It's a sponge

No, I'm not talking about the guy who has his own show on Nickelodeon. I'm talking about the chick who likes to blog about herself around her birthday. Last year when I wrote about how God created me, I compared myself to Harvey. (I don't have a fireplace mantel anymore, so now Harvey lives on a bookcase.) This year, I'll compare myself to the sponge in my kitchen sink.

The sponge metaphor isn't perfect, of course, because sponges get gross and germy, and they're disposable. (This particular sponge is pretty disgusting and will get replaced very soon. The black stuff on the top is cheap adhesive that I scraped off new silverware.) I am not disposable, at least not to God. However, I'm about to elaborate on another metaphor that might be a bit more descriptive.

"For the Lord has chosen Jacob for Himself, Israel for His special treasure." (Psalm 135:4)

"Deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls; all Your waves and billows have gone over me." (Psalm 42:7)

"…zeal for Your house has eaten me up…" (Psalm 69:9a)

A few weeks ago while I was surfing the net for work-related research, I stumbled upon the description of an animal called a Caucasian Shepherd Dog. At my cubicle, God interrupted my research and said, "That's you." In the spiritual realm, I look like a Caucasian Shepherd Dog.

The Caucasian Shepherd Dog is a specific breed that has been popular in The Republic of Georgia and in other countries of the former Soviet Union. In recent years, Americans have adopted this breed. We Americans soon discovered how much of a handful this breed of dog really is.

From what I understand, the Caucasian Shepherd Dog isn't your typical little sheepdog that has cool-looking bangs and a role in a cartoon movie. It isn't a tiny little yippy thing that hyperly herds cattle. The Caucasian Shepherd Dog is a guard dog. People own Caucasian Shepherd Dogs for the same reason that they would own a gun. The Caucasian Shepherd Dog is huge and extremely aggressive. On the outside, this breed of dog looks cute and cuddly. But this dog can weigh about 180 pounds and can stand about 6 feet tall on its hind legs. This dog has a high tolerance for pain. This dog is crazy-brave enough to attack a bear or a herd of wolves. This dog is dangerous. This dog means business. People who own a Caucasian Shepherd Dog need to spend massive amounts of time training this dog, because this dog could attack any creature that is a stranger. This dog protects members of the family very fiercely and needs to learn that even strangers can be trusted and probably shouldn't get mauled right away.

So, after God showed me that I'm a Caucasian Shepherd Dog in the spirit, and I started learning about what this breed of dog is like, so much of my life started to make more sense. I'm like that huge, aggressive dog who looks like a stuffed animal from far away but who doesn't have a problem charging at a bear or at wolves. In fact, I've had more than my share of showdowns with spiritual bears and wolves, and I don't have a problem enduring pain during the confrontations. (I've learned more than ever that our battle isn't against people, like it says in Ephesians 6; it's a spiritual battle. So, when I say "enemy," I mean the devil and his demons. Sometimes we humans are merely naive enough to repeat what the enemy whispers in our ears.) I require lots of training, but you can count on me to guard the family from intruders. Yeah, that's right, enemy. Don't mess with the shepherd. And if you try to mess with any of the sheep, you should have your affairs in order first. Deep growling.

No wonder things happen when I get angry enough about something to pray about it. No wonder I can be so freakishly intense about things that don't really seem to bother other people right away. No wonder God has to pick me up by my scruff, lay me belly-up in His arms, and rock me a little bit to calm me down from time to time. He made me that way.

There's another aspect of the way He made me. One thing that has bothered me tremendously is the realization that I've allowed people throughout my life to stifle me and my zeal. I'm not talking about being young, green, wet behind the ears, and needing all kinds of polishing and pruning. I'm not talking about that kind of zeal that needs to be balanced out with wisdom as soon as possible. (Not to say that God hasn't been maturing, polishing, and pruning me while balancing out my zeal with some wisdom, because I think He has… especially the pruning part. Pruning hurts, by the way. If you stand still enough in the middle of a vineyard, I wonder if you'll hear branches screaming.) I'm saying that I'm a mess. I'm a zealbucket. I'm an emotional ooze smoothie. I'm not a sleek, shiny little Pharisee anymore. Have you heard the saying that some people wear their hearts on their sleeves? I wear my heart on the tip of my nose. It's right there in your face, in the middle of my face, probably pumping and bleeding loudly, quite possibly scaring people away, definitely possibly taking all my self-control to keep from exploding all over everybody all the time. I mean, my gosh. How am I supposed to hold it together?

I need The Great Shepherd -- that's how. I need to be around Him constantly, or I'll lose it. I'm toast without Him. I'm an artist. I have to be in touch with my emotions if I'm going to express them. I don't think it's an accident that while God has been healing my emotions, my emotions have gotten freed up and unfolded like little rolls of bubble wrap, to the point where if I were to add any more metaphors to this post, your electronic device would probably self-destruct. And I wonder if maybe one of God's hobbies is running through fields of bubble wrap and giddily listening to all the popping underneath His feet. I do know for sure that one thing He likes to do is hold me and comfort me when the emotions ache. I know that sometimes He aches, too, and that sometimes getting to know Him deeply means feeling the types of things that He feels. I don't understand how He can stand all the pain and suffering in the world, because He can see and hear ALL of it. But His heart is infinitely bigger than mine is.

I'm rambling. Maybe I should go back to the sponge metaphor. So, I've been coming out of an extended time in my life when God has been squeezing me out. That's what happens when sponges soak in a substance for years and years; they absorb it all, no matter how putrid or infected it is. Well, this particular sponge that's been blogging about herself -- while her feline "sheep" has been snoring unabashedly in the middle of her living room -- has been wrung out for a little while. She's plum exhausted. And when I say "she," I mean "me." I think the sponge has been wrung out pretty dry. But I believe it's time for God to start soaking this sponge in a new substance. I don't want to soak in a dirty substance anymore. I want to soak in a pure, clean substance. I want to soak in whatever God wants me to soak in. I want to soak in His presence, which is a very accepting, empowering, loving environment where artistic experimentation is encouraged, rest is required, and battle-business is protected. One cool thing about a sponge that's been soaking in something is that the sponge can squeeze out its soaked substance. If I get to hang around a loving Father, then hopefully I'll get to ooze love onto other people, too. If I get to latch onto a heavenly Dad who protects the heck out of me, then hopefully I won't hold anything back when it comes time to do battle for one of His children. If I get to be safe in God's covering, then hopefully I can be a safe person to be around, too. (And I'm pretty sure the soaking, the wringing, and the squeezing out is probably a lifelong process that quite possibly has cycles within other cycles, too.)

I hope that makes sense. Harvey says Hi!