More delayed reactions

4) For many years, I had a pastor who graduated from college with a business degree. He seemed very proud of the fact that he did not attend a seminary.

My reaction then: Our church is run like a business. Cool. I guess that's why we use big words like "facilitate" and expressions like "here's the deal" and "the bottom line." People with seminary degrees are way too stuffy and anti- Holy Spirit, anyway.

My reaction now: Tirzah, I think YOU'RE the one who was too stuffy to see that the Holy Spirit can move through whoever will let Him move, seminary degree or no seminary degree. I believe it was Keith Green who used to refer to "seminary" as "cemetery," and perhaps he's referring to the stuffiness that can been encountered too often with seminary graduates and religion professors. However, I've finally been learning that a person's heart is much more important than the type of formal schooling they've received, whether it came from a seminary or other institution. There are a variety of different ministry trainings available everywhere -- there probably always have been, and there probably always will be, from graduating with a seminary degree to following Jesus everywhere and casting your net into the water wherever He tells you to cast it. But the point seems to be to allow Him to mold a person's heart during the ministry preparation. For example, a person who enrolls in seminary on fire for God and ready to tackle whatever assignment He gives them but graduates from seminary more enamored with biblical languages than with people, and more stuffy with knowledge than heartbroken for people, probably flunked their training, no matter what type of grades they got.

Regarding the business-graduate church pastor, that probably should have been a huge, huge, huge, huge, huge red flag right away. Of course, there's nothing wrong with getting a business degree. But demanding that the people in your church give you results -- in the same way that a CEO would demand that their employees would give them profits -- is severely crossing the line. Evangelism is NOT like sales. A salesperson can manipulate, weasel, and deceive others into giving them the results they want (especially if they're working on commission). An evangelist should persuade but never force anyone to make a decision; otherwise, that would be considered abuse (especially if they carve a notch into their Bible every time they win a convert).

Tirzah, no wonder you've needed so much therapy from God your Counselor -- you've been treated like a machine, a number, a lab rat all your life. I mean, you're writing about yourself in the third person. Well, maybe that's because you're wrestling internally with the part of yourself that likes to hide behind humor. Who's hiding? You're about to post this into cyberspace for everyone to read. And now you're talking about yourself in the second person. So, who's the grammar genius now? Well, maybe you should move onto the next point before you really go off your rocker. What's the matter? Did you neglect to facilitate reaching your bottom line? Here's the deal: church isn't corporate America. Amen to that.

5) After I was released from a psychiatric hospital in 2000 and decided to drop out of missionary school, the head of the school told me to not tell my class the real reason why I wouldn't return to class. In other words, my natural instinct was to straight-up tell everybody, "Hey, I was hospitalized because I tried to commit suicide," but the head of the school talked to everybody himself, without me there, and said something diplomatic like, "Tirzah was hospitalized for depression; please pray for her."

My reaction then: I'm so stressed out and souped up on antidepressant to have any other thoughts beyond submission. Or my kitten. My life has been turned upside-down, and I'm not even allowed to live with my kitten for a while. (But they didn't say I couldn't drive 20 miles to go visit her every day.)

My reaction now: Head of school, why do you have a problem with honesty? Were you trying to cover something up? Were you worried about somebody like me giving your school a bad name? "Enroll in our program today, and you, too, can become certifiable." Are you ashamed of me and my story? God met me in my hospital room. I don't understand why you wouldn't let me share my testimony right away. After you've faced death -- with its slimy, fangy stench-breath fogging up your eyeballs -- you become braver than 50 million superheroes. Your program supposedly valued brokenness. How would me sharing my story with my classmates not have been a brave expression of brokenness? Thank you for allowing me to drop out of your school. If this is how you treat people who've walked through a slimy, fangy, stenchy fire, I don't want you to teach me how to do anything. (My kitten and I were later reunited permanently, and she grew up to be a faithful cat who napped and perched nearby while I typed this.)

6) One morning during a leadership meeting (and there were zillions of meetings), the pastor from #4 above asked if anyone had a testimony to share. After a moment of awkward silence from all of us in attendance at the insanely early morning meeting, the pastor appeared a bit flustered and said, "Nobody? OK, I guess God isn't moving in anybody's life."

I bravely stood up and shared a testimony with everybody. I mentioned that I went out to eat with a group of church friends, and we all laughed and had so much fun and so much joy. Our joy infected the other diners at the restaurant. What a wonderful experience we had, and what a wonderful witness our lives were! Another pastor criticized my testimony in front of everybody and suggested that it wasn't God who blessed the other diners. He said it was probably our personalities.

My reaction then: My mistake. How silly it was of me to validate the head pastor's childish display of insecurity. In the future, I should probably keep my mouth shut. I guess the only testimonies that count are the ones where people say salvation prayers.

My reaction now: Gosh, I can't do anything right for you people. You really are trying to run your church like corporate America; I haven't been able to do anything right for them, either. After the treatment I got from you, I go through a kind of culture shock anytime I'm treated with genuine love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, kindness, faithfulness, goodness, and self-control by somebody else. You might not be able to learn those things in a seminary classroom, because those things are fruits of the Spirit, which means that they take root and grow. Incidentally, what DID you learn when you weren't being trained at a seminary? Is that how God trained you to run a church -- like a business that holds periodic meetings where you air out your dirty laundry in front of everybody in a very un-Matthew-18 kind of way? Isn't "the bottom line" loving God with every fiber of your being? Wouldn't our personalities help "facilitate" that process? "Here's the deal": I think you flunked. But this situation happened many years ago. I hope you've changed since then.

I feel very appalled at how many years of my life I wasted investing in these spiritually abusive environments. But my feeling very appalled gives way very quickly to my feeling extremely thankful that God likes to take things that were meant for evil (perhaps unintentionally by the spiritual abusers and intentionally by the devil) and use them for good.

So, Tirzah, you had this whole Stockholm Syndrome thing going on with these nasty-core churches all those years? Is that why it took you forever to leave? I dunno. I think I mainly just stayed so long because I liked the people there and because I was finding God there, regardless of the abuse -- which, to be fair, I did not know WAS abuse in the first place. Well, you've had a doozy of a mess that's needed to get cleaned up. And now you're typing this with your faithful cat purring and snuggling directly between you and your computer. Pffffft. Who needs a business degree when you've got skillz?

Delayed reactions

I recently purchased a new couch. My cat avoided my new couch until he realized he could use it as a scratching post. He scratches because he's a cat. (No, he's not allowed to shred my new couch, which is why I supervise him as highly as I can. He's currently perching and behaving as I type this.)

