"God's
the kind of guy you can trust," was my friend John's advice on

a
particularly bleak autumn morning. At the time, I probably gave him one

of
those oh-please-do-you-think-this-is-going-to-help-me-pay-my-bills

looks.
Sure, he could trust the Universe. He had a beautiful wife and a

great
family. He lived in a glorious home and took exotic vacations. He

drove
a BMW— with a car seat. He did not roll his grocery cart down the

aisle
bypassing the artichokes because they were too expensive.

I
looked at him with his picture-book-perfect life and my upper lip

curled.
I scanned my own life and felt like I was facing off against the

Green
Bay Packers wearing high heels and a dress. And I didn't see any

solution
in sight. Those dang credit card bills were pummeling me so hard

I was
seeing double.

How
could I even think of trusting in divinity? I had recently

discovered
that my husband was wildly unfaithful. On top of that, I had

lost
my business. I was living in someone else's pool house, driving a beat up

borrowed
car with a shredded roof because I was far too broke to afford

even
the smallest car payment, and surviving on peanut butter to pay off

Mr.
Mastercard.

Sure
John could trust the Big Guy upstairs. His life worked. Mine

sucked.
His GPS was functioning; mine was obviously on the fritz. The

Higher
Power assigned to him had coached him all the way to the Super

Bowl.
Mine had left me sitting on the bench.

Oh, It's Easy for You to Say

Being
a pretty sensitive guy, John picked up on my inner rant. He saw

through
the "crash and burn" of my circumstances and focused on all the

good
in my life. He reminded me, first and foremost, of my health and the

wealth
of people in my life who genuinely cared about me—like John

himself
and his wife, Gracie, for instance. I was fortunate to have such

close
friends during a tough time. Plus my ex-husband's mom was actually

loaning
me a car. Oh, and yes, I had a small but lovely roof over my head.

Don't
you hate it when people cut your complaining in half? I sure

did.

I
would look back on this time in my life and count it as a blessing,

John
assured me. A blessing! I looked at him like he was smoking crack.

But
he wouldn't give up. I had the chance to be a phoenix, he said—

that
ancient mythical bird that rose from the ashes of its own funeral pyre,

miraculously
born anew. He and Gracie knew that in the midst of my

challenge
was an opportunity for me to become a bigger and better person.

Bigger
and better person? Ha!

But
from John's viewpoint, my precarious situation was a noble quest.

I had
unwittingly put myself in the flames. Now the decision was mine: I

could
roll around in the soot of feeling sorry for myself, or I could start

making
choices to become a more magnificent being. When he reminded

me
that Spirit saw my goodness even if all I saw were the charred remains

of
what I had called my life, he struck a powerful, deep chord.

I
thought of Cinderella and the ashes. As a little girl I always wanted

to
rush through the beginning when she was covered in cinders and

wearing
rags, and get to the part where she wore pretty clothes and got her

Prince
Charming. Even as a kid I was a sucker for a good tiara and a great

dress.
I sighed a deep breath and figured it was time to dust the ashes off

and
go find my ball gown.

John
was right. If I had a shovel to dig myself out of my mess, the

Universe
had a backhoe (that's one honking big digging machine).

Regardless
of what it looked like, maybe a Higher Power was supporting

me.
Trusting Spirit, however, was as foreign to me as football. I grew up

playing
with Barbie’s, for goodness sake.

Author: Eli Davidson
Source: Free Articles from ArticlesFactory.com