One Buck Short--or, Buying God

Three times today, someone was just one buck short.

I put back the packet of pens, too impatient to take the time to pick up the extra dollar that I needed.

I tapped my foot as I waited to purchase my one pen, and watched the man ahead of me deal ot a handfull of wrinkled tens and fives.

"Just one more," said the cashier pleasantly.

He put down a wrinkled one.

My friend came from the store, frustration written over her face. She held an unpaid bill in one hand.

"You dropped a dollar when I gave you that envelope to hold," she said "Give me a dollar."

I pulled a crushed dollar from my pocket, and handed it over.

Naturally, fiendish person that I am, I had to cannabalize a series of concidences to make an interesting blog post, but at least I admit my guilt.

I picked up a brilliantly red TNIV today, and my pen was a Pigma Micron, sacred pen, at least according to many people. It is a beautiful Bible, and it will certainly shine among the dignified navys, burgundies, powdered blues, dull gold and browns of my Bible collection. However, as I rummaged about for my Borders card, I questioned myself.

Was I searching for some Holy Grail Bible, some magically perfect volume---was I buying a Bible, or buying God? Or, buying my way to God? Buying some experience---"as the Borders register rings, a deep God experience from heaven springs?"

I don't just buy God through Bibles. Sometimes, I buy God through Bible study. When I turn over the pages of my wide margin Bible, and the colourful notations speak of my smug, self-serving Bible study, I fairly scream to myself "Wow! You've really bought God this time---look at that hard work!"

It's much easier for me to buy God than to speak with God. Because then, he's a person, and I'm too impatient to deal with people.

But I have a problem. I have to buy God every day. If I didn't...I'd come up short. I'd lose everything that I'd been working for. My god feeling, my self-righteousness. I'm pretty sure that's what Philippians 3 is about. I'm not quite as plain as Paul is, it's hard for me to grasp what it's about when I figure out that my self-righteousness doesn't mean anything. So, I come to God, and say this:

"Father, I know that I can't earn you. But I still try. In fact, I feel self-righteous when I tell you all of this. I feel smug that I realize that I'm hopeless. I feel smug that I admit my smugness. It pretty much ends up being a big advert for me, me, me. I'm sorry. Forgive. Help me. Really, really help me. Thanks for listening to lame prayers."

Faith is believing that.