You better believe that as a journalist who's a Christian, I play my God card in my head whenever possible. Early on in my career, a fellow journalist friend of mine blogged that "God loves journalists," and I have found that to be true.
This doesn't mean I always get what I want. It just means that while colleagues are ripping their hair out, and stress is literally eating away their bones, I pray.
And then rip my hair out.
Sarcasm aside, I do pray a lot on this job, and mostly I pray for myself. For insight, for clarity, for wisdom, for the ability to see past the obvious and into more truth, for silly people to call me back in a timely fashion.
So Wednesday, when two of my religion story ideas fell through in an hour and I was pressed in a deadline crunch, I was in a tizzy, plus the fact that Wednesdays are usually one of my busiest days anyway.
Maybe God would be interested in helping you out here since it is, after all, your religion story.
What a bless-ed, novel idea.
Like in other areas of my life that I get tizzified over, my prayers for help are usually desperate by the time I get around to asking.
And, like in other areas of my life, I believe that every thing happens for a reason. So I calmed myself down over the TWO people who backed out of TWO perfectly good story ideas, I forgot about them, and while I Googled local churches in the area who might be doing something on a Wednesday night (work with me here, people!), I asked for God to 1) find me a story and 2) find me the right story.
In God-like form, all quick and speedy, he did.
Meanwhile, my peers and the religion editor have praised me for my "tenacity" for two days now, and I have replied with:
"I prayed that God would help me with my religion story."
Sometimes, it just makes sense.