With apologies to The Beatles

Recently, I was satisfying my curiosity about The Beatles by doing lots of research about them and their music. (I'm more of a Monkees fan.) I took a somewhat music-nerdy approach to this process because I didn't grow up in a house where The Beatles were listened to or liked. (I think that whole "We're more popular than Jesus" remark hit a perpetually sour note for the non-hippies who raised me.) I grew up in a house where extremely easy listening music, classical music, and hymns were enjoyed and performed. But throughout my 37 years, I've discovered that The Beatles are ubiquitous in American pop culture. Their music is everywhere. I didn't officially listen to The Beatles when I was a kid, but I did listen to people covering their songs, from the theme to The Wonder Years to Elton John's version of "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds" to a major chunk of The Carpenters' repertoire.

And during my research, I found out some very interesting things, like how each of The Beatles sought different religions, and about how I have to be careful which of their songs I listen to, or I'll accidentally sing along with a meditation mantra. (I hope I don't offend you if you're into that sort of thing; it's just that I belong completely, indubitably, eternally to Jesus Christ. He's jealous for me, and He's uncool with me summoning any other gods. And so am I.) After so much hype, I was a little bit disappointed to hear some of their original studio-recorded songs, because in my opinion, The Beatles sounded pretty gritty and sloppy in the studio. Maybe it was all the drugs. But that's just my opinion; I realize that billions of fans worldwide probably disagree with me. And I'm OK with that.

But I think almost everyone reading this can agree with the fact that The Beatles were definitely one of the most -- if not THE most -- influential bands in the history of recorded music. Lennon and McCartney's songs had intoxicating melodies that were skillfully woven together in unforgettable ways. Maybe Elton John's funky-groovy version of "Lucy" just spoiled me, or maybe Richard Carpenter's excruciatingly beautiful arrangement of "Ticket to Ride" appeals to me more, but I think even the covers of The Beatles' songs do the tunes a tremendous justice. I've discovered that if I'm going to be involved with music in any form or fashion in my future, I need to respect The Beatles. They truly had a talent and a knack for music. Their melodies are uncannily profound. I think they're a wonderful example of how wildly and effectively music can impact an entire culture for generations on end.

The only Beatles song that I personally, truly like -- their original, not a cover -- is "Hey Jude," the 1968 song that only lasts for about 3 minutes and has a 4-minute selah tagged at the end. From what I understand, Paul McCartney wrote this song to comfort John Lennon's son Julian during his parents' divorce. Even amidst the recording's wild shouting and embedded profanity, the song is built on a basic, sweet foundation: comforting a child.

I will now transition to the second half of this post by quoting a Beatles song in a cheesy way: If you have rotting teeth of wisdom, don't let them be.

Perhaps you remember me blogging previously about my new adventures at the dentist office or about my absurdly high tolerance for mouth pain. Or perhaps I simply inherited my late grandmother's extreme stubbornness. She wore clip-on earrings because, according to her, if God had wanted her to have holes in her ears, He would have given them to her. I sort of felt the same way about my wisdom teeth: if God gave them to me, He wanted me to have them, right?

Well, not exactly. I did some online research awhile back and learned that people don't necessarily know why wisdom teeth exist. But one interesting theory caught my attention. Wisdom teeth are scheduled to come in later in life (say, around age 18) to compensate for any other teeth that have fallen out. Imagine that you're living in biblical times and wandering around in the wilderness. Perhaps if dental hygiene isn't the greatest, you'll lose an incisor or two. If you've got a couple of wisdom teeth coming in, perhaps the other teeth will shift around and make room for the wisdom teeth. Voila. However, nowadays, we've got plenty of access to good dental hygiene, and we fix our front teeth with braces so that they'll stay in place forever. And, voila, your wisdom teeth have no room to erupt safely, so they must be removed.

I think that was the case with me. Every dentist that looked inside my mouth since I was a teenager said that my wisdom teeth should be removed because my mouth wasn't big enough to hold them. And they were right. My top wisdom teeth came out OK -- rather, one of them came out OK, but the other one came out slanted/crooked and would scrape against my cheek. My bottom wisdom teeth were impacted; one of them would erupt, then heal, then erupt again, then heal again, and then it finally remained partially erupted. But I have an inhumanly high tolerance for mouth pain, and I thought I could keep my wisdom teeth, even though they would hurt like crazy every few months.

Then a few months ago, my dentist gently told me that my wisdom teeth needed to be extracted because they were decaying. He referred me to an oral surgeon, who observed that one of my impacted wisdom teeth was black and the one above it had a hole in it. He also extremely cautiously warned me that my bottom wisdom teeth had grown very close to the nerve in my jaw; so, I could have permanent nerve damage if these rotting teeth were removed. Of course, I was concerned, but it became increasingly obvious that these 4 teeth that I'd been growing for half my lifetime needed to be removed.

Even though I probably should have had these 4 teeth pulled 18 years ago, I'm thankful for how God arranged the timing of this extraction. I found a friend to drive me to/from the surgery, I was able to take off lots of time from work, I'm an adult who can take care of myself, and I'm mentally healthy enough to trust myself around a pantry full of medicine. This extraction almost didn't happen. I felt myself getting under the weather last week, but God healed me. Then I got a callus from hades on my foot (which I thought was a stress fracture), but God relieved the inflammation. Then I arrived at my surgery appointment with high blood pressure, but God made sure that it decreased for the procedure (and the numbing stuff they gave me helped a ton). So, bye-bye rotting wisdom teeth. See you never again!

Of course, I would be a fool to experience actual physical surgery for the first time (especially since I was awake and mostly alert during the whole thing) and not use it as an extended metaphor here.

When I hear Psalm 147:3 quoted, it's usually with warm fuzzies. And yes, God does heal the brokenhearted and bind up their wounds, and it does involve warm fuzzies (which I've been experiencing myself). But the context of that verse in the entire psalm doesn't seem all that warm-fuzzy to me. Verse 2 says that God builds up Jerusalem. As you may have read my opinion previously, construction can be a long, grueling process. Believe it or not, my apartment complex is STILL remodeling its exterior after 7 months. (Painters were retouching my front porch on the day of my wisdom-teeth extraction.) I don't know why it's taking so long. I think maybe the owner is picky and wants everything done just right. Or maybe they're committed to completing the construction debt-free. Or maybe construction just takes forever... because it's construction.

