When God was in my kitchen

This morning God was in my kitchen. There we stood with coffee in my left hand and the whole world in his right.

"Sarah."

I ignore him.

"Sarah." He says again.

"I don't really want to look at you right now" I reply.

"Sarah." he prods.

"I'm really disappointed in you!" as I turn to face him my face gets hot with the familiar tears that have been flowing since 10:00 am last Friday morning.

"Why are you doing this? Why is this your answer!? What does it matter!?" I shout at him in a barrage of accusations I poorly disguise as questions.

" I know this is hard and sad for you. But I need you to trust me" says the God of heaven and earth in gentle fatherly tones brimming with sincerity.

"But this is not what I asked for! And I prayed. And I believed. Just like you told me to do. And you give me this as your answer? You've got to be kidding me!" I snap back.

"How am I supposed to keep believing? This isn't what I asked for! " I say in a instant before taking the time to think

I continue with my line of questioning accusations "I believe that you answer every prayer so why did you tell me no?"

"Sarah, I need you to trust me." he states matter-of-factly.'

"But God..." I start

"Sarah!" shouts God in a tone that says you do not dismiss me. " I need you to trust me, so that she will trust me."

I look away.

My face is hot and getting hotter. The lump I had managed to shove down is climbing back up into my throat and I can no longer hold back the feelings. Slowly I turn my face back to his, and as the tears begin to roll down my cheeks like thunder clouds across the planes, I meet his eyes.

"Ok." I finally say.