Duh

Disclaimer: I think part of the way that God designed me as an artist and as a writer is that I sort of etherealize almost everything. I'll experience something, and then I'll express it artistically with as much imagery and figurative language as possible so that my audience will re-experience the experience with me all over again. I think the psalmists of the Bible are similar when it came to expressing emotions. I have a relationship with God, I worship Him, I adore Him, I love Him hopefully more than I will ever love anything or anyone else; and I belong to Him, and He's near me, and He and I have conversations, and almost everything around me reminds me of Him and how I relate to Him. So, almost everything has metaphorical potential to me; perhaps that might get old to you, reader, after a while. But I'll do my best to explain what I'm feeling and learning as accurately and freshly as possible. Also, I might write about my cats.

Tirzah's dental adventures continue! (Trumpet fanfare plays here.)

The other day at the dentist's office, I got a temporary crown on my tooth. While the assistant stood by with the mouth-hygiene equipment, the dentist explained the procedure and walked me through it. From what I understand (from the dentist and my online research), in order to save my decayed tooth and its root, my tooth was compacted or drilled down to a tiny nub, the decay was fished/drilled out and filled in, and a hollow crown was cemented in place so that it looks like my old tooth minus the decay. I'm glad that my tooth and gums were numb during the procedure, because it sounded painful. Before they fitted on the crown, I went through a mini grieving process when I realized that my old tooth was no more. But after the procedure was over and I went back to my car, I looked in the mirror and was delighted to see that the dark spot in my mouth was gone, and the temporary, gritty crown looks a heck of a lot like my old tooth.

I realized that God is sort of like a dentist, but not really. God doesn't usually numb my pain when He works on me. His procedures often hurt. Also, while my dentist works, he looks down at me, but he doesn't really look at me; his gaze is fixed on my teeth. I think God's eyes are fixed right on me.

"Keep me as the apple of Your eye; hide me in the shadow of Your wings..." (Psalm 17:8)

"My back is filled with searing pain; there is no health in my body. I am feeble and utterly crushed; I groan in anguish of heart." (Psalm 38:7-8)

"He hurls down His hail like pebbles. Who can withstand His icy blast? He sends His word and melts them; He stirs up His breezes, and the waters flow." (Psalm 147:17-18)

"Have you entered the storehouses of the snow or seen the storehouses of the hail, which I reserve for times of trouble, for days of war and battle?" (Job 38:22-23)

"I am the Lord your God, who brought you up out of Egypt. Open wide your mouth and I will fill it." (Psalm 81:10)

I'd like to give you a broad example. God has shown me that my spiritual mouth is the way that I receive (words, love, people, etc.). If my spiritual mouth is in need of repair, I could take something or respond to something the wrong way. I think years of wearing braces gave me a high tolerance for tooth pain in a similar way that years of abuse gave me a high tolerance for spiritual pain.

If there's a dark spot on my tooth, and meat gets stuck in it when I bite down on it, and it bleeds when I floss, and this continues on for years and I learn to live with it, the signs of decay will probably just fade into the background until it becomes normal. Then when I go to the dentist because I finally notice a hole in my tooth one day, the dental staff will look at me and ask, "Uh, how long has it been this way?" And I'll answer, "I just noticed it the other morning." But, of course, the damage didn't happen overnight. The decay was occurring and increasing over time.

Let's take anger, for example. Anger is something that many Christians ignore because Christians are supposedly supposed to be happy all the time. Pffft. Come on. Have you even cracked open your Bibles and read any of the psalms, you emotionally robotic fakey-fake Christians?!? Anger is a dangerous animal that should not be stuffed down inside you where it can turn into depression or other problems!!! Sigh. Calm down, Tirzah. Sorry, reader. I'll chill now. (Seriously, though, even God gets angry sometimes.)

If I have angry outbursts, there's a strong chance that there's some decay underneath the surface that's been eating away at me for a while -- possibly even all my life. Psalm 4 shows that there are times when anger in and of itself isn't a sin, but what you do with anger could lead to sin. I've learned over and over again that anger is often a symptom of another unidentified issue. For instance, if I'm angry at a friend for not listening to me, I should take my anger to God and let Him help me figure out why I'm angry, instead of me puking my anger out on my friend in an unhealthy way. (I'm not saying that I shouldn't be assertive with my friend about my issues in a healthy, mature way; that would be another topic altogether.) The procedure might look something like the following.

