Sob story

Last week I phoned a Philadelphia theater to order tickets for the play Gee's Bend for the kind woman who has taught my Aimée quilting-free of charge-eight summers in a row. The sales person breezily chatted with me about seating chart and dates, until I told her the tickets were a gift and I wanted them to be a surprise. Then her tone changed and she told me, in a more businessy voice, that she strongly recommended I purchase a gift certificate rather than passes to a certain show on a certain night. She explained that "the tickets are non-refundable, no matter how good your sob story is."

Several hours later, in the sleepless wee hours, I was feeling forlorn and unloved over this nearly four-year insomnia marathon. I thought I was praying about it. At least I was pouring out my complaint to the Lord, which, as I learned from Hosea 7:14, is the correct alternative to "wailing upon [my] bed."

Out of the blue, the sales rep lady's words came back to me: There would be no mercy "no matter how good your sob story is." I realized that pouring out my complaint to God is only a job half done. God is not interested in even the most tearful petitions where there is no faith. (Ask Esau-Hebrews 12:17). What would it be but compounding my sin, after all?

"Without faith it is impossible to please him, for he who comes to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of those who diligently seek him" (Hebrews 11: 6).