I've heard that sometimes God can heal people -- physically or emotionally -- instantly, presto-chango-rearrango. I have rarely experienced this instantaneousness. My wisdom teeth are yet another example of how healing can be an extremely long process that involves lots of TLC.

So far, I've only been able to eat soups and other soft foods. I've had to sleep with my head propped very high. I've had to take antibiotics. I've had to take pain medication. I've had to apply ice packs to my face, and pretty soon I may need to start applying a heating pad instead. In the photo at the beginning of this post (which I selected for the sake of eliciting pity, because I really don't look or feel that bad), you can see my jaw beginning to bruise. And ibuprofen is currently helping much better than the prescription drug that was making me dizzy.

If something inside me is rotting, I must have it removed before it destroys whatever it touches -- physically or emotionally. And I think the longer the rottenness has been festering, the longer and more delicate the healing process.

For example, I think getting healed from things such as rejection, abandonment, and disappointment can be a slowgoing, grueling, ridiculously painful process. For a while, the healthy-boundary "no"s I was getting from people were hurting like crazy. I would hold on tight and try to not swirl back down into a depression anytime someone would tell me "no," and God knew that, so He was having to retrain me emotionally like a toddler and teach me that "no" is OK. Maybe just try eating soups first before moving on to the nachos. Maybe just apply an ice pack to the swollen area before venturing out in public. Maybe stick to your prescribed medication so that the pain will be controlled. Maybe if you develop a callus from hades, you should stop trying to walk so much, take an ibuprofen, and elevate your foot. Maybe if you feel like you're under the weather, take it easy and try to get better. Maybe if everybody you love keeps telling you "no," and you're all alone, try hanging out more with God, because He'll tell you "yes," and His presence is always soothing, even though He is a consuming fire.

I think I understand more why Jesus said to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees (Matthew 16 and Luke 12). From what I understand about baking, if you mix some leaven into some dough to make it puffy, the leaven probably won't conveniently stay in a tiny little corner of the dough so that you can remove it later if you change your mind. It'll spread.

So, when Jesus redeems us and has to squeeze religion out of us ("religion" meaning the Pharisees' attitude of "I'm better than you because I'm holier than you"), it can be an extremely messy process. He recently showed me that religion destroyed my love of music. If He has work for me to do in the realm of music, and I had religion stuck in my artsy-fartsyness like a rotting, useless wisdom tooth in a delicately working jaw... well, I shouldn't just let it sit there. I need to let Him pull it out and throw it away.

Maybe when I wake up tomorrow morning, my entire face will be covered with bruises. Who knows? Healing is a process that's full of surprises. But it's worth it.

I have experienced at least one surprise while God has been restoring my love of music. I have a favorite Beatle now: Paul McCartney. Hmm. This never happened before.

Surprise!

This is a photo of my cat waiting for me to play with her on my couch. Check out the readiness in her eyes. The routine that I semi-intentionally established with her is that I'll hide an object (e.g., a toy or my finger) behind a few pillows; she'll pounce on the object and playfully attack it. Rinse and repeat. Cats are routine-oriented animals, so I can't always playfully surprise-attack them. The nature of the play-routine is that, um, they know when the toy will show up. (Mama will show up behind the pillows; wait a few seconds, and a toy or her finger will magically, explosively appear for your playtime enjoyment.) Also, if I were to surprise-attack them for real (even if it's accidentally), they would cease to become my pets and immediately transform into hissing monsters who wish to kill me in self-defense. Yeah, that's right. Mama lovingly tackles her kitties once a month to trim their claws for a reason.

On this blog, I usually talk about God my Father, who loves me and everybody else infinitely more than I could possibly comprehend on this side of eternity. However, on this post, I will talk about the devil my enemy, who hates my guts and unlovingly tries to kill me, for real. And I hate him back. And I'm not helpless against him.

"The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly." (John 10:10)

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world." (1 Peter 5:8-9)

"A man who isolates himself seeks his own desire; he rages against all wise judgment." (Proverbs 18:1)

Perhaps anyone who's ever attended a charismatic church for an extended period of time has heard that the devil attacks people who are isolated. And yes, to a degree, that is definitely true. If you're by yourself and nobody knows what's going on with you, of course God can protect you and cover you, but there can also be so much potential for danger when you're by yourself and not walking in accountability. On the day that I attempted suicide nearly 13 years ago, I was supposed to attend a wedding, but instead of showing up, I drove home, and while I was alone, I tried that dark thing that I tried. Speaking of suicide, I think I've also mentioned briefly on this blog that a member of my lifegroup committed suicide about a year ago. He got into trouble with the law, and his situation was broadcast on the news, but he didn't contact anyone in our lifegroup to communicate that he was in trouble. By the time we discovered what had happened to him and what he had done, it was too late. There's usually safety in numbers.

But unfortunately, I've also discovered that the devil can also attack THROUGH people. I think this happened in lots of Bible stories. In 1 Kings 19, Jezebel sent word to the prophet Elijah that she was going to kill him, so he freaked out and kinda had an emotional breakdown in the wilderness. God snapped him out of it, and in the end, Elijah triumphed and Jezebel kicked the bucket. David gave in to whatever it was that kept him home when he was supposed to have gone to war, and he slept with and impregnated Bathsheba and made sure that her faithful-warrior husband Uriah was killed in the aftermath. Jesus was betrayed by Judas Iscariot, who was one of His disciples. I don't think it's an accident that Proverbs 12:26 says to be cautious in friendship. I'm not saying that we should be automatically suspicious of everybody. I'm just saying that the enemy doesn't JUST attack us when we're by ourselves.