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Lord, I can't believe so-and-so didn't listen to me! What the freakin' heck?!? And why am I mad about this?

You're human. You have feelings. Something like this is supposed to make you mad.

(Climbs into the dental chair.) But why does this bother me so much?

(Points a mirror at the decayed tooth and shows her the damage.) Why do you think?

(Doesn't like what she sees in the mirror.) Aw, that's gross.

(Turns on His drill.) Mm-hmm. When you were a little girl, [insert event here] happened to you, which opened the door to [insert worse event here]. Now you don't believe that you're worth listening to. (Starts drilling. Bits of tooth fly everywhere.)

(Smoke fills her nostrils while she screams. Tears squirt out of her eyes.) Wait! Aren't You supposed to use anesthesia for this?

(Stops drilling. Makes eye contact with her and grins kindly and empathetically.) Nope, sorry. This way, it's faster. Hold still. (Resumes drilling.)

(Continues screaming and crying. Writhes and grips the arms of the dental chair. Tastes blood.)

(Suddenly stops drilling.) You do know that you're worth listening to, right?

(Pants hard. Gasps for air.) I am?

Heck yes, you are. (Voice becomes somewhat scary and indignant.) Do you know how I feel about you being mistreated? (Cracks knuckles.)

(Looks away.) Oh. With all due respect, could You please calm down before You start drilling again? (Wipes blood from mouth.) I forgive them. Please go easy on them. They didn't know what they were doing.

Of course, little one. I love you. But you're Mine, and I'm fiercely protective of you.

Good. I'm glad somebody is.

Almost done. This is going to look great when it's over. (Fires up drill very suddenly.)

(Screams while blood and pulverized enamel fly everywhere. Drill stops. She continues panting, and a river of tears flows speedily down her cheeks.) Gosh! What the freakin' heck was that, Lord?

(Pats her shoulder and flashes His eternally dazzling smile.) All better now? (Points a mirror at the drilled-down, crowned, and repaired tooth.)

(Marvels at the healthy pink color in her gums. Notices that the black part of the tooth is now white.) It's gone.

Are you going to miss it?

(Chuckles.) No. I like the new tooth better.

Good. You're welcome.

(Smiles her dazzling smile that hopefully looks like her Father's.) Thank You, Lord. So, I guess maybe so-and-so didn't listen to me because they were distracted with other things.

(Helps her down off the dental chair. Wipes excess blood and drool that have been dribbling down the side of her mouth.) Probably. But you're calm enough to where you can talk to them about it now if you like. Your new tooth can take it.

Do I smell like burned enamel?

(Grins.) You smell beautiful to Me. (Embraces her and snuggles her head between His shoulders.)

I still don't get why that was such a big deal to me.

Well, it required Me to fire up My drill and scrape out your gums. Something like that is supposed to hurt. (Whispers raspily and cracks knuckles.) Anytime you hurt, it's a big deal to Me.

Please forgive them for hurting me, Father. But if You ever avenge me Romans-12 style, can You please go easy on them? You're a God of mercy, too.

(Speaks gently again.) Of course, My little one. By the way, how is your owie?

(Completely lost in her Father's presence; breathes deeply and feels no pain.) Hmm? What owie?

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"He who conceals his hatred has lying lips, and whoever spreads slander is a fool." (Proverbs 10:18)

"Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them. Do people pick grapes from thornbushes, or figs from thistles? Likewise every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit." (Matthew 7:15-17)

Growing up as a Pharisee meant always having to look good, no matter the cost. Lying was essential for covering up so that the whitewashed look was maintained. But truth has a way of getting exposed sooner or later.

Fruit has a way of exposing what type of tree it's growing on. And if there are more problems than meet the eye, the fruit will be rotten, and I guess you could say that the problems will meet the nose. The other day while I was at the produce section of the grocery store, I was struck by a weird stench. The peaches and nectarines had apparently been sitting out for too long. Good fruit smells pleasant and sweet. Bad fruit smells sour, and it attracts vermin.

