You might be stronger than you think you are

I started buffing my fingernails again. Perhaps you can't see the new shine in this photo, but I can see the shine just fine from where I'm typing. (And yes, I happen to be typing the first draft of this particular paragraph at a beautiful coin laundromat.) Buffing fingernails is a very interesting self-manicuring process. It isn't nail-polish-painting, which is a temporary decoration that peels off, discolors the nails underneath, and needs to be alcoholically removed before applying a fresh coat to cover up the discoloration. Buffing requires the tiny application of a cream and a vigorous 30-second friction-application with a nail buffer. Perhaps you've been accosted at the mall by a particular nail-buffing salesperson who will try to sell you a $40 kit, but you can buy similar, less-fancy stuff at a beauty supply store for about $10. (Someone who used to do my nails and cut my hair taught me that very handy tip.) Why am I spending so much time writing about nail-buffing? Perhaps it's because I forgot how much I like its shiny results, even though the 30-second buffing per fingernail can be a bit painful.

Have you ever heard of an open heaven? Basically, it's a time and/or place on earth where heaven meets earth very obviously and kind of dramatically. Perhaps under an open heaven, people who are sick will be healed instantaneously, or perhaps miracles will happen quite easily, and the only explanation is that heaven met earth -- that God did all the good stuff that happened under the open heaven.

I'm not an ordained minister, but in my opinion, the opposite of an open heaven is an open hell. (Other people might have called them "the dark night of the soul" or "the valley of the shadow of death.") Yes, that would be a time and/or place on earth where all hell breaks loose, but in a very targeted, extremely unfair spiritual attack. The devil steals, kills, and destroys, so anything under the open hell would be unfair/fair game for stealing, killing, and destroying. According to this particular definition, I would say that the three times that I experienced an open hell were 1) 12-14 years ago when I was very depressed and suicidal, 2) last summer for about 3 months when I wrote most of my Lemonchicky stories on Facebook and God prompted my good friend Powerhouse to pray for me, and 3) during the past 3 weeks or so, ending I think sometime today.

Reader, I feel the need to give you a disclaimer. If I reached out to you during the past 3 weeks and asked you to pray for me, thank you so much for praying! If I didn't get in touch with you, no worries, I know that you love me. God designed me to "feed sheep," so sometimes I need to be careful about which food to serve. Sometimes the meal needs to cook in the crockpot a bit longer. Sometimes, I've only got a special stash that's reserved for a few extremely trusted mouths. I've also noticed that sometimes when I share with other people what I feel that God has been showing me, it's kinda like a giant, Psalm-34-style "See what happens when you mess with My little girl? she tells people what I did for her" from God to the devil; and the more gloves-off, no-holds-barred honest I am, the more effective I seem to be. So, I might be kinda morbid or graphic in this post, depending on your taste. And my intention isn't to make people feel ashamed or inferior. On the contrary, my intention is to maybe help people feel like valid human beings and to definitely spotlight what I think my Father wants to spotlight. (Sorry, no cat photos this time.) And if you feel a bit seasick, it might be because I'm trying to balance out what I've said previously.

Regarding my opinion about an open hell, yes, I very recently just came out of a season of spiritual attack that targeted Tirzah's very existence. I didn't overtly consider suicide, but it was very difficult to shake the temptation, and it was very scary how quickly the crap-clouds gathered to hover over my head. This time, I did NOT seek professional help because it didn't seem necessary. This time, I did NOT write Lemonchicky stories because my struggle seemed beyond anything that Lemonchicky could assist with. (I'm flattered when people ask when Lemonchicky will become a book, but honestly, she was never intended for broadcast beyond Facebook. Her allegorical stories really were my status updates. If I was "going through hell," I wasn't exaggerating, and Lemonchicky was at the threshold of the incinerator and being attacked by the vermin boss.) This time, I saw my Father with me every step of the way, and He was the main One that I received help from. We ate fast food together. (Technically, He didn't eat, because He doesn't get hungry.) We saw a theater-movie together. (He made sure I had an entire row to myself way up front.) We danced together. (I let Him lead.) I came to the end of my rope several times. While He was pruning me, unwarping me, and straightening out some crooked places inside me (which He's still continuing to do), He showed me doors I needed to close and things I needed to tweak. He taught me some very interesting things.

