Quick Fix

Yesterday I got in the holybluemazdapickup to drive home, tuned in to the traffic report to hear my main route home was blocked by a major accident. Essentially all freeway routes were parking lots. I routed in my mind a long surface route home and proceeded on my way. Half way home my wife called. Our daughter had just called her, sobbing, at the end of a tenuous emotional rope with her ongoing job search. Frustrated and beat down by the continuing weight of interviews apparently gone well, the hope of interviewers words of "We will call you by such and such day or week", and her phone remaining mute; crushed hope had brought her to sobs.

My long simmering frustration for my daughter broke out in me a rage. I, alone in my prolonged commute, spoke out in sharp angry prayer, "What is this all about? Did you make a mistake with my daughter? Why is nothing going well for her? Is she being punished because I screwed up as a father during her formative years?" My actual words were sharper, but you get the idea.

It does not compare well; my frustration and anger of yesterday's drive home and a later outburst in a post on Facebook (now deleted) and the lingering low-grade infection of anger I still feel this morning, but I taste a tiny bit of Job. He'd lost so much more than I can even imagine and he had no clue of an enemy out to destroy him because he was adored by God. But I understand the feeling of being half-drunk with rage and God being the only one who would know, listen, understand and, while feeling the heat of the anger, would not abandon.

Job's friends did their best ministry in their initial silence. Companionship, offered in silence at first, spoke more deeply than their pre-supposed arguments made in feeble yet verbose attempts at fixing Job. It is that part of the story I understand, the need to simply be heard.

I was mad, angry yesterday at God. My daughter's efforts to secure employment have been soundly thwarted. It is a fog of dis-understanding that our little family sits in right now. There are no apparent fixes to her immediate need and the crush that threatens her. As a father, I am angry at this.

I am not done though. I have several friends who have proved to be true, six "virtual" friends scattered across the country and one local. True to me because they have read and heard previous rantings when I've felt crushed and pressed down by my own personal struggles. They offered no words, no rush to fix me. Rather, they sat in silent trust with and for me. Trust in Abba's steadfastness when I could not. They themselves may not have had answers but were willing to sit by the side of the road with me as I returned my voice to the prayer, "Abba, have mercy. I am a sinner. I need you."

These friends, they know who they are, offer simple companionship. They may not think they offer much, but they do. Their lack of assumption of words to fix my angry questions does more to heal than quickly spoken fixes. They know there are no quick fixes at times. This is the tiniest bit of truth I see this morning as I think of the seminal story of Job.