Distinguishing good fruit from bad fruit can often be an obvious "duh" process. But I usually need help discerning good from bad. I mean, I was seeing a decayed tooth in the mirror for so long that it became normal to me. Blackness on tooth indicates decay. Duh.

If I read the Bible constantly, and I spend an hour in prayer every day, and I'm at church every time the doors are open, and I go door to door once a week to witness to people about Jesus, and I look very much like a Christian... but then a teeny-tiny offense happens to me, and I suddenly explode in anger and belittle the people around me and instill fear into them by yelling and intimidating... I might not smell like Christ. Duh. I've probably got at least one issue that needs investigating. If people keep avoiding me because I keep ignoring that rotten chip on my shoulder, duh, I need to clip off the chip. If I believe that I'm better than everybody else, and I wonder why I don't have any friends, duh, I need to adjust my attitude. If I yell curses at myself when I'm alone in my room and don't realize that anyone is listening, and living in anxiety and confusion is a normal way of life for me, and I wonder why I have so many health problems, duh, I need help.

If you have a decaying root, stop covering it up with your own fake tooth. Let God dig into your gum and repair the damage Himself. He's a Pro. He won't leave behind any infection. His repairs are perfect and permanent.

Bummer. I didn't write about my cats after all. (Kazoo plays here.)

Open your abused mouth and say, "AAAAAH!"

Earlier this week, I visited the dentist for the first time in 12 or 15 years. I say "or" because I honestly don't remember when or where my last dental visit took place. But I remember why I've been avoiding any kind of dental exam.

I had bucked teeth when I was a kid, so I wore braces when I was ages 9-13. The reason why my orthodontic treatment lasted so long was because I sabotaged it. When I was a kid, I lied constantly. I hated my braces. They made my teeth sore, poked into my gums, and kept me from eating many foods that I liked. (Or they'd keep bits of foods that I liked on display for all to see.) When no one was looking, I'd find a mirror, get an ink pen, and undo one or more of the tie wires on my braces. One time, I successfully removed the entire wire that spanned across my entire top row of teeth. When people would ask me what happened to the wires, I would tell them that the wires just fell off. I know now why I would lie, but I don't know why nobody confronted me with my lying. (And I don't know why nobody noticed that there were more serious issues underneath that lying little girl who didn't want her little mouth to be repaired.)

An orthodontist named Dr. Letmeyell Atyou (not his real name) was in charge of most of my treatment. In retrospect, I don't understand what the heck he was thinking when he decorated his office. In general, people who wear braces are not advised to eat foods that will get stuck in their braces. Popcorn is food that should be avoided and could possibly break a bracket. So, Dr. Letmeyell Atyou had a popcorn machine at the front of his office, and his receptionist would give me a bag of popcorn before I would leave each visit. Um, does anybody else besides me see anything wrong with this?

After the braces finally came off, I was required to wear retainers. Perhaps you can guess how faithfully I adhered to that treatment. (I think I ended up breaking one of the retainers.) So, my bottom row of teeth became crooked again. I went back to Dr. Letmeyell Atyou's office, where he finally lived up to his name. After he reapplied braces to my bottom teeth, he barked at me that if I messed up my teeth again, he wouldn't fix them. Dang. Maybe I should have just kept my bucked teeth.

Fast-forward to 23 years later, and all it took was one morning of me feeling food get smushed up into my gum where a tooth should have been, and I called a dentist to make an appointment. This time, I chose a nice doctor in a posh suburb on purpose. The decorations in this doctor's office made more sense to me. I don't usually like sports, but I liked how I got to watch part of a soccer game with closed captions during my tooth exam. Technology made this visit pleasant, too. I got X-ray results in seconds. Sure enough, I have a hole in my tooth, and I need to get it repaired with a crown.

The dental personnel looked at my teeth X-rays and told me that my roots were very long. She said that I had probably never worn braces. But I replied that I had, and I told her an extremely short version of the story that you just read. I also found out that my tooth decay has not reached the tooth's nerve, so that's why I hadn't been feeling any pain there. That's a good thing.

Wait. After all that blood, sweat, tears, and years of metal in my mouth, a trained dental professional can't even tell that I had worn braces?