What if I didn't allow my cats to be cats at all? What if I squelched every little instinct they had? Without their God-given instincts, would they be able to function as cats at all? Instead of doing cat things that they were created to do -- such as grooming their fur, using a litterbox, napping many hours per day, meowing, purring, trilling, hissing, exploring, enjoying catnip, leaping long distances, perching at windowsills... what if I were to guilt-trip or all-out force them into doing dog things instead -- such as barking, howling, panting, drooling, whimpering, herding other animals, taking long walks, playing tennis-ball fetch, etc.? I think they would be pretty miserable cats. I think maybe the animal-control people would press charges and transfer the cats to a loving home in which they could be reconditioned and maybe socialize with other cats who know how to do cat things. ("What? You mean... you get to groom yourself? You mean... you get to nap all day? You mean... the new owners let you snuggle with them and purr, and maybe meow, and maybe go on a catnip trip? Wow. This is heaven.")

I don't consider myself to be an animal, but I think in a way, I've been experiencing a process that's very similar to the silly one I described in the previous paragraph.

I've noticed that my emotional healing has involved quite a bit of delayed reactions. Perhaps it's all part of the rewiring process. I think maybe if a light socket were wired incorrectly, the light bulb wouldn't turn on whenever it's supposed to turn on. But if the wiring is in good, working order, as soon as the switch flips, the light bulb will turn on. And I'm not talking about being quick to anger (James 1:19). And I'm not talking about neglecting to walk in love or grace (1 Corinthians 13:4-7, Ephesians 4:31-32). And I'm not talking about letting your flesh do whatever it wants (Galatians 5:24). I'm talking about the light bulb turning on when it's supposed to.

Let's say, for example, that you're a woman who wears makeup on a regular basis, and your friend laughs and tells you that you look like a clown:

Example of light bulb malfunctioning: "Oh, hahaha! My friend is so funny! I'm so glad she thinks I'm so delightful!"

Example of light bulb working correctly: "Wait a minute. My so-called friend just insulted me. I need to talk to her about it after I calm down. Now all those times she ignored me and snubbed me make sense. I should probably also pray about discontinuing this friendship."

Maybe it's different with me because I'm a woman, and we women have intuition. But in general, I think feelings and instincts are like thermometers. They're indicators that show you if or when some kind of action needs to be taken. If you set the thermostat in your home for 80 degrees before you leave the house, and it reads 90 degrees when you return, hopefully you'll wilt immediately and call a repairperson. But maybe you won't notice it right away because you thrive in hot weather. Maybe you'll have suspicions that won't be confirmed until you check your vents and realize that they're blowing hot air. Either way, you should pay attention to the fact that your A/C needs some serious repair.

Incidentally, that example I gave about the friend telling the makeup-wearing woman that she looks like a clown was a true story. I don't wear makeup anymore, and I don't have that dysfunctional friendship anymore. Hopefully my intuition has been repaired. Hopefully my light bulbs turn on when they're supposed to now.

Regarding my spiritually abusive history, I've had a few delayed reactions that I'd like to share here.

1) A few years ago, I was in a church choir in which the director told us once during rehearsal, "If you have a microphone, and I point to you and say, 'prophesy,' you prophesy!"

My reaction then: Submission. Relief when I never had to prophesy for the director.

My reaction now: WHAT THE EFFING CRAP??? Excuse you, sir, but who died and made you the Holy Spirit? Last time I checked, He's the only One who is capable of moving upon me and causing me to prophesy. Yes, you were in spiritual authority over me, but that did not mean that you were in charge of just-add-water instant prophecy. What makes you think that anyone in our choir had ever prophesied before, and why are you such a prophecy control freak? I think now I understand a little bit better why you decided to move out of town. Perhaps God knew that you would be unhealthy for me and/or the rest of us in the choir. I hope you are doing well, and I hope you have allowed God to remind you that the Holy Spirit is the One who gives good gifts, not you.

2) For many years, I was in a church environment in which we allowed the Holy Spirit to move however He liked during worship services. That often meant that anyone around you, or even from across the auditorium, was permitted to completely interrupt your worship and pray for you or give you a word from the Lord during a song.

My reaction then: Oh, my friend is looking at me. I think that means she has a word from the Lord for me.

My reaction now: GROAN! Excuse you, but can you please mind your own business and not interrupt an intimate moment between me and God? No offense, but you're like a third wheel. OK, if you truly, genuinely feel that God is prompting you to pray for me and/or deliver a word from Him to me during the worship service, please go for it. But there's a strong chance that this phenomenon won't occur during every single worship service we have. Do you understand that you're creating a culture of anxiety where there's supposed to be an atmosphere of peace? Do you need to take How To Worship 101? Do you need to take a Worship Etiquette class? Unless it's totally God doing it, you probably shouldn't pressure yourself to constantly get words from God for people when they're supposed to be enjoying their time singing to Him. He's probably talking to them directly. Not every service is a presbytery. Do you understand what a relief it is to finally be in a church where I don't feel pressured to give people words from the Lord during worship services? Do you understand how liberating and peaceful it is to be able to worship God freely without any distractions?

3) For many, many years, I allowed other people to tell me how to spend my money, even after I started earning it for myself. One time, I got the third degree because I sent $20 to missionaries. I was told that I should have spent the money on myself instead. On another occasion, I naively told a friend that I took a cash advance for $10 on my credit card so that I could pay my rent. She told me it would bite me in the butt.

My reaction then: I am very confused on how to spend my money; should I give or be selfish? But I do know that debt is evil; therefore, I probably shouldn't tell my friend about the thousands of dollars that truly did bite me in the butt later.

My reaction now: Wow, was I green. And I'm glad I don't associate with those people anymore. I'm not saying that money shouldn't be spent wisely or that debt should be embraced; I'm saying that if you're an adult and somebody is micromanaging every dollar you spend, that's probably a red flag. I'll extend my reaction into the next two paragraphs.

Years ago, I was a member of a spiritually abusive church that guilt-tripped about debt and put poverty on a pedestal. Recently, I visited their website out of curiosity, and I surfed onto their merchandise page so I could check out their recent CDs. But before the site took me to the actual merchandise page, it took me to a warning page. I won't quote it exactly here, but here is my paraphrase of what it said: "We accept credit cards. However, we want you to live a debt-free lifestyle. Please don't buy any of our products with a credit card unless you have enough money in your bank account to cover the purchase."

