Proof of my ridiculousness. Exhibit A

For the past month I, along with a select few in North America, have been glued to FIFA's World Cup. Being someone who doesn't know much about the family heritage, It has been a great deal of fun watching the Netherlands play. Looking at the players and seeing their build, they reminded me of my dad and uncles who, although were never in that good of shape, resembled them quite well. Not only were there family look-a-likes but they were an awesome team to boot, making it to the finals.
I have surely gained a good deal of pride for my background while ascertaining more of a cultural identity. While creeping towards the finals, after knocking out Brasil, I shared with God what I was going through, that I was really happy in gaining what was lost through my family's immigration
to Canada 50 years ago (or so). I then asked the Lord if he could help the team win the Cup, thinking that “Hey, he wants to know what I desire”.
Not exactly what happened; right? After a dirty game, Spain wins with a disputed offside goal. At first I wasn't upset, I tried to stay calm and collect. However, after an hour or so I soon became more and more angry. At one point I seriously wanted to single-highhandedly take on a gaggle of Spaniards, oh, if you didn't know; Dutch people have tempers. In my silent brooding the Lord then spoke. If I were to put this feeling to words it would be to the effect: “Bill, I hope you're mad; it looks good on you because when you prayed for a sporting event you neglected all the suffering and pain going on in my world”.When God speaks to someone in Tokyo he speaks Japanese; when he speaks to me he's facetious .
I don't believe that my renewed “Dutchiness” is sinful. It was in completely abandoning some of my most fundamental views on who Jesus is and what my relationship with him is for. I managed to migrate myself even more within myself. One of the most grace-filled moments of the past month has been when God called me on my bullshit.