God is often smiling through my whining

​A week ago, I sat here in my new apartment - angry.

I'd planned my whole Saturday around making myself available for my internet provider's technician to show up and connect my service.

I was told the technician would arrive between 3 and 5. As the clock ticked closer and closer to 5, I felt myself getting anxious. Maybe even frustrated.

Finally, in the closing minutes of that timeframe I'd been given, the provider sent me a text message. It was an apology: we're sorry we missed you, please reach out to reschedule as soon as you're back home.

I quickly picked up the phone and not so quickly connected with a customer service agent. The first thing I did was provide a little education; NOT showing up to meet someone is NOT remotely the same as missing someone.

The agent assured me, me the guy who had been sitting in my apartment for hours waiting, that they indeed showed up but no one was home.

A week ago, I sat here in my new apartment - ANGRY!

The next half hour of our conversation consisted of the song and dance we sometimes have to do with customer service agents. A dance that never seems to go well for the customer.

It's a dance I'm sure I never got to take the lead in, but in the end, I rescheduled my visit for yesterday.

I confess, I spent a lot of last week whining about not having internet. I spent a lot of time being a victim. I spent a lot of time threatening to get a new internet provider. I spent a lot of time letting the story of an internet provider not showing up dictate a negative story in my life.

Then yesterday, right on time, the provider's technician knocked at my door. I opened it to find a large, heavy set man. He was kind. Anxious to help. And in less than fifteen minutes, he had my internet up and running.

On his way out he pointed to a plaque on one of my shelves. He asked, "is that what I think it is?"

I told him it was a plaque a friend had made me after I ran one of my best half marathons several years ago in Lexington, Kentucky.

I thought it must be something like that, he said.

He went on to tell me that his sister is helping him train for his first half marathon here in Richmond in November. He said he had a 3-mile training run to do later in the day, a run he was feeling less inclined to do as the Friday work day wore on.

But seeing that plaque, he told me, that was the boost he needed.

He went on to tell me he'd lost 37 pounds since January doing his training. He told me all about the shorter races he had coming up this summer to prepare for his big day. And the more we talked about the ways running changed my life, the more excited he seemed to be getting about the changes in his life.

On his way out the door, he told me our visit was going to do far more for him than it could have ever done for me. His smile now the biggest part about him.

We fist-bumped with big enthusiasm. And as I closed the door, I could hear him giving himself an exuberant pep talk, even a few woo hoos thrown in there, as he made his way back to his truck.

As he pulled away, I thought, no, this visit actually did far more for me than it did for him, which had nothing to do with internet.

I found myself reflecting on a God who had somehow taken the keepsake that had been given to me to honor my success six years ago and used it to provide a keepsake to a man seeking success today.

I found myself reflecting on a God who didn't for a second see my missed appointment as a miss at all; he saw it as opportunity.

I found myself reflecting on a God who is often smiling through my whining. A God who is always ready to create a hero story out of my victim story.

I found myself reflecting on this miraculous God who can take a plaque gathering dust on a shelf and turn it into a moment as beautiful as the moment I first received it for a perfect stranger.

For whom is that a bigger gift when the dust settles, me or the stranger?

I found myself wondering, begging even, God, how can I see the kind of opportunities in every single moment of my life that you see?

How do I get better at skipping the whining and trusting in the beauty?

A week ago, I sat here in my apartment - angry. This morning, I sit here smiling, hearing the echoes of a beautiful man racing off to his truck to race home to his training run.

I thank you God for miracles.

I thank you God for perspective.

Thank you God for weaving the webs of this life I'm not often capable of weaving.

Thank you, God, for the stories in life that are far more lovely than anger.