In which I scream "UPG Alert! This is purely my PERSONAL EXPERIENCE and OPINION!"
UPG. Three letters almost guaranteed to strike fear and loathing in hearts far and wide and make many of us click off before we've read any more. So feel free to click away, what follows is pure UPG and I have absolutely no references to back any of it up. For those of you still here, I'm not about to apologise for any of this.
The gods are limited. Their hands are tied. They cannot interfere unless you invite them to. No-one is messing with my shit unless I let them. Nope, not even Papa Legba. Yes, he does mess with my shit but that's because I've already welcomed him into my home, my life, my thoughts, my dreams, my practices. He pulls pranks, he makes me aware when I've not been upholding my end of our bargains, and we have a very good balance, him and me.
I know he has my corner. As does Hekate, of course. I spend a lot of time on my duties and responsibilities to them. Sometimes I'm a little remiss, but both seem to give me more slack than I've seen them give other practitioners who have a working relationship with them. Maybe it's because I might miss something only when I'm up to my eyeballs with work/Witchlets/house stuff. It's not because I've decided to watch Grey's Anatomy instead.
The opposite side to this is they will not do a damn thing for me unless I ask them. If I'm just providing wine/coffee/water/sweets/cakes/eggs etc etc, they will happily take that. And more. (I'm pretty certain they never say "Oh no, thanks but I've had enough wine/coffee/water/sweets/cakes/eggs etc, I'm watching my waistline.") But I have to ask before they will act on my behalf.
I sometimes forget this. Because I'm human, and therefore utterly thick at times.