the memorial of Padre Pio...

was not yesterday.

In case you thought it was.

Like I did.

And not only did I think it was the memorial of Padre Pio, but I could not get over God's impeccable timing in allowing this day to fall into my lap and land on my heart at the very moment I needed it to.

Which is huge for me to admit, because in my personal life experience, God's timing has always felt off. Like, really off. Like forty freaking days in the desert off. Little did I know, yesterday, it was me that was off.

But I digress.

Not sure how it happened, but I opened my devotional to Monday, September 23rd, and proceeded to pray. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or the fact that I am blind. But nonetheless, I grabbed my book and confidently opened it to the wrong page and never looked back. And I read every word, straight through to the last page reflection piece, that, I will be honest...many mornings, I skip and promise to save for later...but never do.

Not on Thursday, though. On Thursday, I read every word of next Monday's reflection.

And there, in the writing of Saint Pius of Pietrelcina, I was hit with things like, "Do not fear. Jesus is with you. He is working within you and is pleased with you, and you are entirely and always in him." And, "You are right to complain at finding yourself more often than not in darkness." And, "By all means, complain to Jesus as you like: Pray to him as you wish, but adhere firmly to the words of him who speaks to you in the name of God."

And really, this is all that I needed to hear. That I could complain. To Jesus. Not because I like to complain (which my husband might argue), and not because I want to stay stuck in discouragement (which I might even have to argue) , but because sometimes? Sometimes all you need is a super, bi-locating Saint of a man who bore the stigmata- the wounds of Christ - a gift he prayed to have removed, but finally accepted - to give you permission to tell Jesus what you are really thinking and feeling, to pull you out of the pit of despair, and to remind you that this horrific place you are in is not for nothing, that He is still working, and that the light is still there.

I have never been a fan of God's timing because patience is not my gift and I know that to God a thousand years is like a day, but for me, one day often feels like a thousand years. But how good He is to have me open up to the wrong page and celebrate a memorial on the wrong day because He knew I needed the message and that five days of waiting was just too long for someone like me.

And it is still something that I am thinking about.

All this time.

All this waiting.

All this praying for wounds to heal and be removed when what if, these wounds are not meant to be removed but rather accepted because they are God's greatest gifts?

(Clearly, God doesn't know the gifts I want. Like a new, pretty desk. Or a winter coat. Or a Keurig.)

God's time and gifts hardly match up with my earthly idea of what a good gift and good time look like. And I would love to wrap this all up nice and neat with something that is hopeful and deep, but I have to shower and get on with the day and so I will just keep this rolling around in my brain for a while and continue to pray and maybe complain and I don't know... celebrate Christmas, or some other feast or memorial that is not today, because really, if it lifts you up and brings you joy and reminds you of the power of God, than why not?