I will now distract you with some comic relief by showing you a picture of my cat trying to take a nap in my clothes hamper -- a forbidden realm for felines in my home. Heh, heh. Now I'm not the only one in this blog entry who broke rules.

"He who is full loathes honey, but to the hungry even what is bitter tastes sweet." (Proverbs 27:7)

I will now talk about a very serious topic. I've learned that growing up in an abusive environment can mean growing up with a distorted view of love. It can be extremely difficult to leave your abusive environment because you have affection for your abusers. But someone who grows up in an abusive environment may not know how to give or receive love without abusing or being abused. Perhaps the abuse is mixed in with the love, or the abuse is mixed in with what is claimed to be love. I think the verse in Proverbs that I quoted above illustrates this a bit. If you're starved for love, and you can't tell the difference between love and abuse, perhaps you'll gulp down the abuse and think that you're gulping down love. Or perhaps you'll even develop a craving for abuse, because it's all you've known. How are you to know the difference between bitter and sweet if all you've ever been fed is bitter, and you're told that it's sweet?

Jesus can show you the difference, if you'll let Him. He's the Sweetest One you'll ever meet. Maybe I'm sounding a little cheesy, but a woman who's in love with the Fairest of Ten Thousand (I'm talking about Jesus -- see Song of Solomon 5:10) is going to sound a little cheesy sometimes.

Jesus is the One who makes the crooked places straight and the rough places smooth. He restores what's been lost. He heals what's been broken. And He probably won't yell at abuse victims and threaten to stop treatment while He's healing them.

"A bruised reed He will not break, and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out." (Isaiah 42:3)

"Those who trust in the Lord are like Mount Zion, which cannot be moved, but abides forever." (Psalm 125:1, NKJV)

"He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers." (Psalm 1:3)

I've also learned that if you grow up in an abusive environment, especially if you don't realize that it's abusive, the abuse could become so familiar to you that you become comfortable with it. After you leave your abusive environment, you could even reproduce it because it's all you know. Where you're planted -- where you settle and let your roots grow -- is extremely important. If you're planted deeply in the abusive environment, it could be extremely difficult to uproot yourself and replant yourself in a safe environment. But if you're planted deeply in God, He'll nurture and protect you. If you trust Him, all kinds of troubles and trials could get hurled at you, and you won't be moved.

It would be as if your mouth had braces trauma as a child, and when your mouth is examined as an adult, a trained eye can't spot the past trauma right away because of how deep the roots have gone. Perhaps the pain isn't smarting as it should yet because the decay hasn't reached the nerve yet. But it's OK, because you're in a safe place where the problem can be repaired, before the damage worsens or spreads, and you know that you're in good hands.

I didn't put a disclaimer at the beginning of this blog post. I hope that's OK. I also hope that I didn't say or imply anything offensive, and I hope I didn't hurt anybody's feelings, honest. I'm trying to sort through life, make sense of my past, and hopefully in the process help other people who have gone through similar experiences. I wasn't sure at first how deep I would go with this post. Heh, heh. Truth has a funny way of sneaking up on you sooner or later.

Dishes and cats

Now that I've got your attention, I should probably explain that I couldn't think of a deeply symbolic title for this blog post, so I thought I'd try the direct approach. Hmm. I may have accidentally achieved the cat-hater's approach in the process. (Um, I DON'T eat cats.) For the record, I'm hopelessly a cat person, and I love my feline babies extremely much. I even recently unfriended a couple of people on Facebook for some remarks about people putting cats in their profile pictures. Even after I walked away from Facebook for a little while to cool down. True story. Crazy-serious cat lady. (Um, Tirzah, are you calm enough to write in complete sentences now?)

"There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven... a time to keep and a time to throw away..." (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 6b)

"Out of the brightness of His presence clouds advanced, with hailstones and bolts of lightning. The Lord thundered from heaven; the voice of the Most High resounded. He shot His arrows and scattered the enemies, great bolts of lightning and routed them... He rescued me from my powerful enemy, from my foes, who were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my disaster, but the Lord was my support. He brought me out into a spacious place; He rescued me because He delighted in me." (Psalm 18:12-14, 17-19)

"The Lord builds up Jerusalem; He gathers the exiles of Israel. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." (Psalm 147:2-3)

If you've followed my blog for a while, perhaps you're acquainted with my adventures in learning how to clean house. (Trumpet fanfare plays here.) I've recently made the coolest discovery ever in housecleaning: throwing stuff away! (Kazoo plays here.)