After I read this, my blood boiled. I think publishing this statement on their warning page is hypocritical and controlling. Firstly, I think if they genuinely believed that debt is a stumbling block to people, then they wouldn't accept credit cards (which are basically instant debt anytime you swipe them) at all. It's just as easy to post a physical address to which a customer can mail a check or money order for merchandise as it is to post a warning page about credit cards. Secondly, I'm a grown woman with a full-time job; that means how I choose to spend my money (credit card or not) is none of this church's business. Sorry, but unless I live under your roof or you pay my rent, you have absolutely no place to tell me how to spend my money. Giving financial advice is one thing, but lecturing and controlling how I buy your merchandise is ridiculously crossing the line. Sometimes after I end unhealthy friendships or leave unhealthy environments, I wonder if I did the right thing -- could that person or that situation really have been that bad? For me, reading that warning page about debt and credit cards was confirmation: Oh, heck yes, I did the right thing.

I think one reason why I was so miserable in spiritually abusive environments was because, metaphorically speaking, I was a cat trying to live as a dog. There's nothing wrong with being a dog. Dogs are awesome. But I'm not a dog. If you keep telling me that I'm supposed to bark, whimper, and play tennis-ball fetch, of course I'm going to wonder if something is wrong with me if all I really want to do is meow, purr, and nap incessantly. What makes it abusive is if you try to make me be something that I'm not, especially if you guilt-trip me for failing at something that I was never created to succeed at. So, the light bulb took a while to finally switch on, but it's on now, and it's burning quite brightly: I'm a cat.

Speaking of, my cat decided to let me have my couch back, and he's enjoying evening nap #8912-B on another chair. My reaction: Ain't nothin' wrong with being a cat.

Tossed metaphors

One of my favorite movies from my childhood is a Sesame Street film called Follow That Bird. In one of the scenes, Maria and Oscar visit a grouch restaurant. Maria orders tossed salad. Unbeknownst to her, that means that she just ordered a salad that the chef will literally toss (with a catapult) to her table. Pretty soon, the entire restaurant orders tossed salad, and salad flies everywhere through the air. Throughout the scene, and at the end of the chaos, an irate customer (or maybe he's just a regular grouch) asks the waitress, "Where's my Jell-O??"

"The scepter of the wicked will not remain over the land allotted to the righteous, for then the righteous might use their hands to do evil." (Psalm 125:3, NIV)

I just finished fasting. I've written about fasting before, but I did something very different this time. To give you a bit of background information on why fasting is kind of a big deal to me, I will say that many years ago, I first learned about fasting in a spiritually abusive environment. Now that I'm nowhere near a spiritually abusive environment, God has been able to reteach me lots of spiritual things, including how to fast. Here's the key: Just listen to God and obey what He says to do or not to do. For example, last January, my entire church launched a 21-day fast. Here's how God told me to observe this particular fast: "I want you to fast from fasting." Huh? That meant that I wasn't to fast at all. In fact, I had to stop doing a devotional that the entire church was participating in (and I'll finish it later), and I didn't attend the entire conference that my church had been hosting. At the time, I was walking through some extremely scary emotional things and enduring some excruciatingly excruciating emotional pain. So, God my Father let me cry on His shoulder while I got to eat comfort food. Believe it or not, that was a difficult fast. (You didn't hear my soul scream when I had to drive past my church and skip the end-of-fast celebration service, because I really wanted to be there.) Obeying when Somebody says "no" can be a difficult thing, even when the most loving Father in the universe says "no."

Around that time, God told me, "You're going to do a salad fast for the first two weeks of June." I was like, "Yay! I get to eat salads!" Later He clarified, "No, all you can eat is salads" and "You can drink whatever you want." So, for two weeks (3 meals per day for 15 days), all I ate was salads (and I rekindled my love affair with sodas). I learned a lot of things, and I'd like to share some of them here with you. So, this post will more than likely be long and rambling. But I hope reading it will be worth your while.

I'm a kinesthetic learner. That means that I learn by doing. Visuals help me, and audio helps me. However, no matter how long you lecture at me, I probably won't understand what you're trying to teach me until I roll up my sleeves and try it myself. For me to learn something new, repetition is usually essential, and trial-and-error is required. After I learn how to do something kinesthetically, it will probably be engraved in my brain for life. God knows I learn this way. So, when He wants to teach me something new, He often does it kinesthetically, i.e., through trials or through something symbolic like a fast.

When I would fast in a spiritually abusive environment (which was often, because eating a gorgeously huge meal was evil when there are people starving in Asia), there were a lot of fear-based rules and plenty of guilt trips attached to the fast. And there were very few options: The only fasting types available were water fasts, juice fasts, and Daniel fasts (eating only fruits and vegetables). Many years ago, I remember complaining to my spiritually abusive mentor about how fasting while working in the outdoor heat at my labor-intensive job was so hard. The extent of her sympathy for my hunger was telling me to just cry out to God. Thanks. I'm glad you understand what it's like to lug half a ton of merchandise on a dolly in the blazing hot sun with only a tummy full of juice and a headache.

Anyway, now that I'm away from that graceless deathtrap, I've been more freed up to hear God for myself on how to fast (especially now that I'm in a church that strongly encourages me to hear God for myself and to obey Him). So, knowing that I'm a kinesthetic learner, God put me on this recent salad fast to teach me some symbolic things.

I wasn't fasting for the sake of weight loss (in fact, I just now weighed myself, and I didn't lose any weight at all). I felt my body go into a fasting metabolism right away, so it didn't seem peaceable to exercise. Technically, it would have been cheaper to simply buy fresh vegetables, etc., and make all the salads myself. But God showed me that this fast was about portion control. All the salads I ate were prepackaged and purchased at various delis (except for a couple of nacho salads from Rosa's, which God insisted were OK on my Sabbaths, and over which He and I enjoyed very nice Father-daughter bonding time). I became fairly acquainted with the delis at Target, Kroger, and Tom Thumb.

My fasting during this particular point in time was not an accident. I understand now that in some areas of my life, I'm in a promised land; in other areas of my life, I'm still in a wilderness. I've been wrestling with extremely baffling questions, extremely important decisions, and extremely terrifying oppression. I used to think that Isaiah 58 only said that fasting means that hungry people can eat your food (verse 7). That is definitely true, although this particular fast was a private one for me. I also discovered that Isaiah 58 also says that fasting means that your bondages will be broken (verse 6). During this salad fast, I had extremely intense days (as you can see in my previous blog post, which I wrote when I was drunk with grief). Chaos was flying around me everywhere like tossed salad that had been launched from a catapult at a grouch restaurant. And yet, they were the most orderly 15 days of my life thus far.

