When Heaven Is Late and I'm Impatient: A Love Story Between My Ego and the Creator

When Heaven Is Late and I'm Impatient: A Love Story Between My Ego and the Creator

By Kateb Nuri-Alim Shunnar

You ever tried to fix a leaking roof in the middle of a thunderstorm, barefoot, hungry, and mad at God all at once? Yeah… me too. There I was, patching up holes in my life with duct tape made of pride and band-aids called “I got this,” like the universe was mine to manage. And just when I thought I had it under control boom life hits me with a plot twist so wild, I had to laugh just to keep from hollering.

I’ll be real with you chaos doesn't send an invite; it just shows up. One minute you're sipping peace like it's sweet tea on a porch swing, and the next you're drowning in a puddle of anxiety, depression, frustration, and those sneaky little panic attacks that show up in your chest like uninvited house guests.

In those moments those “where is God?” moments I used to think I had to take over. Like I needed to be the hero of my own story, cape and all. But let me tell you, I’m no superhero. I’m more like the kid who put his towel around his neck and jumped off the couch thinking he could fly just to land flat and cry for help.

My grandmother Celestine, God bless that woman, used to say, “Baby, when the oven's hot, don't try to be the cake and the baker. Let the Creator cook.” Took me years and a few ego bruises to understand what she meant. I kept trying to do God’s job, moving ahead of Him, getting mad when things didn’t move as fast as my emotions. I’d shout, “Fix it now!” like the Divine was a customer service line.

And let’s not pretend it’s easy. Surrender sounds poetic until you’re face-to-face with bills, heartbreak, and sleepless nights. But what I’ve learned, often the hard way, is this: when you try to run things without the Creator, it’s like trying to microwave a gourmet meal. It might get hot, but baby, it ain’t right.

There was this one time let me give you this parable straight from my own life: I had a situation dying on me. Hope? On life support. Peace? Evacuated. I was running around lighting candles, praying, pacing, crying, trying to fix it all while my faith sat in the corner with its arms folded like, “So we’re doing this again, huh?” And in all that noise, all that stress, my spirit whispered: “Somebody go get the Creator.”

See, we like to invite the Creator in after the mess is good and made. But what if we brought Him in at the start? What if our first response wasn't panic, but prayer? What if we stopped treating faith like a spare tire and started using it like a steering wheel?

I’ve been that kid stomping around, throwing spiritual tantrums because I wanted it now. Impatient. Arrogant. Thinking my timeline made more sense than God’s. And let me tell you, that attitude? Earthquake material. You’ll feel the shaking. You’ll lose signal. Quick disconnect, no warning.

But here’s the grace: even when we throw fits, the Creator doesn’t walk away. He waits. He lets us wear ourselves out, and then, in our silence, He steps in not as a show-off, but as a Shepherd. Calm. Steady. Sure.

And I’m learning to slow down. To breathe. To say, “Okay, Creator, you first.” Because every time I don’t every time I lead instead of follow I end up back at the same altar, crying over the same broken pieces I tried to fix with my own hands.

So, let me leave you with my own Psalm my raw, unfiltered prayer that’s gotten me through more storms than I can count:

Psalm of the Stubborn Soul Creator, forgive me when I rush ahead, When I act like I know better, When I slam the door You were gently opening. Thank You for staying when I wandered, For whispering wisdom into my chaos, For not giving up on this mess of a masterpiece.

You are my anchor when I drift, My breath when I forget to breathe. Teach me to trust Your timing, To find peace in the waiting, To remember that late in my world Is right on time in Yours.

Amen.

Let the storms come. Let the chaos swirl. I’ve got my eyes on the One who walks on waves and stills the sea. And the next time I feel the panic rise, I’ll remember: Somebody’s got to go get the Creator. And it might as well be me.