Know-It-All and the Flood: The Stupid Human

I knew it. I just knew it.

I’ve discovered myself to be guilty of trying to be a know-it-all.

No one who ever thinks they know everything actually knows everything. Huh, I sure didn’t.

It was 4:00 in the morning on (of all days) a Monday. I was snuggled up, warm and safe (I thought…) in my little bed in my little apartment, dreaming of my wedding day and how I was not going to fall into a filthy mud puddle in my big white dress.


A ginormous roll of thunder awoke me from my peaceful slumber. Don’t you hate that when something wakes you up in the middle of the night and you can’t get back to sleep?

I couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried, get back to sleep. Not for the life of me. But the longer I laid there listening to the bullets of rain plash against my window panes, the more perturbed I became. Seriously, I had to wake up because of this. It was stupid! I needed to get back to sleep and utilize every ounce of rest I got so I could be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning!

It was not to be so. You know how sometimes when you’re really quiet and trying to be still, you become supersensitive? It’s actually really neat to sit and listen to the world sometimes and think of nothing but the beauty of it. Like a summer night, or the ocean’s tide, or the rumble of thunder, or the pitter pat of something dripping.


I should note that as I listened closer to this sound, I could distinguish that it was NOT coming from the outside.

It was echoing off of the walls. Inside my apartment.

Up out of bed I flew like a flash, held out my hand and what did I catch?


And stinky water, I might note. I was, after all, still supersensitive.

Groaning, I got up and turned on the light to see where it was coming from.

Baaaaaaaad idea.

Once illuminated, the water which was streaming off of the light bulbs onto my bed resembled a skinny, long waterfall.


Out went the lights.

On went the flashlight.

As if the event could have been made more horrible, Her Royal Majesty the Cat strolled into the room, blinking like an owl (she must have just broken her sainted slumber) and ordered me to feed her.

“Meow? Mrooooooowwww! Mrow! Mrow! YEEEEMOW!”

This loosely translated to,

“What are you doing up at this time? It’s early! You’ve been up for five minutes and haven’t fed me yet! What’s the matter with you, you stupid human? It’s just a little water! You need to pet my butt and feed me! Immediately! OH GOD IT GOT ME! HELP, I’M DROWING! SAVE ME! STUPID HUUUUMAAAAANNNN!”

Following her sililoquoy, Her Majesty the Cat commenced a wild scamper around the room, dodging drops of water which were now coming from the ceiling as well, and causing a general scene.

I was about to do the same, but since I’m a stupid human, I have a little more sense of responsibility.

So I moved my bed, tore all the bedclothes off, and every thing of my possession within range of the nasty flood was shoved into the four corners of my apartment.

But the storm wasn’t done with me yet.

At about 7:00, the dripping ceased to a trickle and the light bulbs began to flicker.

Fireworks are pretty, yes, but not for inside. So I called the fire department. They said nothing would blow, because it was all wet. I bet they lied. You just don’t mix water and electricity and expect to live like a normal kid. You’ll get shocked.

Meanwhile, Her Eminence the Cat was practicing her breathing and trying not to have a nervous breakdown. It was all I could do but to stuff her big furry butt in the travel crate and turn the gated door the other direction so she didn’t hyperventilate when she saw the light bulbs flashing all on their own.

Now here’s the funny thing: I had figured on staying in this crappy apartment until I got married, and then I would get my grandpa’s house which he was graciously going to “rent to own” to us. I thought I knew where I was in my life, and what I was going to do.


Sometimes when we think we’ve got things in check, we’re really falling off the beaten path. This fiasco was a sign from God, I know it was. How do I know? We had exactly 40 days that day until our wedding day. God likes the number 40. Jesus was in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights. There were other signs, too. Like water and fire. Noah’s flood. Moses and the burning bush. Signs of God’s greatness and power.

And I wasn’t killed in the event. He must have wanted me to go on living. In my grandpa’s house.

The moral of this story: You don’t know it all. You’re just a “stupid” human. (I use that term in quotes because it’s what my Cat seems to term me as. In moral principle, I would insert the word, sinful.) But God saves us from our “stupidity.” We just have to ask Him.


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