I've discovered that the enemy doesn't bleeping care whether you're alone, whether you're in a family, whether you're rich, whether you're poor, whether you're on top of the world, whether you're in the valley of the shadow of death, whether you're a cat person, whether you're a dog person, whether you have an awesomely intimate relationship with God, or whether you couldn't care less about God. The devil hates you, and he will try to warp your brain, trip you up, or just plain kill you, whichever comes first. Have you heard it said that the Holy Spirit is a Gentleman? Yes, He is. (But sometimes God invites Himself over unannounced, very loudly, and I'm sure Paul the apostle can vouch for that.) And His enemy the devil is the opposite of a gentleman -- about as opposite as you can get. The devil is a bully. He's on a power trip. He's the worst villain that will ever exist, period. So, he doesn't always play by the rules. He doesn't bleeping care. He doesn't always attack just when you leave the door open or if he just finds a teensy little chink in your armor. Sometimes, he surprise-attacks.

I am about to use an extremely personal example, and I might get a tiny bit graphic. Wait. Maybe I should have offered this disclaimer at the beginning of this post. Surprise!

I've mentioned in a previous post the concept and destruction of (at least, my version of it) a generational iniquity. The way it was explained to me, the difference between a sin and an iniquity is that a sin is basically an event (or a non-event); an iniquity is a bent towards sin (or a tendency to embrace it).

Before I proceed to describe the iniquity I have in mind, I would like to bluntly clarify something that has been a hot-button issue for quite some time now. I believe that homosexuality is a sin, I have no sympathy whatsoever for any LGBT-related causes, and I've lost Facebook friends because of this belief. Having said all that, I don't hate anyone who is gay, bisexual, etc. I don't want to attack people. I want to attack demons, especially the ones that drilled holes inside my brain and puked homosexual desires inside me. In another previous post, I talked a little bit about my victory and about Dennis Jernigan's victory over this particular issue. The reason I write this paragraph is because there seems to be a belief floating around in the world that once you struggle with homosexuality, you're stuck with it forever. I would like to make it very clear that this belief is a lie. The truth is that Jesus is enough to overcome any sin and/or iniquity, and He made me more than a conqueror over it (Romans 8:37). Anyone who wants to be free from this sin/iniquity can be free, too. Jesus loves you, and He wants to help you. The road isn't easy, but it's worth it, and He can show you where and how to walk. Please DON'T try to change my mind about this issue, because I've absolutely made up my mind about it once and for all. (Hopefully, after reading any of my other blog entries, you already know where I stand, but I'm a fan of overcommunication for the sake of clarity.)

So, for the sake of illustrating some of the devil's surprise-attacks in my life, here's part of my story. One morning a couple of years ago, I dreamed that a woman was having sex with me. Immediately after I woke up, of course I was freaked out, so I prayed so that God would show me what the heck was going on. He told me that I had a root of homosexuality, but it hadn't been growing because I wasn't feeding it. (He showed me a picture of a shriveled-up looking sprout that wasn't growing.) Later, He clarified that homosexuality was a generational iniquity that I inherited from my father and was reinforced by my mother. From what I understand, neither of these two people ever practiced or experienced homosexuality, but they didn't need to in order for me to unintentionally inherit or carry the iniquity.

I've learned that a generational iniquity is a lot like computer software. If you buy a computer, maybe after you take it home and start to use it, suddenly something will trigger some software that you didn't know was there, and the software will run, and you'll feel helpless to stop it. Maybe if the Esc button doesn't work or if CTRL+ALT+Delete doesn't work, you could simply hit the power button until the computer shuts down completely. Or maybe you didn't legitimately buy the unwanted software; maybe you accidentally downloaded a virus. Ultimately, you'll need to find a way to uninstall the software so it won't take over or destroy your computer.

So, after God clarified that homosexuality was a generational iniquity -- even though I've never officially practiced it (and never will), even though I've never officially "liked" girls (and never will), and even though I've never officially considered myself to be gay or bisexual (and never will) -- so many of my past struggles, almost-struggles, and random WTF moments made sense.

What I feel was my most significant breakthrough in this area occurred several months ago after a WTF moment. I took my cat to the vet, and I felt an unwelcome stirring inside me while I was interacting with a female technician. I wasn't attracted to her, and neither of us was flirting or anything like that. I just noticed that something inside me clicked, as if I were supposed to have been connected to her in an illicit way. Of course, I was extremely alarmed, so on the drive home, I just talked to God, and our conversation continued after I arrived at home. I basically just told Him that whatever was inside me, I didn't want it anymore. I guess technically, my words to Him would be called "crying out" to Him, but I cried with eye-tears, and I was serious, and I meant business. I think He took me seriously, because stuff that used to turn me on -- without me wanting it to -- stopped that day. My God uninstalled the unwanted software, and He's been in the process of downloading His new software.

So, a generational iniquity is one way of the devil making a surprise attack. You're minding your own business, living life, wearing your armor, connected to God, enjoying the moment He's given you, and then suddenly -- surprise! You're hit with a temptation out of nowhere.

So, what do you do to resist the attack? Of course, Ephesians 6 lists very specific ways to fight back. I personally am familiar with two specific means of protection from and during any of the devil's attacks... because he hasn't just attacked me with generational iniquities; he's attacked me in all sorts of areas in all sorts of ways. It isn't always an obvious temptation-attack like a serpent crawling beside you and telling you to eat a piece of fruit that God said to not eat. Sometimes demons don't drill holes inside your brain and puke desires inside you. Sometimes the enemy just belches subtly into the air, and the burp's odor wafts across your face: "Oh, I'm all alone, so nobody will notice if I take my own life." Wait. What?! This smells familiar. I don't think this crap is my idea.

Firstly, it's extremely important for me to have a good, close, healthy relationship with God. I think this is actually THE most important thing, period. One temptation that the devil has flung at me many times is to believe the lie that God doesn't exist. I'm a worship leader. If I'm going to lead people into God's presence, why would I bother trying to do so if I didn't believe He existed at all? This temptation hit me just as recently as last month while I was shopping for salads. So, I'm in the Kroger parking lot, and I'm hit with this temptation that makes perfect sense because Kroger is such an evil place and buying a deli salad is such a sin, right? WRONG! Surprise-attack out of nowhere, the devil not bleeping caring about battle decorum, completely uncivilized. Should that part really surprise me? Anyway, I just took the thought captive by talking to my God out loud: "I was just hit with the temptation that You don't exist." It's the most ridiculous temptation ever, in my opinion, to tell me that Somebody I know and who I talk to all the time and who talks back to me all the time and who tucks me in at night and who sings to me and who helps me and who guides me and who hangs out with me doesn't even exist. It's like saying my cats don't exist. You saw a photo of one of them at the beginning of this post. Another one is trying to nap nearby while I'm typing this post. Hello, I know them. They're right there. Of course they adorably exist. And Somebody doesn't have to be seen with my scrawny little human eyes in order to exist. Hello, I know Him.