One hard lesson I learned was that the church is NOT equipped to handle every problem. Jesus is the answer to every question, yes. The gates of hell will not prevail against the church, correct. God opens His hand and satisfies the desires of every living thing, definitely. The Holy Spirit is the Best Counselor, of course. But if you walk into a church building, you may find a first-aid kit, but will you find a pharmacy? You may meet someone who's trained in CPR, but will you find an ER? There may be a prayer room or a healing room, but will there be an operating table?

During my open hell #3, I learned that if anything were to happen to me, yes, people would miss me, because they love me. But they wouldn't necessarily notice right away that I was gone. Yes, people would attend my funeral, because they value and respect my existence. But they wouldn't necessarily know about the existence of the funeral.

I remembered a shocking family time many years ago when a maternal cousin passed away. He was single, he was in his 50s, and he was an artist. But the fact of the matter was that he lived alone, and nobody knew that he had died of a heart attack until they found him dead in his apartment sometime later. I remembered an awkward family time a couple of years ago when I found out that my step-grandfather had passed away. About a couple of weeks after the funeral, we received a note stating that he had died, and I tracked down the gravesite and drove all the way down there myself to pay my respects, and it was a very good time to also visit my grandmother's grave, and I didn't miss the opportunity to write to our relatives and say as politely as I could how I didn't appreciate not knowing about his death or funeral. But the fact of the matter was that we weren't close to that section of the family, and it was probably natural to not think about us right away.

I remembered a disturbing time this past summer when I found out that a member of my lifegroup committed suicide, and I didn't find out about it until after I had been sent a link to his obituary. At first, I felt guilty about his death, because technically as someone who had attended my group, he was under my care, even though he had only attended twice. But the fact of the matter was that his issues were way out of my league, as I found out when I saw video footage of the news media coverage surrounding his death. Pretty much anything that would involve contacting the authorities would be out of any church-leader's league.

"Beware, brethren, lest there be in any of you an evil heart of unbelief in departing from the living God; but exhort one another daily, while it is called 'Today,' lest any of you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin." (Hebrews 3:12-13)

"Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up." (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)

I think it's interesting that the above verse doesn't say, "He who is struggling alone should reach out to a church counselor" or "He who is struggling alone should call a suicide hotline." It says "WOE." I don't know the Hebrew word for that, but I think "WOE" means "THIS IS TERRIBLE STUFF THAT PEOPLE MAKE HORROR MOVIES ABOUT." In Genesis, before God created Eve, He said that it is NOT good for man to be alone. Yes, He was talking about marriage. But I think He was talking about being alone in general. Loneliness in and of itself can be a liar sometimes. Yes, Jesus is Immanuel -- He is God with us -- and in that sense, anyone who is in Christ isn't ever alone. But there's something dangerous about being alone that I think the devil knows about, and he doesn't hesitate to play unfairly, and he aims right below the belt and pummels whatever's underneath until it's destroyed or until he's stopped. Sometimes it just takes one word, and he's stopped. (The Name above every name is "Jesus," by the way.) Sometimes it takes a word of encouragement from somebody else to help the otherwise-alone person who's just fallen. Otherwise, WOE.

In case you are reading this after following my blog for a few years and thinking, "Gosh, what the bleeping heck is wrong with Tirzah? I thought she had already had all this healing!" in my defense, I think the psalmists of the Bible had more than one soul-crisis, and I also found a passage in Judges to be very intriguing.

"My eyes are ever toward the Lord, for He shall pluck my feet out of the net. Turn Yourself to me, and have mercy on me, for I am desolate and afflicted. The troubles of my heart have enlarged; bring me out of my distresses!" (Psalm 25:15-17)

"Thus my heart was grieved, and I was vexed in my mind. I was so foolish and ignorant; I was like a beast before You. Nevertheless I am continually with You; You hold me by my right hand. You will guide me with Your counsel, and afterward receive me to glory." (Psalm 73:21-24)

"Search me, O God, and know my heart; try me, and know my anxieties; and see if there is any wicked way in me, and lead me in the way everlasting." (Psalm 139:23-24)

"Then Adoni-Bezek fled, and they pursued him and caught him and cut off his thumbs and big toes." (Judges 1:6, random verse totally quoted out of context, but it will hopefully make sense here in a bit)

I've been in churches pretty much my entire life, so I've seen and heard all kinds of church stuff. Sometimes, hearing other people's inner-healing stories can actually be discouraging. For example, I've heard people say things like, "God took 4 whole months to heal me after I'd been through such a terrible ordeal" or "I spent 6 whole months listening to a cd, and God healed me" or "I went to a class, and God spoke something that set me free." Then you go to 2 counseling sessions, and the counselor says that you're OK and that you don't need to come anymore, but on the inside, you know something is still off. Then you take a few steps, fall, and viola, you're in a psych hospital. But the fact of the matter is that some issues can just take a heck of a long time to heal. Can God say "Let there be healing" and you're healed instantaneously? Yes, of course! Can God say "Hold My hand and let Me walk you through this, and it's going to be OK" and you're healed in a decade and a half? Yes, absolutely! Which one is better than the other? As CreatorOfTheLemons would say, "Does it matter?"