Here are some specific things I learned from eating only salad for two weeks.

Man doesn't live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God (Matthew 4:4), and that food usually needs to be fresh. Some food is designed to be preserved so that it can last for a very long time. Maybe you're out in the wilderness, and you're in a very dry season, and you're only going on something that God spoke a very long time ago. That's definitely OK. I have bologna in my fridge that needs to keep for a very long time. It probably isn't the healthiest way for me to eat, but it's food, it's paid for, and it will fill my belly until the next meal. If that's the only food you have, that's what will work. You won't starve. You'll be OK. But there are other times when you must eat fresh food. My salad fast was one of them. I was eating prepackaged perishable food for each meal, which forced me to go to the store much more frequently than I'm used to going. I had to so that I could survive.

I used to criticize preachers who would only preach about really old testimonies ("God healed me from a disease back in the 80s") until I finally started hearing myself do it ("God healed me from depression back in the early 2000s"). Back in January when I was wrestling with intense things that I never thought I'd wrestle with again (which I blogged about), God told me, "I'm tweaking your testimony." Yes, anytime God does something, it's a testimony, and it's something that people could benefit from hearing about, whether it happened 60 years ago or whether it happened 2 minutes ago. But sometimes you need to eat fresh food. I remember many years ago, a favorite lifegroup icebreaker was, "Let's go around the room and talk about one time when you really felt the presence of God." People would usually answer something like, "I almost had a really bad car accident, but I was miraculously rescued from it, and that's when God's presence was strong." There's definitely nothing wrong with that (in fact, that's awesome), but God isn't just a Rescuer, and He doesn't want to be distant. He's a Person who wants to be near all the time. He wants people to experience His presence constantly. Maybe it's different with me because I'm so clingy, but I have to know where He is constantly (in my living room, in my kitchen, in my shower, in my car, at my work cubicle), or I'll freak out.

It's important to pay attention to what you're eating. I already knew this, but it was interesting to see this kinesthetic-learning example in my salads. Before I put something in my mouth, I needed to examine it, at least with a brief glance. Otherwise, I could have eaten something questionable. Some of the salads had been sitting at the deli for a day or two, and some of the lettuce at the bottom especially had already gone bad.

Perhaps I'm extra sensitive to this because I spent so many years in spiritually abusive environments without realizing they were abusive, or perhaps I'm a teensy bit on the rebellious side and need to relearn how to submit to authority. Or perhaps it's a little of both. But I still think it's important to question whatever is put in front of you before you gulp it all down. 1 John 4:1 says to test the spirits. In Matthew 7:15-20, Jesus said to consider the fruit that somebody bears. If somebody puts a plate of food in front of you, why shouldn't you check it for spoilage? I'm not saying that if you disagree with what the pastor is saying, you should stand up in the middle of his sermon and interrupt him. (That would be extremely inappropriate. In fact, I saw a pastor once openly rebuke a guy for doing that. That particular case was crazy because the guy turned out to be a disturbed person who supposedly heard God tell him to travel from South America to our church to tell us everything we were doing wrong. Uh, no.) I'm saying that just because a pastor is famous or has written bestselling books, that doesn't mean that you must believe everything that comes out of their mouths. That means if you see lettuce that's wilted and turning black, don't eat it. Look for the fresh bits and eat those instead.

If something smells funny, you don't have to eat it. I like bleu cheese dressing, but nowadays the bleu cheese chunks that they serve in salads just seem questionably weird to me. (Just a personal preference.) Several years ago when I was looking for a church, I visited one that only had about 8 people in attendance, even though they met in a place that had about 50 chairs set up. The pastor began the service with the sermon, and then he ended it with worship music. But in between songs, he inserted some pretty bitter-sounding comments about people who had left his church. Wow, that bleu cheese on black lettuce didn't look or smell good at all. At the very end of the service, I couldn't leave fast enough, and I didn't return.

Surprises await you in every salad. Ripping off the movie Forrest Gump: In your life-is-like-a-box-of-chocolates salad, you never know what you're gonna get. At the beginning of this post, I shared a photo of one of the salads I bought from the Kroger deli. Incidentally, this is where I found the smallest/cheapest meals of my fast. Their chef salad was particularly delightful. I didn't know they put celery and green onions in their chef salads. And speaking of chef salads, I didn't realize how many different ideas people have of what a chef salad is supposed to contain. Apparently, the chefs at the Walmart deli didn't get the memo that a chef salad usually has a hard-boiled egg in it.

When I was 10 years old and I accepted Jesus, I didn't know what I was getting into. I just thought I was going to avoid going to hell. And that's true. But there's so much more. I became God's daughter. I became His friend. I became the righteousness of God in Christ. And He also threw in some goodies. He gave me gifts such as shepherding, creativity, and martyrdom. I'm on the front lines. I'm a spiritual firstborn; that means I go first, I bear the brunt of the warfare, and then I report back and show people how to duck when the blows come. God gave me dreams. Over the past year or so, He's gradually unwrapped a new dream for me to swallow. For those of you who have been kind enough to read this far, I'll unwrap a pearl for you that I haven't shared with very many people yet. My new dream is to become a worship pastor (in other words, a minister who is in charge of music at a church). This is a dream that God has wanted for me; this wasn't my idea. But the more I chew on it and enjoy its savoriness, the more I understand it and the more I like it, and the more it makes sense that I've been given the particular mix of goodies that I've been given.

God has been toughening me up because He has a tough job for me to do. Simultaneously, God has been softening me up because, well, have you ever read the Psalms in the Bible? Those psalmists endured some major stuff. I'm particularly thinking about Psalms 38, 88, 142, and 143. I think experiencing the full gamut of emotions, as painful as they can be, will make me a better songwriter. And I don't know exactly how long it will take for me to prepare for or to realize this new dream, but so many of my metaphorical salad ingredients make better sense to me now. I'm a worship shepherd. That's where a huge part of my anointing is. No matter how tired I am, no matter how badly my feet hurt, no matter how hungry I am -- as soon as I step onto the worship platform, or as soon as I put on my guitar and start strumming, I'll use my Levite-clinginess to find my Father, and I'll help lead you to His presence. For me, that mysterious phenomenon is particularly delightful. And speaking of Kroger...