Another lie that I used to get hit with in alarming frequencies was that I'm not even saved. "Oh, you didn't get saved exactly like how your pastor says you're supposed to get saved, so you don't know Jesus." Surprise! Burp. Gross, excuse you! I got saved when I said a prayer -- and meant it -- when I was 10 years old. Then I got baptized. Back then, I only lived for myself. But today, I have a much better relationship with God. Lately, I've been talking to God my Father more than I talk to Jesus or the Holy Spirit, but They don't compete with each other, and They're all One, so it all counts. Jesus is my Man of Steel who came to earth to bridge the gap between two worlds -- me and God. I worship my Hero. Hello, I can tell that I'm saved because I know Him.

Secondly, I've learned firsthand how important it is to have my will in good, working order. I've heard that a person's will can get damaged in the process of abuse, etc. (If you grow up being abused and/or controlled by people, perhaps you'll understand firsthand what I mean.) Earlier this year, while I was driving home after a day of extremely intense struggling, I was crying with God and I told Him, "I want to live. I want to be OK." And He said, "I just healed your will." And ever since then, it's been a teensy bit easier to fight temptation. "Just give in. Nobody will ever find out." Surprise! Burp. Gross, excuse you! No, no, no, no, no. The only Person I give in to is God. I'm hurting like crap, so excuse you, I'm going to cling to Him.

Maybe my style is a bit crazy, but I don't play nice with the roaring lion. Sometimes, I charge at him with ranting prayers. I hope it isn't a pride thing. I hope it's more of a "How dare you try to destroy me again, you little pipsqueak whose guts I hate and who I'm sick of" thing.

I'm definitely not saying to invite an attack or to storm the gates of hell all by yourself. I'm also certainly not saying to focus on the devil or anything that has to do with him. I'm saying that he's already after you. It's important to just be ready, whether a fiery dart is extinguished in your shield of faith or whether you're wafting away the enemy's belched breath with a severely annoyed "Leave me alone; I know who I am, and I know Whose I am."

Uh-oh. Underneath that crazy-cat-lady exterior, Tirzah is actually a demon exterminator. Check out the readiness in her eyes. Surprise!

Zits, poop, and sweat

Yep, I just went there. Hopefully, what I'm going to talk about in this post won't require any visual aids (or olfactory aids), so I won't include any photos. You're welcome, I think. Yay for scratch-n-sniff websites NOT being invented yet!

"So the Lord saved Israel that day out of the hand of the Egyptians, and Israel saw the Egyptians dead on the seashore. Thus Israel saw the great work which the Lord had done in Egypt; so the people feared the Lord, and believed the Lord and His servant Moses." (Exodus 14:30-31)

"But he said, 'No, lest while you gather up the tares you also uproot the wheat with them. Let both grow together until the harvest, and at the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, "First gather together the tares and bind them in bundles to burn them, but gather the wheat into my barn." ' " (Matthew 13:29-30)

I've blogged a lot about my experiences in spiritually abusive environments, so you've gotten an earful (rather, an eyeful) of all the bad stuff that the spiritual abusers fed me. Yet it wasn't all bad. They fed me some good morsels, too. Here's one thing that a spiritually abusive pastor said during a sermon that truly helped me: If God is doing something in your life, just let Him do it.

For example, let's say you've determined that you're supposed to read the Bible more. So, you sit down and write out a Bible-reading schedule. But meanwhile, God has been trying to tell you that He just wants to have random conversations with you. So, the entire time you're trying to read extra Bible chapters, He loudly interrupts your Bible-reading and starts asking you about your day and about what you're going to eat for dinner (as if He doesn't already know). Yes, you absolutely need to read the Bible, but maybe your extra reading agenda needs to go on the back burner while God develops more of a secret-place friendship with you. Maybe developing this type of relationship with God would come in handy later. (This almost-fictional example did happen to me many years ago. What actually happened was that a friend had a "word from the Lord" that I reap what I sow, and she kept hearing "the secret place." God clarified this word to me later: I hadn't been sowing any time in the secret place with Him, so I wasn't going to reap anything in the secret place. So, for an entire week, I tried to have friendship conversations with God, but I didn't hear anything back from Him, almost as if He lovingly gave me the cold shoulder. It was a bummer of a week, but it was simultaneously a very sweet conviction, and I remember it as a very gentle way of Him disciplining me. And I learned my lesson the kinesthetically hard way.)

So, if God is trying to do something in your life, just cooperate with Him and let Him do whatever He wants with you. I think Ecclesiastes 3 outlines this pretty well. God tends to carve out certain "seasons" for certain purposes. I don't think it's an accident that the word "season" is used, because I can understand the ridiculous length of a "season" (especially in Texas). In terms of weather and time of year, each season has certain characteristics, and I know what I can realistically expect. In the summertime, I know it's going to be hot pretty much nonstop. Sure, there will be some days that will be cooler than others, and I may see rain, but I know for sure that I will see blazing hot sunshine most of the time, and I know for sure that I can expect triple digits probably for most days of summer, which will be a very long season in Texas. (Actually, Texas might not be a good example of how to describe a season, because summer here usually eats up part of the preceding spring and most of the following autumn.) In the wintertime, I know it's going to be cold most of the time. I may be able to stay warm indoors on some days with just a fire in my fireplace, but I'll more than likely need to turn my heater on several times a day, and I'll definitely need to dress warmly. Sure, there will be some days when it may be warm enough to wear shorts (especially in Texas), or it may even be cold enough to sleet or snow, but I know for sure that I'll need to stock up on vitamin C products to boost my immune system to protect myself from everybody else's sore throats and colds, and I know for sure that I'll need an extra blanket at night. (I've heard stories of people up North getting really tired of snow that doesn't melt, and when April rolls around, the once-beautiful white snow is dirty brown slush. Sigh. This Texas chick can only dream of such phenomena.)