The fact of the matter is that someone like me who grew up in an abusive environment might need to spend some extra time getting extra healing. Honestly, if you grew up in an environment where an adult throwing a yelling temper tantrum was normal... or where an adult regularly giving you detailed instructions on how to lie was acceptable... or where pouring hydrogen peroxide on your non-wounded fingers on a semi-regular basis wasn't grounds for an instant psych evaluation... or where placing an entire screeching parakeet's head inside your mouth and then hitting her innocent little feathered head as punishment for biting the inside of your mouth was tolerated... then let's face it. You probably need some majorly serious inner rewiring. If words come out of your mouth or thoughts roll around in your head that leave a bad taste in your mouth or leave a nasty slime inside your head, it might be time for a spiritual tune-up, even if your good, heavenly Father trusts you enough to go through open hell #3.

I'm not a doctor, but if I have post-nasal drip, the mucus that flows in the back of my throat will collect in my chest and then solidify so that I can cough out the infection later. (I currently have a cold while I'm writing this, so I'm, uh, inspired.) If the infection doesn't flush out right away, perhaps it could turn into bronchitis or pneumonia. I think similar things happen spiritually, too. Perhaps if you were in a church where everything seemed to be going fine until suddenly you find out that the pastor had an affair or that the youth minister kept porn in the church bathroom or that innocent children were molested under the church's roof and nobody did anything about it... perhaps God didn't diss you. Perhaps whoever was in charge just had spiritual pneumonia, and they didn't know they needed some healing.

God is patient with us, and He loves us, and He's full of grace and forgiveness for us, but He's also a God of justice. He's serious about keeping His house clean. That random verse I quoted earlier was part of the beginning part of the Book of Judges. Again, I'm not a professional Bible-study-er, and I'm a bit under the influence of generic Sudafed, so you're going to get Tirzah's version of this particular story. So, the Israelites were already in their promised land. God had given them this land. It was a land that they had been waiting for. But they still needed to claim it. They still needed to obey God, and He had specific instructions on enemies that needed to be driven out of their land. From what I understand, each Israelite tribe needed to drive out specific inhabitants, but they weren't completely successful. I tried to be all Bible-study-ish with Judges chapter 1 and count how many enemies weren't driven out of the promised land, but I lost count. So, in chapter 2, God was like, "I told you to drive them out. Why didn't you obey Me? Now I won't drive them out for you, so you'll be stuck with them." But the story in chapter 1 that stuck out to me was the one where one of the kings was captured by the Israelites successfully, so they chopped off his thumbs and big toes. And he died, of course. I tried to be all Bible-study-ish and find out the symbolism of the cutting off of the thumbs and big toes, but, uh... all I could find was common sense. If you chop off your thumbs and big toes, uh... you can't function.

I think that's kinda what God was doing with my enemies, metaphorically, during my open hell #3. Metaphorically, in many ways, I'm in my promised land right now. At least one of my enemies was captured (I think it was a fear of death), and its thumbs and big toes were chopped off, metaphorically, so that the enemy couldn't function anymore and died. Gory but cool. I want God to do that for me -- keep cleaning me out and cleaning out my promised land. There ain't no shame in that. I'd rather do that than have spiritual pneumonia. That wouldn't be cool for me or for anyone within puking distance.

"For in the time of trouble He shall hide me in His pavilion; in the secret place of His tabernacle He shall hide me; He shall set me high upon a rock." (Psalm 27:5)

Do you remember me talking about how being alone isn't always good? Here's the balance. Sometimes we have to be alone so that God can hide us and do some stuff inside us that other people don't need to see. At least, that's what happened with me during open hell #3. During open hell #2, I learned how cathartic it was for me to share what was happening to me while it was happening (or at least figuring out a way to explain it long after the fact, even years later) in an artistic form. During open hell #1, I learned how important it was to simply be weak if I needed to be weak. And during open hell #3, I learned that I'm probably stronger than I thought I was.