Here's a "before" snapshot of my kitchen sink circa two months ago. I honestly lost track of how long those dishes had been sitting there, but after careful consideration, I decided that some of them weren't worth saving. I dumped some of them in the trash. I'll spare you the icky details. My sink now, as I'm typing this, is totally empty except for a few plates that I've pulled out of box storage and will relocate into cupboard storage very soon, but instead of snapping an "after" photo, I'll just keep typing and save room for the upcoming cat photo. I did mention that I love my kitties, right?

My kitchen isn't spotless, but it looks so much better. That's what happens when you're a non-domestic bachelorette: You prioritize! You spend less time attempting to cook for one, and you spend more time blogging. You spend less time dusting, and you spend more time sorting through and throwing away the piles of outdated documents and junk mail that have been collecting dust. You spend less time being a well-intentioned pack rat, and you spend more time lugging stuff out to the Dumpster and walking back with a relieved smile to your home where you know that your babies are waiting for you, and they ain't gonna miss the trash that you just threw out.

I don't like to waste stuff. There is some stuff that can be dusted off, scrubbed clean, and rescued for further use. But sometimes you just gotta let stuff go and move on.

But some stuff is definitely worth keeping.

Here is Macho inside the carrier. Choochie is on top of the carrier. There isn't any deep, spiritual symbolism in this particular photo; I just thought it was adorable that she jumped onto the carrier and started sniffing it while he was inside it. Anyway, during Macho's recent trip to the vet, I learned that he has cataracts and dental disease. He's 12 and a half years old, so he's developed some expensive senior-cat issues. I won't do anything about the cataracts (the vet told me that cataracts are just a natural part of a cat's aging, and surgery isn't necessary), but I'll need to get his teeth cleaned soon.

Once in a while, I'll hear about kittens who need good homes, and I can't take them in because I'm already at my pet limit. But wouldn't it be easier to just get rid of my old cats and start over with some new ones?

No way! I even had trouble typing it two sentences ago. I wouldn't trade my aging Macho and Choochie for a zillion brand-new heartbreakingly adorable, mewing, fully trainable kittens. Macho and Choochie are my babies. They're mine. They know that they're mine. I'm choked up now. I'm not going to throw my babies away.

Sometimes God shows me things inside me that are so rotten, moldy, rusty, and disgusting that I'm amazed that He can even look at me. Wouldn't it be easier to just throw me away?

"Do not hide Your face from me, do not turn your servant away in anger; You have been my helper. Do not reject me or forsake me, O God my Savior. Though my father and mother forsake me, the Lord will receive me." (Psalm 27:9-10)

No way! God bought me with Jesus. He redeemed me. He adopted me. He chose me. He's NOT going to throw me away. I'm a keeper. I'm a fixer-upper. I'm His, and I know that I'm His. I'm choked up again.

I wasn't purchased, redeemed, adopted, or chosen by some wimpy little god that's made out of wood, stone, or clay, either. I belong to the King of Kings. I belong to the Lord of Lords. I belong to the Lion of Judah, the Almighty God, the One who is a consuming fire. Any spiritual enemies who mess with me will have to mess with my Heavenly Father who's already beaten the crap out of them. (By "spiritual enemies," I don't mean people. I mean principalities, powers, and demons, who all lie and who are all serious about destroying me or anyone else who exists.) I may be a crazy-serious cat lady, but I ain't nothin' compared to my Defender. Yeah, that's right. He's got my back.

I'm thinking about my babies again. I was planning to take care of their teeth before I took care of my teeth because I love my babies. And because I hate going to the dentist. (I have an appointment tomorrow, and I'll more than likely blog about my new adventures in trying to not cry in a dentist's chair. Insert whining here.)

Also for the record, that photo I shared earlier today on Facebook (about cooking, family, and a dog) DIDN'T inspire this blog post. It was accidental foreshadowing. Hmm. Or maybe God took care of the foreshadowing for me. Yeah, that's right. He's got my back.