Simple faith

A widowed writer does something highly unusual: She takes God at His Word | Andrée Seu

There were about five minutes of new widowhood when I grasped that I was now in a special demographic where eyes would be on me watching to see God glorified in my circumstances. There was the blinking of an eye when I saw opportunity—a stage for God's "power in weakness" show, a chance to prove Satan wrong in wagering that God's children serve Him only when they're ahead of the game (Job 1). But then I receded again into the pursuit of minimum Christianity: saved by the blood, but entitled to grouse.

I don't outright grouse, not usually. I am sanctified about it—just a well-placed sigh in certain company, just a being "honest" about loneliness. Or, I say nothing at all, either bad or good. If I have known some private comfort in my prayer closet, I never let on, so nobody ever knows it. There's a lyric in the songs my mother used to play in the Frank Sinatra-Robert Goulet 33 LP pity-party days that said something like "happy to be miserable over you." This is the idea.