Hidden Blessings

People who talk of hidden blessings used to make me cringe. Can you believe that? I actually used to dread hearing people start conversations that I knew would inevitably begin with something bad happening to them and end with something good coming out of it.
Why? Because it was always the same touchy-feely, warm-the-heartstrings, life-is-such-a-bouquet-of-roses yarn that hundreds of people have the good taste to keep to themselves.
How many times can you look at a person who is offering you a sincere, warm story that may well be a life-changing example of goodness and providence, and silently ask yourself why they are inflicting this syrup-laced drivel on you?
I guess these hidden-blessing stories used to hit me this way because I have heard so many of them. For reasons known only to my Maker, I have the kind of presence that invites people – usually, total strangers — to tell me most anything that is on their minds.
The Internet is positively infested with these people, and their ramblings. Every time I open my e-mail I have at least three of these stories of inspiration, usually accompanied by a forceful request to send it along to 15 other people in 15 minutes or I will be showing the world that I don’t love God.
I am not a real strong student of the Bible, but I don’t remember any Commandment saying, “Thou shalt clog cyberspace with chain letters and junk mail in My name.” Did I just miss that week of Sunday School?
Anyway, I am not real warm and fuzzy on warm and fuzzy stories. But I do now believe in hidden blessings.
An example of what I am talking about is my recent struggle with the roof of my home. I have invested in plywood, shingles, drip edge, patching — along with a lot of sweat equity, sore muscles and skinned knuckles — in trying to get my roof to quit offering little hints to me about the outside weather while I am still inside.
One particularly perplexing problem was a spot over my master bedroom window, which gushed forth so much rainwater during a storm that I could have used it as a second shower area.
No matter what I did, I could not get that window to seal up completely. I even took the entire window out of the wall and reinstalled it, using new sealant and caulking. And still came the steady drip from the window.
What was I doing wrong? Why was God punishing me in such a way? Was it so much to ask to live in a home that did not have a waterfall window in it?
Apparently, it was so. For months I dreaded the slightest hint of rain, because I knew the tropical rainforest that would await me.
Then one day, I looked over the edge of the roof — for the umpteenth time — and discovered the metal drip edge that I had fastened to the roof months ago was actually loose.
A clue.
I investigated further and found that the loose drip edge was creating a puddle that was emptying out under the drip edge and into the soffit, where it would cascade down through a rotted hole in a soffit board and down on top of the window.
With renewed enthusiasm I grabbed wood, caulk, new nails and some roof patch. In a short 90 minutes I had sealed the leak.
I anxiously awaited the next rain — and I was hoping for a gully-washer to really test the repair out.
Two days later, I got it. The hard-pouring storm may even have done some damage in a few places. But in my bedroom window, the water stayed out and left me dancing within.
How is all this a hidden blessing? Well, in two ways.
First, that rain may have been less than inviting for some, for me it was like receiving an A on a mid-term exam. I finally found the problem, fixed it, and watched as it passed the test. For a non-DIY guy like myself, it was quite an accomplishment.
But moreover, it was a watershed moment (sorry abut the pun) for me personally. That leak had been a microcosm of my life over the last few months, when some things just refused to go right. No matter how I worked to get things to come out for me, it all slowly began to turn away from my desired results.
I was even challenging myself about how I could ever believe I could fix these problems. What can I fix, I thought. Me — I break things a lot better than I fix them. Perhaps that is my lot in life, to leave a trail of broken things —things I broke. and things I did not have the courage to try and repair.
That drip was a constant reminder for me to keep searching for the answer, to continue the quest until I had mastered the challenge. I pestered me until, at last, I got my mind around it.
It got me back on track, at least a little. And I knew God sent that drip to me until I could see what had to be done.
That was a true hidden blessing.