The Lord speaks. Or does he?

The Lord spoke to me.

When you hear people say that, or see it written like in a blog post does it make you feel a little skeptical?

Or wonder if the speaker or the writer’s idea of church is a place where people are rolling on the floor, foaming at the mouth slain in the spirit.

Hmm.

If that’s what you think then forget what I wrote about the Lord speaking to me.

Let’s try this again.

*   *   *

What about the Lord showed me yesterday.  . . .

Meh.

Any who.

Yesterday, I woke up dazed and confused from a nap. It was about 2 p.m. and I had two more dishes to throw together before our feast. I was finding serving platters and nonexistent counter space for what I had prepared yesterday.

Then there was the little matter of a shower I needed to take before our Thanksgiving spread at 4 p.m.

Candles.  I’m a bit touched about them. This time of year, I burn them constantly.

So I had one burning yesterday. An evergreen one.

Back to crazy feast prep. I went into the little bathroom of our apartment where we are living during the remodel to shower off my half marathon, 

when I decided I really should put the corn casserole in the oven before I showered. I headed back out to the kitchen to see this . . .

Okay. This particular picture is a complete reenactment — but you get the point.

My flippin’ tiny-assuming countertops in this apartment were soooo cluttered that the candle and the paper towel rack were getting way too friendly with each other.

Let’s just say they were all over each other.

HOLY CR@P.

I was able to calmly throw the burning paper towel on top of the teetering pile of dirty bowls in the sink and extinguish the flames.

Next thought in my head.

What if I had just gotten in the shower? What if I hadn’t come back into the kitchen to slide the corn into the oven?

And this is when the Lord — spoke, showed me or whatever wording makes you read on and get the point and not think I’m a nut.

He said. Everything you have can be taken from you this quickly. Your health. Your financial security. Your amazingly hot-for-50-eyebrows-and-eyelashes.

I got the point.

My pile of chaos in this little apartment (that I tend to complain about) is better than a pile of ashes.

NaBloPoMo 29

One more day.

Wooooooo.