Squeeze

 The other day my wife bought a bag of oranges intending to make fresh squeezed orange juice. All was well and good until she discovered that they weren’t the juiciest of oranges, and after going through the entire bag, she had a little less than a full glass. She was visibly disappointed because her intention was to have four glasses of freshly squeezed juice for us at breakfast, so being my empathetic self, I said, “Maybe we can pass the glass around like they do during communion in the old country. Everyone take a sip and give the glass to your neighbor until it runs out.” I got a scowl; she got a smile.

While my wife is quick to believe certain things to be as advertised, her one area of absolute doubt is when the bottle says freshly squeezed juice, not from concentrate. Every time I bring a bottle home, she rolls her eyes, and we end up having the same conversation again and again. She says it can’t possibly be freshly squeezed juice; I say they can’t be that blatant about lying, there are regulatory systems in place, and we each defend our position with the fanaticism of a zealot. We still haven’t figured out who’s right, although the fact that a company that branded itself as Simply Juice turned out not to be tends to give her opinion an edge. I can admit when I’m wrong, but squeezing an entire bag of oranges for one glass of juice does seem like a waste of time.

Perhaps I’ve been spoiled by living in America for so many years. I’ve come to expect things instantaneously, even though I remember a time when it took my mom the better part of an afternoon to make homemade ice cream. Granted, it was more of a milkshake consistency when she was all done, but there was a lot of churning and ice and hope that the eggs and the cream and the sugar would turn into ice cream.

One flavor, one drippy cone, and a big smile on my face. That’s what I remember. Now I’ve got a five-year-old telling me I bought the wrong kind of sherbet and that there’s a difference between vanilla ice cream and vanilla bean ice cream. In my attempt to teach them a valuable lesson, after repeated complaints about flavor and brand, I gave them each a bowl of ice cubes and told them to have at it. It was a tactical error on my part. They enjoyed the ice cubes more than they would have the ice cream, and I had to watch them in case either of them choked on the ice.

We’ve all been impatient at some point. We’ve all been dissatisfied with our remuneration upon completing a task. Usually, that first paycheck after you put in forty hours is a letdown because you’re young, and you have no clue what FICA is or why they’re getting such a nice chunk of your hard-earned money.

Some things you can be impatient about, some things you can’t. No matter how hungry you are, not waiting for that chicken to cook through probably isn’t the smartest thing you’ll ever do. Then again, there’s nothing like a good bout of food poisoning to teach you a life-altering lesson.

When it comes to being impatient with God, it is never a good idea. Neither you nor I are in a position to demand God do something sooner than He purposed. If He must teach you patience, He will, and oftentimes the lesson hurts and humbles.

I can’t say that I know many people, but even within the small circle of people I know, the number of those who grew impatient with God, struck out on their own, and promptly fell flat on their faces is surprisingly robust. The failure rate is also an eye-opener. If something can be close to guaranteed, it’s trying to do something on behalf of God without His release or consent.

Some even came to me for counsel before they struck out on their own, and although I knew my advice wouldn’t be heeded, I still gave it because they asked. No, waiting isn’t fun; it’s not edgy, it’s not popular, and there’s no instant gratification from it. Then again, you don’t get savaged by the wolves and find yourself bleeding by the roadside by being patient and waiting on God.

God’s protection over you extends only as far as where God told you to be. Think of it as an umbrella that someone walking beside you is holding for you. If you increase your pace or start running and the individual holding the umbrella does not, you will get wet.

Yes, I know, everyone’s Speedy McGee nowadays, and they feel as though God is too slow in fulfilling His promises for their liking. What they don’t consider is that God knows when they’re ready for greater accountability. God knows when they’ve been seasoned and matured and when more can be asked of them. God will not send you out before you are ready because that would defeat the purpose of being sent. That one would overestimate their preparedness is not a God problem; it’s a them problem. Rather than be bitter that they’re still waiting to be sent, perhaps they should be thankful that God loves them enough not to send them unprepared.

God doesn’t send you out to watch you fail or be defeated. When He does so, it’s that you might overcome and be victorious. What general worth his salt would send out his army knowing that they are not adequately trained or equipped? What leader would array his soldiers on the battlefield fully assured of their demise?

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.