I really think Ecclesiastes-3 seasons are similar. Verse 4 says there's a time to mourn and a time to dance. During a mourning season, I know I'll need to stock up on Kleenex and not schedule very many social outings, because I'll need to spend a lot of time bawling into God's shoulder; pain will become like a viral infection that will need to just run its course until it's gone; people will approach me at church with outstretched arms and be like, "Uh, this may sound random, but God told me to give you a hug." During a dancing season, I'll probably feel like a freshman at college again, where everything is new, the air is fresh, and I'll be able to dream new dreams; God will hang out with me spontaneously and romantically show me how He feels about me by using The Great Gatsby as a cool example; people from church will randomly encourage me. Verse 6 says there's a time to keep and a time to throw away. During a keeping season, I'll need to intentionally develop good habits that will last for a lifetime; during a throwing-away season, I'll need to remember what I learned in the mourning season while I buckle my seatbelt and let go of things that I never thought I'd let go of. And I think sometimes some seasons can happen simultaneously, and perhaps a few of them will run together like a huge casserole that God mixes up, lovingly places in the oven, and then waits for it to bake into something brand new.

But sometimes God's work seems more obvious. Sometimes what He's doing isn't vague; it's already solidified, and it's right in front of your face. Rather, it's a huge zit on your face.

I'm not a scientist, but from what I understand about dermatology, you can't really tell that a zit is forming until it erupts. Everything is going fine, and then suddenly you look in the mirror, and you see that everything is NOT fine. Maybe it was that chocolate bar you ate. Maybe you ate too much fried chicken this week, and it made your skin too oily. Maybe it's PMS. (Actually, as a woman, that usually is the culprit for me. Aaah! The hormone alarm went off on my face!) Suddenly, you know that there's a problem on your face because the problem has SURFACED. Now you need to do something about it. (I usually just apply an astringent because I've heard that popping a zit spreads the junk from the zit to the surrounding pores. And popping makes my face feel weird afterwards.)

I'm not a scientist, but from what I understand about digestion, you really can't tell that your bowels need to be evacuated until they scream at you that they're about to move. Perhaps if you're on a high-fiber diet, you can predict your trips to the bathroom quite easily. But some bowel movements are irregular. When you gotta poop, you gotta poop; there's no question about that. The poop has announced its need to SURFACE and leave your body forever. Now you need to do something about it. This is a necessary activity that forces you to hit the pause button on your life and just let it all out. Kinda like a good cry for your colon, eh? Sometimes I wonder why the heck I ate what I ate, because now I'm having to deal with its effects. I like to eat grapefruit, but apparently my intestines do not like to keep them.

I'm not a scientist, but from what I understand about body temperature, sweating is one of the most yucky, slimy, disgusting, healthy things that a person can do. Maybe if your body is comfortable in hot climates (Texas, my Texas), you won't be able to tell right away that 85 degrees is too warm for indoors or that 105 degrees is too sweltering for outdoors. But when you feel the perspiration glistening on your forehead, as if you were a giant water bottle, you know that you're in an environment that's become too hot for you. When you feel moisture in your pits and other skinfolds, you become self-conscious about wet clothing, and you know you need to seek cooler shelter. When sweat trickles down your face or back, you know it's time to find some beautiful Texas frozen A/C. This isn't a perfect analogy, because I've heard that some people have sweat disorders that either prevent them from sweating or that make them sweat excessively. But I think any of these situations -- whether you sweat moderately, not at all, or drippingly -- makes it suddenly clear to a person that an issue has SURFACED and must be addressed immediately.

In case anyone was wondering, one cool thing about having a fun friendship with God is randomly asking God, "Are there any Bible verses about sweating?" when you happen to have Psalm 135 pulled up on your computer, and then your eyes suddenly happen to see verse 7: "He causes the vapors to ascend from the ends of the earth." And then you're like, "That'll work. Thanks, Lord."

It was recently brought to my attention in Exodus 14 that the Israelites weren't completely free from their oppressors until their oppressors SURFACED in the desert. Then God evacuated them out of the Israelites' lives forever. I'm sure it was an extremely horrifying scene when the Israelites realized that their enemies that had set them free suddenly changed their minds. I'm sure it was also extremely relieving for the Israelites to cross the Red Sea on dry land and then look back and see God release the sea to flow regularly again and flush away the Israelites' oppressors forever.

It was also recently brought to my attention in Matthew 13 that the tares weren't disposed of until they grew up with the wheat. (From what I understand, tares are weeds that you don't want growing in your wheat. The wheat is the real fruit that you want to eat.) In the process, the landowner didn't want to ruin the wheat while it was growing, so he waited until the tares SURFACED completely to wipe them out. Sometimes you gotta wait until something SURFACES properly before you can properly throw it away forever.

I'm about to use real-life examples because, well, maybe it's time for me to just puke them out.

If God wants to squeeze codependence, enmeshment, and manipulation out of you, don't call your cluelessly codependent friend Tirzah for 90 minutes every Wednesday and Sunday night because you know she's incapable of rejecting you. Allow your loneliness to SURFACE so that God can pop your soul-zit and squeeze all that nasty pus out of you. You'll learn how to lean on God in a fresh way in the process. You'll bond with Him as a Friend in the process. You'll gradually get a clearer soul-complexion in the process.

If God wants to squeeze anger, pain, and fear out of you, don't plaster on a Pharisee smile every Sunday morning and be cheerful with people whose guts you hate. Don't confuse the little girl Tirzah who's growing up and learning how to be a woman and who will develop social issues later while she's struggling to allow hospitality and generosity to blossom in her life when she's an adult. Don't pack down your emotions inside you so tightly that confused little Tirzah only sees you expressing laughter or anger, to the point where she doesn't know how to properly express emotions, either, because you didn't model them for her. Don't gossip about the people you hate and ingrain hypocrisy so deeply into Tirzah that she grows up choosing hypocritical, gossiping friends who she'll have to let go of and grieve the loss of later while she's learning, quite violently, how to properly express emotions. Allow your anger to SURFACE in God's presence, where Psalms 4 and 62 say it's safe to poop out, so that God can squeeze all that poop out of you. You'll be cleansed and free from the threat of sepsis forever. You'll become a healthier person in the process.

