Last night I blew it big time.

An extramarital affair? Heavens, no. Porn? No way.

A drunken binge, then? Nuh uh. I don’t drink. Did I beat my kids? At Monopoly, you mean? Haven’t played that in almost a year, I’m guessing.

A bank. Did I rob a bank? Take part in a drive-by shooting? Rent a hooker? Extort a politician? Cheat on my taxes? Lie in court? Murder my neighbor’s dog? No, no, no, no, no, no, and no.

I…I sensed God’s prompting—just a gentle nudge. An idea, really—to get away before calling it a day to spend some time with him. And so I slipped into bed and watched TV with Shauna instead. I was tiiiirrreed (that’s a whine, by the way).

Not a big deal, you say? Hmmm. What if God wanted me to receive a secret ingredient for my life’s recipe—like maybe a slice of wisdom that could spare my family some significant grief today. What if he wanted to bless me with a change of heart, a vision of his greatness, a few moments of silence with my King?

Instead I got half an episode of Iron Chef with Bobby Flay. The secret ingredient? Escargot. In other words, I turned down heavenly manna for half-baked snail foo-foo.

“Well, just go and spend time with God NOW,” you may suggest. Yeah, I could. But that would be equivalent to me initiating a “suck-up” session. Self-disciplined sacrifice saying, “See, God? I do love you. I’m giving up breakfast. See?” God’s not interested. “Obedience is better than sacrifice,” remember?

The point, ladies and gentleman (including me, especially) is that God came a-calling last night, and I rolled over in bed. That moment is GONE. I missed it. I won’t spend any more time beating myself up, though—I’d hate to miss another divine encounter because I’m too busy flagellating myself. Cause he’ll be calling today, too, and I intend to answer.

I’m sensing the smile of God. Gotta go!