"I was driving around in Texas and got a flat tire. I managed to pull into a gas station. The attendant came out and said, "Tire go flat on ya?"
I couldn't resist. "Nope, I was just driving around when those other three swelled up on me. Damnedest thing...." And here's your sign.
A couple of weeks ago, the Gospel of Luke has Jesus, post-Resurrection, visiting the bewildered Apostles. Jesus, "Why are you so troubled?"
I don't mean to be flippant, but ..... Really, Jesus?? Really??
The Messiah has come to his people. He is their salvation. Turns out, he's a carpenter from a backwater town. Now, he's been executed. He was buried, but now his body is missing. Mary Magdalen has told the Apostles that Christ is Risen, just as he promised.
That whole dead-and-coming-back-to-life thing? We are still a bit ... taken aback. Shocked. Troubled. You know: just the way you'd feel if your best friend had been killed, buried, and was now back to life.
Is it ok to say to Jesus, "Here's your sign?"
Or should I just swallow hard, and calmly say, "Jesus, I have to be honest. I'm troubled about a lot - I mean, A LOT - of things. How much time do you have?"
Right now, I'm thinking about keeping my pain under-control, continuing to make progress on taming the beast of PTSD every single day, planning a vacation, juggling the needs of young adult kids with the ever-growing list of medical concerns for me and Dear Husband. Oh, and filing for disability. Yep, that's fun.
So, forgive me, dear Jesus: your question "Why are you so troubled?" kinda deserves a sign. The question is a bit disingenuous, in fact. Why am I so troubled?
Oh, Lord. I think the question should be, "Why do you still believe - in spite everything??"