If God wants to squeeze emotional pain out of Tirzah, and she's sitting down and trying to hear God help her through it, don't grab her arm and stand her up to her feet and make her feel like she's supposed to be rejoicing. Don't forget that you've actually read the Bible, like that part in James that says if you're HAPPY to sing and if you're TROUBLED to pray. Tirzah was trying to be alone with God and her pain because she was TROUBLED. Her pain was SURFACING. Why did you try to stop the flow? She ended up hitting the pause button on this process for about a dozen years. She was trying to become a healthy person. Sorry she didn't hit all the main points of your agenda for her life. Perhaps God had different plans for her than you did. Perhaps she would have been content to have allowed Him to sweat out the issues inside her that were causing her to overheat. Perhaps this is why she would breathe fire and scorch people on occasion. Perhaps this is why she tended to roll around in the mud like a pig, because they don't sweat, either. She's finally allowing God to sweat out her issues, and they trickle down her face and across her back, and they stain her clothes sometimes to the point of embarrassment. And Jesus clothes her with His robes. And she looks good. And she bonded with Him while she was sweating. And she's amazed at how He wasn't grossed out enough to abandon her. He's keeping her forever.

1 Corinthians 6 says that (because I belong to Jesus) my body is a temple of the Holy Spirit. Because I belong to Jesus, God accepts me, but He'll never accept my sin or iniquity. If I have issues that He doesn't want in my life, He'll be patient with me for as long as it takes me to work out the issues with Him forever. But if I have a soul-zit, I'll need to let Him pop it, lance it, drain it, clean it out, so that it won't contaminate the nearby pores; and it's just unsightly. If I have soul-poop, I'll need to park my butt and let Him talk to me about it while I poop it all out, because there's no way out of pooping, unless I want to be perpetually constipated, or unless I want my system to back up and give me a fatal case of sepsis; that would be tragic and disgusting. If I feel like my soul is getting overheated and needs to sweat, I'll need to allow myself to sweat so that my soul can cool off, and I'll need to find a cool place to connect with God and let Him refresh my soul-glands, so to speak, and cover me with His coolness, His cleanliness, His crispness.

I want God's temple to be as refreshed as possible. Maybe that's why showering regularly is so important. Maybe that's why Jesus didn't have a problem washing His disciples' feet. Maybe it's a lifelong process of seasonal cleansing. But in the meantime, I don't want to stop the flow. Oh, no, no, no. I won't stop the flow. Tirzah, you're blogging, not songwriting. Yay for me NOT using any auditory aids on this website!

Raw worship

If you've read any of my previous posts about my adventures in housekeeping, perhaps you'll understand the miraculousness of this photo. In the process of trimming down my File Piles, I have created To-Be-Shredded Piles. Triumphant dance!

Since I used to be a pack rat, I'm not usually in the habit of throwing things away unless it's for symbolic reasons. So, as I recall, I've only thrown away 2 worship CDs in my entire life. The first one was a CD/DVD set that was recorded by a few people who led worship at a church that I used to attend. The DVD offended me because I didn't like how they recorded the intimate moments of "Every head bowed, every eye closed" during the invitation at the end. (The reason for bowing your head and closing your eyes is for the privacy and confidentiality of others, right? And to not broadcast who specifically made decisions, right?) The CD offended me because, in addition to what I felt was a mediocre song selection, one of the songs did what I felt was a command to God to "be blessed" by the praises that were being sung. Um, God is my Best Friend, so I'm all for talking to Him as if He were your Favorite Guy who just came over to chitchat with you about your day, but um, He's also the King of the Universe. I'm not comfortable telling my Lord to "be blessed" about anything. Whether or not He will "be blessed" is His choice, right? I mean, I thought that's what Cain learned the hard way.

The second CD was one that I threw away today. I found out that it was recorded by a "white" congregation. (I hope it's OK if I say that, because I am half-Hispanic and half-non-Hispanic ("white").) So, I hope you can understand how distracted I was while I was trying to worship to this CD today. On one song, I was like, "That sounds like 'La Bamba.'" On another song, I was like, "They're ripping off The Insyderz." On another song, I was like, "I can't listen anymore," and I had to skip to the next song. Most of these songs weren't original; they were covers. I totally don't want to diss anybody's genuine expression of worship or genuine desire to lead anyone into God's presence, but shouldn't I enjoy listening to or worshiping to a CD at least a tiny bit instead of cringing with each "white" attempt at not-really-that-original, sort-of-attempts-to-not-be-white songs?

"Praise the Lord, for the Lord is good; sing praises to His name, for it is pleasant." (Psalm 135:3)

Before I continue with my rambling discourse, I would like to offer a rambling disclaimer. Please keep in mind that I'm a crazy artist/songwriter who pretty much throws her entire being into pretty much anything she's involved with. I don't just pet my cats and tell them hello; I scoop them up into my arms, smooch the fur off of their little faces, fly them through the air like little superheroes in my arms, and I tell them that they're the most adorable kittens in the entire universe. So, that's my style. I don't give life a polite little peck on the cheek; I tackle it, knock the wind out of it, smooch it, embrace it until I cut off its circulation, and then I wrap it around the back of my neck like a fur stole and parade it around my apartment. I don't just feel emotions a tiny bit. I explode crazily with emotions, often to the point of eye-squirting tears, sometimes to the point of giving myself the shakes, and one time to the point of almost fainting and Jesus showing up in my apartment and telling me with a really concerned look on His face to breathe and eat something. So, please know that you're reading the wildly sincere opinion of a lunatic.

