Volume 4, May 9, 2004

File this under The Other Beef.

[And what happened to the April newsletter? The Grammar Police had me incarcerated for an entire month. They didn’t buy my ‘artistic license’ plea. The food was okay, I had a lot of time to read and review future plans for GP evasion.]

I promised in my last newsletter I’d address Beef Number Two, and I know you’ve been tormented to know my mind.

This Beef concerns a cute little saying which probably had no idea of its Beefness at inception. I read it first in an Anne Lamott book. I heard it next in a Clay Aiken song. (Disclaimer: I adore both Anne Lamott and Clay Aiken. Annie has written two of my top-20-favorite books, and I am an original Claymate: he only came in second place because I feel asleep and my finger came off redial.)

The saying is this: If you want to make God laugh, tell him your plans.

It’s a got a wry, tongue-in-cheek, worldly wise feel that got a fake chuckle out of me at first. It stuck with me from the Lamott book. When I heard Clay sing it, I took another look to see why it bugged me.

The fact is, God doesn’t laugh when we tell Him our plans.

The phrase has a first hit of street-wise candor, but carries with it a vague poignancy; I get an image of a child offering a bouquet of bright yellow flowers, only to be told, “Why honey, those are weeds.”

Christianity turned me off at 13, when I asked a “Reverend” a question. The Rev bent to listen, then leaned back and smirked in amusement. The amusement turned to a long chuckle, like he was in on it but I’d never get it, and then and there, before I heard his answer, I checked out. He didn’t look me in the eye as he gave an esoteric pontification, and I resolved not to ask another Rev a question. (This is not bad: I took my questions straight to God after that. Still waiting on a few answers. Wait—I did ask another question. After another Rev preached, to great applause, “God reigns over abortion!” I asked him later why, then, if God reigned over abortion did abortion still occur? Got a pontifical answer, but at least he looked me in the eye.)

Anyway, I have learned that God listens to us as earnestly as eating popcorn at a movie. He’s interested in us—one big clue is Calvary. He loves us, and love means He won’t laugh.

You think He doesn’t listen to our starry-eyed plans? He not only listens, he’d love to be in on them. He might say, “Fabulous! Love it. Don’t change a thing.” He might say, “Have you considered Door #2? You might like what’s behind it.” He might say, like any best friend worth her salt, “Are you kidding? Don’t even go there. It’s not worth it, there will be pain.”

God is on our side. He’s the biased parent, the indignant big brother, our Advocate, our Dread Champion. Do you think Jesus laughed when a blind man got his attention and told him a plan of his heart? “What do you want me to do for you?” Jesus the Advocate asked. And the blind man said, “I want to see.” Jesus got in on that plan. He’s a pushover for us—we’ll spend most of our lives getting that into our heads.

Jesus beautified us with attention when He came to earth. He earnestly listened to our plans, and let us in on His own. His own were all about redemption, redemption from some plans we had for ourselves, sorry plans indeed, and He showed us what was behind Door #2.

I test my theories on my husband. This time I didn’t give him his opinion first. I didn’t say, “Jack: what do you think about this sad and sorry phrase?” I was loading the dishwasher and said, like it just came to mind, “I heard something today. ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.’ Have you ever heard that? What do you think?”

Jack paused, and as he thought it over, disdain came to his face. He actually sneered. “No, I’ve never heard it. And I think it’s stupid.” I could have kissed him. I think I did.

I tested him specifically for one reason: Jack is a father. He answered heroically, like only a good father would. Jack didn’t like the phrase because he knows God as Father. He not only knows God as Father, but as Abba. He knows God would no more laugh at his plans than he would laugh at the plans of his own children.

God gets in on our plans. He gets involved, like any good Father. He gives advice, He gives wisdom. If our plans are heading for no good, He gives guidance. If our plans are right on target, He hollers the loudest in the stands. He elbows the guy next to Him and says, “That’s my girl!” He’s our biggest fan, and He loves it that we have plans.

You think God would laugh at the plans of your heart? God simply isn’t that rude.

So what, then: is this cheeky Hudsonville author telling ME to look at GOD another way? Telling me to paradigm-shift my, eh, paradigms?

Only if you think that phrase is cute.

Groot, signing off. Cheers!

—Tracy Groot

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