Life is a lot like Kroger. I like Kroger, I don't usually shop at Kroger, I don't have anything against Kroger... but it's just organized so weirdly. Whose idea was it to put that grocery store together? Regardless of which Kroger I happen to shop at, I can never find anything there. OK, so I'm looking for the juice, which isn't anywhere near the juice boxes, which happen to be next to the sodas, which aren't anywhere near the chips? And I'm looking for bread, and -- no, wait, this is organic bread. I wasn't looking for organic bread. I didn't realize this particular Kroger had an entire organic section. Is that why a bottle of apple cider vinegar costs $5? Now in order for me to get to the frozen TV dinners, I have to pass the school supplies and the shampoo? I'm sorry, but this entire store just doesn't make any sense.

But God knows where everything is. The Holy Spirit is my guide who can help me make sense of life and all of its weird organization. He's right beside me telling me which way to turn, left or right, and He's showing me where I can find a regular bottle of apple cider vinegar for only 99 cents. In the end, His way makes sense. Pun intended.

Eating only salads can get expensive and time-consuming. I'm not sure why the tiny little chicken salad costs the same as the larger cobb salad at the snack/lunch system at my work, but whateva. I was glad to have the fresh food I needed readily available. At breakfast, it's always faster to simply dump some cereal into a bowl, gobble it down, and get on with my day. But unwrapping and chugging down a salad for breakfast took longer in the mornings.

Frankly, it got old after awhile. One week into my salad fast, I told God that I was tired of eating salads. I had lost my appetite. Then He gave me a nifty new definition. He said that depression is losing your appetite for life. I like God. He's deep.

Jesus wasn't kidding when He said that following Him would be expensive (Matthew 16:24-26). Walking with Him has cost me my entire life, including some parts of my life that I didn't think I would ever lose: friends, family, dreams, desires, etc. And He can be very time-consuming: Bible, prayer, worship with music, etc. And yet, I'm glad I decided to follow Him, because I get HIM in return. He gave me new friends, family, dreams, desires, etc. And it can be very easy to lose all track of time when I read the Bible, pray, worship on my guitar or keyboard, etc. I like Him. He's mine.

Knowing that each prepackaged salad was the only food I was going to get for that meal -- and that that was all I was going to get until the next meal -- well, that was usually all the motivation I needed to gulp it down. Sure, I was tempted to break apart chocolate-chip cookies and sprinkle them over my salads, and I was craving burgers and fries, and I had to endure the beautiful aroma of microwave popcorn that a few coworkers allowed to waft into my cubicle a couple of times. But I knew that the fast would end, even after 2 long weeks, and I knew that God was watching me. I got to experience firsthand that He's my refuge and strength, an ever-present help in trouble, just like Psalm 46:1 says. He will never disappoint me. No matter how many people may come and go in my life, He'll stay, and I'll always have Him. And speaking of temptation...

Not every temptation I have is my fault. I think Jesus demonstrated this pretty well in Matthew 4 when He was tempted by the devil. Jesus was fasting in the wilderness. He went out there because the Holy Spirit led Him out there. From what I understand, He didn't neglect to wear His armor, and He didn't do anything that would have opened the door for the devil, and He simply didn't do anything wrong, because He's Jesus. He's perfect. He didn't do or think anything wrong, period. He was tempted probably because He existed as a human being. The devil tempted Him probably because he's the devil, and because he hates Him, and that's what the devil does.

I don't mean to keep picking on the spiritually abusive mentor that I mentioned previously in this post. I just keep having these delayed WTF reactions. Many years ago, I confessed a sin to her. If I remember correctly, before I cried into her lap, she snapped her fingers and asked me what I had done to invite the temptation to sin: "Movies? Music?" It was neither, but I was devastated, and I didn't want my sin to infect the people in my life. After the fact, I'm not cool with her lack of sympathy, again. Also after the fact, now I understand that technically, I wasn't even sinning. But remembering how she treated me helps me learn something interesting about God: He is NOT a hard man (see Matthew 25:24). He won't set a zillion rules that are impossible for human beings to follow without help and then neglect to help you, to the point where you're so paranoid about sinning that you condemn yourself even when you're NOT sinning. He won't snap His fingers at you when you're confessing your secret sins to Him on the verge of tears. He won't hire you to do thousands of jobs nonstop and then say, "Yes, you're supposed to do all of these backbreaking tasks out of rest." Nope. Going back to Isaiah 58, in verses 13 and 14, He insists that I enjoy my Sabbath. He requires that I rest. He understands that I'm a human being who has limitations, and yet He has no limitations Himself. And speaking of paradoxes...

There are no easy answers. This is something I already knew, but this is something that God kept pounding into my heart and brain during my salad fast. Technically, the Bible is an easy answer. I believe that the Bible is 100% true and that everything in there is an answer. However, the Bible isn't always easy to understand. Technically, Jesus is an easy answer. I believe that He is 100% real and that He is the only way to be reconciled to Father God. However, I don't think the sacrifice He made to make our reconciliation possible was an easy sacrifice.

I think I finally solidified inside me one of the paradoxes in God's Kingdom. Yes, it is true that God is all I need. Simultaneously, yes, it is also true that God wants me to be in community and fellowship with other believers and for all of us to interdepend on one another in a healthy way. This has been an excruciatingly difficult thing for me to wrestle with. Yes, God meets all my needs... and yet I still need other people to pray for me. Yes, two are better than one (Ecclesiastes 4), and God said it wasn't good for man to be alone (Genesis 2)... and yet God Himself is the Perfect Friend for me to hang out with. I am alone... and yet I am not alone. It doesn't make sense. And yet it makes sense.

Speaking of loneliness, the advice I'm constantly given is to just reach out to people. And yet there is no guarantee that people will be available to hang out with me, that they'll reach back, or that they'll even want me to pursue them at all. This is frustrating and flabbergasting to me. And yet I'm pretty sure this is something that I'll wrestle with for the rest of my life, at least to a degree. I think this is worth wrestling with. And I have the Perfect Friend to hang out with me during the entire process.

Some things are rocket science, and other things are just common sense. Duh. I think I already knew that, but I'm glad God remembers that I need repetition during my kinesthetic learning. For instance, take Freedom ministry, which would say that if I hurt, it's because something happened during which I believed a lie, and healing will happen when that lie is exposed and God replaces it with His truth. I think that's a rocket-science process. But common sense would say that if I hurt extra hard anytime I'm rejected, insulted, or ignored by an effeminate guy, that's probably because I was raised by an effeminate guy. Duh. No exploratory surgery necessary. I just need to make an appointment with God my Electrician to rewire me.

