longer—thankfully, we have an awesome God who sees clearly—in colors we can’t imagine. And I bet even wrinkles, gray hair, and fat bellies look grand. Que sera, sera; whatever will be, will be.


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