I grew up in churches that had dusty old hymnbooks, clunky old pianos, strict dress codes, and lots of rules. So, I don't mean to diss my past heritage, but I just want to be descriptive and honest and say that I truly didn't know what it meant to worship God with music until I went to college. That's when I began to attend church services that sang praise/worship songs (usually non-hymns) and welcomed other biblical expressions of worship besides singing (raising your hands, clapping your hands, falling on your knees/face, shouting, crying, etc.). I think God kinda enrolled me in a surprise crash course on expressing my heart to Him. I quickly learned that I didn't even like Him that much. But I've since learned how patient He is. And I've learned that He values what's in our hearts more than what we can skillfully weave with our music (1 Samuel 16:7).

And there's some really skillfully weaved music floating around nowadays. About a decade ago, I visited the church where Dave Crowder led worship. Before I visited, I had heard one of his CDs, and I liked it, so I was expecting the congregation to do some serious grooving during the music. Well, during the worship service, Dave Crowder and his band were certainly grooving, and he certainly seemed to be worshiping and enjoying God's presence. But when I looked around me, I was shocked to see most everybody just standing up straight, staring straight ahead, not singing, not smiling, not moving. At the time, I wanted to believe God saw their hearts and that they really were worshiping God, even though I couldn't see it. But now when I think about it, I'm disturbed by what I saw -- rather, by what I didn't see. Worship isn't just listening to church music. Worship is expressing your heart to God.

Using my imagination, I think if I were married, my husband would be able to tell how I really felt about him by how I would treat him. If he were to walk into a room, maybe he would like a polite peck on the cheek. Maybe he would even enjoy a polite handshake, especially if other people were watching us interact. Maybe he would be politely satisfied with me mumbling a halfhearted "I love you; you're everything to me; thank you for marrying me." Pffffft, yeah, right.

Rather, I think if I were married, my husband would probably appreciate me not caring who the heck was watching us interact. I think he would probably want me to just express how I honestly cared about him anytime he'd walk into a room. I mean, I think he'd want me to throw my arms around his neck and shower his face with kisses. I mean, I think he'd want me to run my fingers through his hair and whisper sweet nothings into his ear. I mean, I think he'd want to reach for his handkerchief and blot the tears that would squirt out of my eyes when I pour out my honest opinion of how much I love him. I mean, I'm guessing so.

Spiritually, in a way, I think the psalmists in the Bible did pretty much what I described in the previous paragraph. They unplugged their emotions and let it all out. I think that's one reason why the Psalms are pretty messy. I'm not saying to forsake order or control. (Self-control is a fruit of the Spirit that God has been majorly teaching me lately, honest.) I'm saying that when God commanded us to love Him with all our heart, soul, strength, and mind, He wasn't kidding.

I think when we add too much extra stuff to our worship, it ruins the pure expression of the heart. Years ago, I developed a philosophy that I called "raw worship." When you sit down to eat a hot meal, it's nice to chew on some side orders of rice, steamed veggies, and maybe a roll, and it's nice to sink your teeth into a thoroughly cooked slab of juicy meat. But the plate gets pretty crowded with all those veggies and the roll and all the cooked juices swirling around everything and making it mushy. It's best to just eat a simple slab of meat uncooked: raw.

Of course, this wasn't a perfect analogy at all. If you don't eat a balanced meal, you'll suffer from malnutrition. If you don't cook your meat, you could contract parasites and become extremely ill. But my point was that all the stuff crowding the plate was all the different elements of crowded worship songs, and the raw meat was the basic element that every worship song needs. I felt that hot, steamy side orders like "I'm here to worship You" or "Did you feel mountains shake" or "Shout to the four compass points" made the plate crowded. Simple, raw meat like "You're worthy because You're God" or "You bought me, and I'm Yours now" or "Hey, You just parted the Red Sea for me, so I'm going to dance triumphantly" were more what drew me to God's presence and helped me connect straight to His face. I was going for a basic "God is my Lord, my Love, my Life" rather than a doctored-up "Let me draw a picture for the congregation with my words and try to inspire other people as to why God should be worshiped" during an actual worship song.

To a degree, I still adhere to my "raw worship" philosophy today. When I sit down with my guitar, or when I stand up with my keyboard, I'm usually drawn to the simple "God, I love You" songs rather than the "I'm going to sing about the concept of freedom" songs. I hope that makes sense. In recent years, I've learned more about why and how churches choose the songs that they sing. But still, my personal concept of worship is still pretty raw.

And in this particular post, I've really only rambled about worshiping with your heart/soul. I haven't even mentioned worshiping in spirit and truth, which is what Jesus mentioned in John 4:23-24.

Truth be told, God knows exactly what's in our hearts, and He wants to own all of it, and He wants us to love Him with all of it, no matter how messy it may be. Truth be told, He can skillfully transform a File Pile into a To-Be-Shredded Pile. Triumphant dance!

Even more delayed reactions

(If you'd like to read my two previous blog entries that are dedicated especially to my delayed reactions, please check out the posts from June 21 and June 26.)

Hey, Tirzah, you used to be an enmeshed, codependent, abused, abusive people-pleaser. Shouldn't you be in therapy? What, and miss all this blogging fun? No way. Well, it's just that you dialoguing with yourself in cyberspace is a little bit, uh-- Demented? Well, yeah. This is a really Looney Tunes way of handling your past. What would you know about my past? And why should I take advice from you? You had all this stuff happening under your nose all those years, and you didn't do anything about it. Correction: Whenever you'd try to do something about it, somebody who could yell louder than you would verbally pin you against a wall and spiritually rape you. Eww. Why do you gotta use the "r" word? Well, wake up and smell the Counselor's couch. Now's your chance to get your therapy right. And last time I checked, blogging was free. OK, OK. I'll sit back, take a deep breath, and let it all out for my free Counselor to hear. Um, will this session be recorded?

7) After I was released from the psych hospital nearly 13 years ago, I was required to a) get a job, b) get into therapy, and c) get into a lifegroup (be in one, not lead one). Finding a lifegroup at my church was challenging. But it was good that I had a strong support system of friends to tell me what to do and tell me where to go, right? When I accompanied a friend to her friends' house, and I knew that the people at this house led a lifegroup, I thought I had found a new circle of friends. Things were going to change for the better, and my new life was going to go my way, right? However, my friend told me later that her lifegroup-leading friends' group would not be the best one for me. They did not have many people in attendance, and other groups that had other singles in them would be a better route for me to take.