Speaking of rejection, if I'm lonely and trying to figure out who to reach out to, I probably shouldn't go to the people who have repeatedly rejected, insulted, or ignored me. I should probably go directly to the people who have consistently accepted me and shown interest in me. Rocket science will probably dissect each piece of fruit and tell you why your friendship garden is shriveling up and dying. But common sense would probably tell you that the other party in your friendship garden simply isn't doing their share of the watering. And every garden is different.

So, that's the bulk of what I learned during my salad fast. It wasn't a diet. It was obedience. It was bonding with my Father. And it was a mysterious way of kicking the devil's scepter out of my land, so to speak (as Psalm 125:3 says), because his reign isn't welcome here on my turf. I'm God's turf now. He's taking back what's His. And I appreciate you reading about it.

And He and I have been making new memories together, like a Father and daughter should. Sometimes, these fun memories involve nacho salad. Other times, they involve an emotional breakdown where I'm scrambling for words to pray, and He simply tells me, "I don't want a dissertation. I just want your tears." And I leak my face onto His shoulder, because that's what the Great Shepherd is supposed to do -- He comforts. He has a rod and a staff, like Psalm 23 says, and He uses them to bring me back to where I need to be, and He makes me lie down in green pastures, and He leads me beside the still waters. And He also insisted that I break my fast with doughnuts.

"Where's my Jell-O??"

Raw singlehood

This post is rated: R for raw. R for ridiculous. R for really?

This post won't be pretty at all. Have you seen any of those Facebook photos where news channels will post a snapshot of a traffic accident or a mugshot? It's kind of like a disaster in real time. I think they post those kinds of things so that people will be aware of what's going on and also so that people can learn from the situations. I don't have a Facebook photo to offer you this evening, but I do have some real-time stuff to offer you.

In one of their songs, Five Iron Frenzy says that God wastes nothing. I think Romans 8:28 confirms this -- God works together all things for good to those who love God (i.e., me) and who are called according to His purpose (i.e., me again). I'm typing this with eyes that are puffy from intermittent crying that occurred throughout the evening. I don't usually write when I'm this upset or angry. (I usually try to calm down a bit, honest.) But for some reason, I really think God wants me to write about this now, while it's fresh on my mind and while I'm drunk with grief, perhaps because somebody needs to read this, perhaps to at least understand my perspective while it's still raw.

I think it is possible to be drunk with grief, so to speak. In 1 Samuel 1, Hannah was ridiculously crazy with emotional pain because she was barren. She had been unable to conceive a child. The Bible says that she was bitter and in anguish. Eli the priest saw her praying and thought she was drunk. She clarified to him, basically, that she was just hurting and pouring her heart out to God. I think Proverbs 13:12 would say that Hannah's heart was sick because her hope was deferred. She had wanted a child so badly, but she hadn't gotten it yet, and I guess her heart had gotten sick in the process.

So, this evening I discovered that my heart was sick in a specific area. I haven't had a date in 19 years. I'm not asking for pity. I would just like you to try to wrap your brain around this concept and understand why platitudes I've been fed and easy answers I've been offered make me want to throw something. OK, 19 years dateless. What can happen in 19 years? That's almost 2 decades. A person could be born, grow up, graduate from high school, and begin college in 19 years' time. About 3 or 4 brand-new cars could be paid off over the course of 19 years. Several children could have been born in 19 years. Are you grasping the vastness of this time frame? OK. So, you understand that this is a ridiculously long time.

I heard an elder at my church say once that singlehood was a type of barrenness. In other words, me not being able to find or attract a husband in 19 years might be comparable to a married couple not being able to conceive a child in 19 years. So, please indulge me with this comparison that I'm about to compose. Let me know if you share my desire to throw something at the end of this comparison. I will create 3 fiction characters: the married couple George and Mary, and their well-intentioned churchgoing friend Annie.

ANNIE: (carrying her toddler in her arms) Hello, there, you two! How's it going?

GEORGE: (smiling with his arm around Mary) Oh, can't complain.
MARY: Doing pretty good. How are you, Annie?
ANNIE: (toddler begins to fuss) Oh, just busy, busy, busy. Children are so much work.
GEORGE: (smile begins to fall) Yes, that's what I hear.
MARY: How old is he now?
ANNIE: Fourteen months. And his older brothers are six and, uh… three, I think. (giggles) Look at me! I can't even remember my own kids' ages.
GEORGE: (chuckles nervously and takes thoughts captive regarding Annie's competence as a mother) So, how is your husband Jack doing?
MARY: (picks up on George's cue for changing the subject) I heard he just started a new job.
ANNIE: (chortles) Oh, he's just as lazy as ever. The only thing I can ever count on him to get off his butt to do is… (hesitates nervously and looks at her toddler) That reminds me. We found out we're expecting again. (sighs frustratedly)
GEORGE: (clears throat and fights the temptation to respond sarcastically with "Oh, that's terrible") Wow. Congratulations.
MARY: (smiling) Yeah! That's great!
ANNIE: (rolls eyes) Thank you. I can't believe I have to do this all over again. I mean, I haven't even lost all that weight I gained from this last one. (jiggles fussing toddler)
MARY: (scrambling to find something sympathetic to say) Yeah. I bet that's a lot of work.
ANNIE: (smiling) So, have you two finally conceived?
MARY: (blushes and looks down at belly; wonders if she's gotten chubby enough to look pregnant) Uh… no.
GEORGE: Not yet. (scrambles to change the subject; tousles Annie's toddler's hair) Hey, there, little guy! Did you like Sunday School today?
ANNIE: Are you sure you haven't conceived yet? (points at Mary's belly with a sing-songy tone) I thought I saw a little bummmp…
MARY: (impatiently groans) Really?
GEORGE: (gently squeezes Mary's shoulder) Um, no, we're 100% sure that we haven't conceived yet.
ANNIE: (smiling) Are you sure?
MARY: (as gently as she can) Yes, of course I'm sure. I took a pregnancy test again this morning. And, just like it's been every week since we've been married--
GEORGE: That's 52 times 19.
MARY: Yes, thank you, dear. It's still negative.
ANNIE: Oh. That's too bad. Have you visited the fertility clinic?
GEORGE: (groans) Yes. We've gone four times. Still nothing. I'm shooting blanks.
ANNIE: And I have duds.
GEORGE: But we're still trying. We're still believing that God is all who He says He is--
MARY: (slowly in the hopes that Annie will take the hint) And we don't usually like to talk about it.
ANNIE: (to George) Have you switched to boxers?
MARY: OK, that's way too personal.
ANNIE: Sorry. I'm just trying to help. (smiling) What about you? Have you been showing him enough skin?
GEORGE: (quietly) Do you usually talk about this kind of stuff around your kids?
ANNIE: (ignores her fussing toddler) Come on, Mary. Give your husband a lap dance every once in a while. I mean, if you're going to conceive, you're going to have to put yourself in a--
MARY: Heh. Thank you for the lively conversation. Now, if you'll excuse us, we must walk away now.
GEORGE: (smiles and waves at Annie and her toddler) Bye-bye!
ANNIE: Wait! Have you two tried online adoption agencies? Come on! If you're going to trust God, you gotta give Him something to work with!
MARY: (stops in her tracks, turns around) All right, listen here, missy.
GEORGE: (quietly) Honey, go easy on her. She doesn't get it.
MARY: (sighs, to Annie) Thank you for your suggestion. However, what my husband and I long for isn't just to have a child.
ANNIE: (jiggles her fussing toddler) They really are a lot of work. And Mother's Day isn't all it's cracked up to be.
MARY: What my husband and I have been longing for is to conceive a child on our own. We want to have a child that has our DNA and who looks just like us.
ANNIE: I know just what you mean. Jack and I waited six whole months to conceive after we got married. The suspense was torture. (gasps in realization) You know what you need to do? You need to pray!
GEORGE: (gives in to temptation to respond sarcastically) Pray? Huh. We've never thought of that.
ANNIE: Name it and claim it! Let me pray for you right now. (closes eyes) In the name of Jesus, Lord, I declare that You are faithful, that You are powerful, and that You want Your children to be fruitful and multiply. Father, I ask that my friends George and Mary would conceive tonight. I declare that his seed would--
MARY: (covers ears, whispers) OK, that's still way too personal.
GEORGE: (blushes) Um, yes, Lord.
MARY: (uncovers ears) Um, thank You, Lord.
ANNIE: I declare, Lord, that You are the Solver of all of our problems! Amen!
MARY: Amen. (to George) Let's get out of here.
ANNIE: (opens eyes and smiles like a teenager) OK, you two. Let me know how it goes.
GEORGE: (smiles to Annie but talks to Mary under his breath) I kinda feel violated.
MARY: (to George, under her breath) I'm sorry, darling.
GEORGE: (walks away with his arm still around Mary) Just so you know, you are worth five million babies, at least. Children or no children, I'm glad I married you.
MARY: (whispers with a tear rolling down her cheek) You are not a piece of meat. You are not a reproduction machine. You are a human being with a heart, a brain, and a future. We have a wonderful life together, no matter what anyone else says.

