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While
trying to sort through a problem, I do two things: pray and eat candy.
One feeds my soul and the other, my sweet tooth. Both come from heaven.
On one exceptionally busy day, I
was bothered by a particularly pesky problem. So as I buzzed through my
to-do list, I prayed—at the stoplight, while waiting for the dry
cleaning, while going through the car wash. I didn’t pray in
generalities, but prayed very specifically because I wanted God to get
it right. Hopefully, He would agree with my solution, give His
blessings, and everything would be grand.
As talking to heaven made me
want to taste a bit of it, I eventually took a chocolate break.
The coins clattered down the
vending machine’s innards. Chocolate delicacies called to me like
Sirens wooing Odysseus. Did I want rich and gooey (Snickers), rich and
creamy (Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups), or rich and crunchy
(Butterfinger)? If only I had enough calorie reserves to have them all.
And the winner was: rich and
gooey. I pulled the knob under the Snickers bar.
Nothing happened.
I yanked the knob again. Harder.
Maybe it didn’t understand the laws of elementary vending?
The Snickers sat there, glaring
at me. Gloating.
After a quick glimpse around the
vending area for witnesses, I gave the machine a smack with my fist.
The Snickers held firm, but its neighbor, a low-fat granola bar,
plunged into the tray.
“No!”
I retrieved the granola bar and
stared at it. How dare it think it could take the place of decadent
chocolate.
I dug out more money. I fed the
machine a second time and carefully pulled the Snickers knob.
Nothing.
I grabbed the sides of the
vending machine and leaned against it. “You’re not listening!”
I pulled the knob again,
pounding the glass above the Snickers at the same time, hoping to give
it a push.
A granola bar plunged off the
edge to its death.
“No! No!”
I put a hand to my forehead,
took a deep breath, and tried to calm myself. My desire for the
Snickers bar was nearing the obsession level. I didn’t want
it anymore, I needed it.
I rummaged around the bottom of
my purse, hoping for a scattering of stray coins. If only the machine
took pennies.
Sixty-five. Seventy. Just one
more nickel. I looked in the compartment that held my sunglasses. A
crumpled receipt, a peppermint, a lint sculpture . . . and a nickel!
I stroked the front of the
machine, calming it. “I’m going to try this one more time. For your own
good, and my sanity, please cooperate.”
I
inserted the coins with delicate precision, giving the machine ample
time to log in each new addition. I had the Snickers knob in my hand
when I hesitated. I’ve pulled the Snickers knob twice and
gotten a granola bar twice. Therefore, it’s only logical . . .
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I
moved my hand to the granola
bar’s knob. I bothered God with a chocolate prayer and pulled.
A low-fat granola bar fell into
the tray.
I stifled a scream as I
retrieved the final two granola bars. With cool deliberation I stuck
them into my purse, turned my back on the vending machine, and strode
to the parking lot. With amazing self-control, I held in my anger until
I was alone in my car.
I hit the steering wheel with
the palm of my hand. “Stupid machine! I gave it the right amount of
change, I made the selection, I pulled the knob. I did everything right
yet it didn’t listen to me! It kept giving me what I didn’t want.”
Hunger overrode anger. I yanked
a granola bar from my purse and ripped off the wrapper. I tore a bite
off the top and chewed vigorously as if extracting my revenge.
My chewing slowed. Not
bad. Not bad at all. I took another bite and read the back of
the wrapper. It was certainly more nutritious than a candy bar. Less
fat, even a few vitamins.
“Well, what do you know?” I
said aloud. I’d paid the machine, pounded the machine, stroked the
machine, tried to outwit the machine. I’d asked over and over for one
particular thing, only to have it give me something that was better
than what I asked for.
Unannounced, my pesky problem
popped into my thoughts. I called up the prayer I’d been reciting and
reeled it off. But mid-sentence I stopped and stared at the granola
bar.
Had I been treating God like a
vending machine: prayer in, answer out? Had I been paying
Him with prayers, pounding Him with my persistence,
stroking Him with easy
platitudes, trying to outwit Him by asking over and
over for His blessings on my will? In answer was He
offering me something that would be better for me than what I asked
for?
I put the granola bar aside and
bowed my head, apologizing to the Almighty for my selfish nagging. I
thanked Him for the lesson He’d just taught me, and finally surrendered
my problem to His capable hands.
Pulling out into traffic, I knew
my problem would be solved. Wisely, fairly, and mercifully. As far as
the other problem I had in liking Snickers more than low-fat anything?
God would have to work on that larger issue another time.
I wish Him well.
 
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