I've never been athletically inclined, so when I was growing up, P.E. was absolutely NOT my favorite class. One of my LEAST favorite tests in P.E. was the chin-ups. From what I can remember, we had to at least do one chin-up and simply hold our chin there on the bar, with the entire class watching. During one such test, I didn't feel like I could hold myself up there with my chin on the bar for even one second. But after I jumped down from the bar, my P.E. teacher showed me something I'd never seen before. She observed that instead of simply letting go of the bar and falling instantly to the ground, I slowly eased myself down to the ground. She said that it took a lot of strength to do that. I was strong, so I COULD hold myself up there with my chin on the bar. She was right. I couldn't do 20 chin-ups like an Olympian, but I was strong enough to lift myself up to the bar and hold my chin there for at least one second.

I had an ex-friend who had been diagnosed with several mental illnesses (bipolar, severe depression, BPD), and she was convinced that she couldn't hold down a job because she couldn't focus for long periods of time. But she didn't seem to have any problem focusing on our 90-minute phone conversations, which frankly seemed more like monologues. She was ill and needed treatment. But she was also highly intelligent and highly capable. She wasn't unfocused. I think she was really stronger than she thought she was. (Perhaps the taxpayers who paid for her disability would agree.) She mentioned during one of our conversations that she was advised during her illness to praise God. She disliked this advice. Since I had been through open hell #1, I empathized with her. I mean, how could anyone who is stuck in Psalm-40 mire praise God Psalm-97 style?

"I will praise You, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made; marvelous are Your works, and that my soul knows very well." (Psalm 139:14)

Perhaps something simple such as looking down at one of my newly buffed hands and remembering that a healthy river of blood pulses through it is enough to remind me of a reason to praise God: I exist. He made me. He designed that hand to do good works -- not to earn my keep or to be shinier than everybody else or to impress Him. He just made me, He has a plan for me, and He wants me. I'm good to go.

So, after I had driven to work this morning with my face set like flint, my newly styling clothes, and my freshly buffed nails, and I had arrived at my cubicle on time, I felt a strange sensation that I had felt before, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Was it pride? Was it arrogance? Was I hardening my heart?

"I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living. Wait on the Lord; be of good courage, and He shall strengthen your heart; wait, I say, on the Lord!" (Psalm 27:13-14)

I think those of us who grew up in abusive environments have known things like shame, anxiety, and powerlessness to be normal. But in God's Kingdom, things like joy, peace, and courage are what are REALLY supposed to be normal. This morning while I was beginning a new day, I didn't feel hardness. I felt strength. I had been encouraged. Prayers from encouraging friends definitely helped. But I think I had also encouraged myself in the Lord (not in a weird, forced "schedule times to encourage yourself in the Lord" kind of way -- long story). And I know that He had definitely encouraged me.

If you're strong enough to hate yourself, then you're strong enough to learn how to love yourself.

If you're strong enough to reject yourself, then you're strong enough to reject the devil's lies.

If you're strong enough to plan your own demise, then you're strong enough to plan out the rest of your healthy future.

If you're weak enough to interrupt the pastor's benediction at the end of a Babb-dist church service and confess in front of the other 50 people in the pews on Sunday that you "slacked off in your faith" by feeling sorry for yourself on Saturday, then you're weak enough to crawl between your heavenly Father's shoulders and have an excruciatingly good cry -- the kind that involves tears, puffy eyes, and a snot-congestion headache afterwards.

But if you're reading this post, and you genuinely need professional help, please, please, please go get the help you need. God loves you. You're worth being helped, regardless of what you believe.

So, during open hell #1, I used my last $2 to purchase a knit cap instead of a toothbrush, so I had gone an entire week without brushing my teeth because I didn't believe that I was worth doing basic things for myself. During open hell #2, my writing got much better, and I learned that I could move people emotionally with my words. And while open hell #3 was on its way out, I buffed my nails to a new shine (painful but worth it), washed a few dishes, went to bed early, woke up early, and lived to tell about it all. Sigh. Crisis over. Devil loses again -- always. God wins again -- always. The Holy Spirit is the hydrogen peroxide that bubbles up all the gunk that's been flowing inside my infection -- aww, yeah. Jesus is my Hero -- always and forever. I'm getting all warm and fuzzy now. Hmm. And I haven't even taken my NyQuil yet.

(P.S. To whoever's faded-black sock I accidentally brought home from the beautiful coin laundromat: Uh... sorry.)