Reader, I hope reading that didn't violate your eyeballs. I'm just trying to be descriptive. "Hey, Tirzah, are you dating anybody yet?" "No. Have you had any additional children since the last time I saw you?" I mean, really. Please stop and think before you ask such questions. Use a little bit of common sense. If Tirzah doesn't have a ring on her finger, the answer is probably no. If Tirzah doesn't have a lovesick-looking suitor holding her hand, the answer is probably no. If Tirzah doesn't wallpaper her Facebook timeline with boyfriend photos, the answer is probably no.

The answer has been no for 19 long years. I used to think that the datelessness didn't bother me anymore, but I guess something clicked tonight, the numbness gave way to a more normal flow of emotions, and the waterworks exploded all over again. Sigh. I feel better now that I've typed all that out, and I hope this opinion-explosion has been helpful information for you.

I have an awesome relationship with God that means more to me than anything else on this planet. Yes, He's pruned me down to the nub, to the point where I feel like I have nothing to lose after posting this kind of stuff and launching it into cyberspace. I do not wish to manipulate life-situations like I used to so that I can diffuse the pain. I wish to continue hoping, even if it means that I remain unintentionally single to the grave. I wish to be treated like a human being who has more to offer in this life than unused sexuality. I wish to learn how to tactfully change the subject like a civilized human being anytime the conversation makes me want to throw something.

Have I told you lately about my cats?

Mountains and burns

This is a picture of my cat hunting and endeavoring to devour my camera strap. The photo itself is quite blurry and vague, but you can tell that something is happening. Isn't her striped furriness adorable? Awww.

"The mountains will bring peace to the people, and the little hills, by righteousness. He will bring justice to the poor of the people; He will save the children of the needy, and will break in pieces the oppressor." (Psalm 72:3-4)

And on this episode of Tirzah's Double Ewe Tee Eff Journey to Emotional Healing, we'll talk about… drumroll… cymbals clang… third-degree burns!

A little over a year ago, I blogged about my own experience with a second-degree burn, and I compared it to emotional healing. I understand that physical healing isn't 100% identical to emotional healing, but I still find it uncanny that it's pretty darn similar. The disclaimer to this post, of course, is that I'm not an ordained minister. I'm not a licensed counselor. I'm not a theologian. I'm a writer who finds it quite therapeutic to blog about what she's learned, and I'm a concerned sister in Christ who's very aware that people can experience pain that's very similar to mine. So, please DON'T try this at home. Please simply let me show you my scars and tell you about them while I'm waiting for them to heal. Some of them have closed up and healed quite nicely, and you can barely tell that they were ever there. But the ones that still have lots of scar tissue underneath or that might still be stinky with infection… I invite you to take a whiff, especially if doing so will help you avoid getting burned yourself. Ewww. I hope that made sense.

About 31 years ago, my family befriended a guy at church whom I'll call Maurice. He was a nice guy, and he was single. On at least one occasion, my family enjoyed a Sunday lunch with him, and he took a nap at our house. (I remember this because he napped in my bed once, and I accidentally woke him up when I opened the door to my room and didn't know he was in there. Why am I writing about this? Is it because waking somebody up was a capital offense at my house, or am I just a rambling storyteller? Hmm. Probably the latter. Have I told you lately about my cats? Tirzah, focus!)

Maurice had an industrial job at a plant or a factory. One day on the job, he was involved in a terrible accident that gave him third-degree burns on his arms. I was a little girl when this occurred, so I will now tell you about his physical healing as the details were told to me, if I remember them correctly. His accident was painful and excruciating, yes. But his healing process was beyond torture. While he was in the hospital, a nurse would enter his room on a regular basis and scrub his raw, third-degree-burned arms. She wasn't trying to hurt him with her large bristle brushes and swift movements. She was just trying to keep his wounds clean, probably so he would avoid infection. But it would hurt like heck, so he would scream during the cleanings. I barely knew Maurice, but he really was a nice guy, and it hurt just hearing about his torturous healing process. This occurred back in the early-to-mid 80s, so I'm hoping technology has helped ease these primitive-sounding procedures. But perhaps the basic principle is still the same: While a deep burn is healing, it must be cleansed, and the process will greatly sting. I also heard that sometime after he completed his burn treatment, he got married and lived happily ever after. So, I think he's OK, even after his traumatic ordeal.

