Here’s how I know God exists: he ruined my life. Multiple times. The guy can’t seem to nail my happy ending!

In my late twenties, I had finally finished my doctorate, summiting my professional goals–and I was ready for my personal happy ending: perfect man, two kids, beautiful home. Instead, my third roommate in a row became engaged while I didn’t even have a date to my little sister’s wedding. I dutifully prayed with one eye glaring at God, wondering why he was ruining my painstakingly constructed life. I had a schedule to keep!

Up to that point, I had curated an image of God based on best-selling Christian tomes and self-help disguised as sermons: I prayer-of-Jabezed my way through most of my twenties, constantly on the lookout for enlarged territory and increasingly confused over how the Lord missed the memo that I was entitled to a pain-free existence. Didn’t we have a deal?!

Read the rest over at Mockingbird!