"The mountains melt like wax at the presence of the Lord, at the presence of the Lord of the whole earth." (Psalm 97:5)

I will now switch gears and talk about emotional healing. About 3 years ago, my church launched a series of messages called Summer of Freedom, and I thought I should attend because it would be a good refresher course (on things like forgiveness, rejection, shame, etc.). Heh, heh, heh. Little did I know that that would launch Tirzah's Double Ewe Tee Eff Journey to Emotional Healing. Little did I know that God my Surgeon would be like, "Hey, you know what? The last time you went under the knife, catastrophe occurred. You can't feel it because you've gotten used to it, but somebody left some junk inside you before they sewed you back up, and now I need to go in there and clean it out. You won't believe what I found in the X-ray. You've got surgical instruments, a wristwatch, a cellphone, a time bomb, and sponges galore. No time to wait for the anesthesia to take effect. We gotta operate, stat." (Tirzah, you're rambling again. Focus!)

A few short months after the Summer of Freedom, I was at a cubicle and trying to concentrate on my work, and I was in the process of separating myself from a couple of friends. The pain hit me rather hard, as I wasn't really used to feeling pain yet, and I was failing to maintain my composure. The tears came, and I was talking to God and trying to figure out what was going on, and from what I can remember, He said, "This isn't a papercut. This is a third-degree burn, and you need skin grafts." I learned that sometimes when God prunes people out of your life, sometimes He replaces them with new people (skin grafts, so to speak). Anyway, that's one example of how emotional healing can be like a third-degree burn. Sometimes healing happens with other people.

But I think the majority of my healing -- during this Double Ewe Tee Eff leg -- has occurred with just me and God. He needs to keep my wounds clean during the healing process, and there's no real shortcut to it. It's just God coming at me with His large bristle brushes, and He scrubs at the rawness while I scream. Perhaps it's a good thing that this is often a private process, because God is vigorous with His scrubbing, because He loves me excruciatingly and insists on my avoiding infections. Sometimes healing happens in community, and other times I would rather the community not hear me screaming.

Lately, God has been reminding me that there aren't always easy answers. Is Jesus my Healer? Yes, of course He is; He's actually the entire reason why this whole process has been happening. Is the Holy Spirit my Counselor? Yes, of course He is; He's the One with the giant flashlight that illuminates the places where the Surgeon needs to operate. Does God my Heavenly Father care about me? If so, why doesn't He spare me this excruciating emotional process? Well, let me tell you a little bit about Him, and let me tell you a little bit about me.

I've heard of miraculous instantaneous emotional healings happening -- zap, and God healed this person's memory. Kapow, and this other person no longer deals with this issue. Alacazam, and this other person is healed and ready to conquer the world. But from what I understand, my emotional healing has been happening slowly but surely because of ME, and because it's supposed to be that way. Recently, God told me that I'm a woman of process, so my healing has been happening in the process. I'm a shepherd. That means I hang out with sheep and get to know them -- this comes in handy when I'm using a rod or a staff to move them in a certain direction or sniffing out a wolf or a bear that's about to attack them. In the body of Christ, I'm not a temporary friend. I'm a permanent fixture. I'm in it for the long haul. I'm usually extremely loyal, often to a fault. I've noticed that I stink at praying for people at church because I'm usually not satisfied with a one-time prayer event. I keep wondering how the person is doing afterwards, and I'll keep praying for them, and it's actually torture because I won't know how to find them or get in touch with them. But that's who I am -- I'm a woman of process. I value the process. I want to walk with people through their processes (with healthy boundaries, of course). I'm built for follow-up. I'm extremely relational. I don't really know how to function outside the context of relationship.

So, most of the ways I've been hurt is through relationships, or lack thereof. The enemy has perverted the way I relate to people by throwing things into my life like codependence, controlling Jezebel, rejection, abandonment, loneliness, etc. So, God taking His sweet time and healing me up by walking me through my healing process -- even if He's cleanse-scraping my third-degree burns in slow-motion and I'm deep-screaming like a baritone -- is a tailor-made process for me. Yes, I've completely effed up parts of this delicate process by doing effing foolish things like disobeying, etc., along the road. But Tirzah's journey has been a long process, and Tirzah has been getting to know her Creator during the process, and He's been fixing the way she relates to people and accepts new skin grafts.

For example, God's silence can sometimes be a scary thing. People sometimes freak out when they can't hear God or when He isn't chit-chatting with them constantly. But for ME, God has shown me that His silence can be healing. To ME, God isn't a narcissistic chatterbox of a Father who prattles on without stopping for breath. Sometimes God is like a rambling storyteller who has all kinds of information about my past, my present, and my future. But other times, God is the most patient Listener in the universe who doesn't give up on me during my long episodes of pensiveness. The way God designed ME, I need lots of time to think. Sometimes God stays quiet so that I can think. He likes to hear me think. I like to hear me think. I think. Wait. Time to shepherd myself again. Tirzah, focus!

Sometimes, healing happens miraculously and instantaneously -- fire comes down from heaven and devours the sacrifice. But other times, the mountain needs time to melt like wax in God's presence. It might be a long wait, but it will certainly be worth the wait. Maybe God wants to keep the mountain around for a while before He moves it away completely. The verse from Psalm 72 that I quoted at the beginning of this post says that the mountains bring peace. I believe the NIV says that the mountains bring prosperity. Sometimes when I read that, I think about how the issues we deal with in our lives ("mountains") can become like weapons that we can use later. Like if a huge relationship wound stares at you in the face and makes you cry while you're at your work cubicle, and God brings you through it and you bond with Him relationally during the excruciatingly long process, you can remember the mountain later. Maybe if a friend comes to you for advice later, you can say, "Hey, I remember that mountain. It took forever to melt. But it's gone now." Maybe that's one way the mountain can bring peace -- knowing that God my Mountain-Melter is in the process of taking care of it and getting rid of it… because He's an extremely good Father who takes care of me. Sometimes the process seems very vague, but there's plenty of evidence that change is occurring. I hope that made sense.

Well, my little camera-strap huntress is perching contentedly nearby, and my little orange mountain is napping elsewhere in the vicinity. They're adorable little permanent fixtures. Awww.