My reaction then: Oh. Bummer. I guess my friend knows what's best, because she's older than me, she's wiser than me, and I have to obey my friends' advice, right?

My reaction now: Wrong! The Bible says that in a MULTITUDE of counselors, there is safety (Proverbs 11:14). That's not to say that my friend was wrong to offer some advice; that's what friends are supposed to do (Proverbs 27:9). But telling me where to go and where not to go was crossing the line. Choosing a lifegroup to attend was supposed to have been MY decision to make. I interacted with the leaders, and I liked them. They seemed to like me. Who the bleep cares if the attendance has dwindled? Wouldn't MY attending have helped solve that tiny little problem? Why should you choose friends for me? If I'm perfectly comfortable finding a tiny little group of friends, rather than a huge house full of singles, shouldn't that be my business? They seemed perfectly harmless. You, however, unfortunately, I have unfriended. I hope you can understand why, and I honestly wonder if you even noticed that I left.

8) About 11 years ago, a friend from church helped me find a job. I became one of his coworkers. Unfortunately, his conduct on the job usually was not Christlike at all. I became especially concerned when he became engaged to another coworker, and my boss began to complain about his behavior on the job. Wanting to make sure I did the right thing, I called my mentor at the time and talked to her about it. She insisted that I confront him about his behavior (even though it was more of an intuition-type feeling than overt ungodliness) and report back to her after my confrontation. I hung up the phone, and I eventually decided to not take my mentor's advice. I think she completely forgot about the whole thing.

My coworkers ended up postponing their wedding, and I honestly don't know if they stayed together at all after that. My company went through crazy stuff that I won't elaborate on here, and I don't work there anymore. And my mentor, who talked to me during that particular phone conversation as if I were a child, never followed up on this situation.

My reaction then: Whew! I'm glad I don't have to explain to my mentor why I chickened out and didn't do the confrontation.

My reaction now: No, I don't owe that unfriended mentor any type of explanation. When I called her, I was trying to process a situation that I wasn't used to processing. I think that's what females usually do -- they share their lives with one another. But for some reason, she clicked into male mode -- she solved my problem for me. What the bleep kind of way is that to solve any problem? All she got was my side of the story, OVER THE PHONE. She didn't go to work with me every day and see firsthand what was happening or not happening. And she didn't have to make me feel like a child. Speaking of, she has children of her own. I hope she remembers the advice she gives them and follows up on it.

Regarding my un- Christlike coworker, um, Tirzah, wake up and smell the worldliness. When you first met this guy, what was he doing? Yeah, that's right, he was yelling at another guy in a very childish manner. So, why would his behavior in the workplace surprise you? You've encountered religious hypocrites plenty of times before.

9) About 14 years ago when I was struggling majorly with depression and I thought my apartment was full of demons (which, honestly, it probably was), a few of my friends/mentors agreed to come over and pray over me and my apartment. During the prayer time, a friend prophesied over me that I was a spiritual mother; she also prophesied -- with the disclaimer that she thought this next word might be from her and not from God -- that I would also become a mother physically to many children. She also asked me in front of everybody if I dealt with a certain sin. Drenched in shame, I said yes and cried in front of everybody.

My reaction then: I am so humbled beyond words. I am so glad that I have friends who take care of me. I really hope I can be at peace in my apartment now.

My reaction now: For crying out loud! What the bleep kind of friends were these?!? I really wish they would have empowered me to pray over my home myself instead of doing it for me. And regarding that friend who I've since unfriended, I think she should check her prophecy radar for glitches. First of all, I don't appreciate her confronting me about a sin in front of my other friends; I think a private sin should have been dealt with in private. Jesus doesn't stomp on people while they're down; why should you? Second of all, I think she should have quit while she was ahead. Yes, I'm a spiritual mother. But, um, regarding me having lots of physical babies, I'm 37 years old. Unless I get married tomorrow and have several sets of twins, that might not happen. Maybe you should have waited until I found Mr. Right to start wishing good thoughts for me in that particular department.

Also, until you wake up in the middle of the night to a sci-fi-looking spiritual presence calling you a whore and a bleep, you ain't got no idea what it's like to fight demons in your apartment.

10) As I've mentioned before, I was heavily involved for many years in a spiritually abusive church in which almost everybody was a) a missionary, b) a missionary wannabe, c) a supporter of missionaries, or d) all of the above. There's definitely nothing wrong with any of that. But many of us, quite frankly, were spiritually raped -- sometimes on multiple occasions -- into believing that missionaries were supposed to be placed on pedestals and treated as kings and queens. The more illegal Christianity was in certain countries, the higher the pedestal. These missionaries, who would not get paid salaries, would "covet" our prayers and our money. Anyone who was not involved in missionary work was silently considered inferior to everybody else. Everybody had to be "called" to a "nation" unless God had "called" you to do something else. As a result, most of my friends were missionaries. On a whim, I started a prayer group for some missionary friends of mine. This group would meet weekly in the church's prayer room. Once, random people who were simply passing through the prayer room on their way to another part of the church building met me and my guitar while I was waiting for my meeting to start. I told them that the meeting that was about to happen was for a missionary team in XYZ country. The random people cheerfully asked me, "Oh, are you called there?"

Incidentally, this church environment only had boys with guitars lead worship most of the time. I was only a woman, so even though I graduated college with a music minor, and even though I had been leading small-group worship for several years, I was very rarely permitted to help lead worship in large-group settings. My mentor from #8 above allowed me and another veteran worship leader to be replaced by a brand-new boy with a guitar during worship meetings. He was a nice guy who played the guitar well, but he ironically called me to ask for tips and music, etc.

Once, I told the ex-friend with the glitchy prophecy radar in #9 above that what I really wanted (as opposed to the missionary stuff that I was constantly told I was supposed to do) was to visit Hillsongs in Australia. I wanted to learn how they do worship music. My ex-friend sarcastically remarked something to the effect of, "Glad you want to make that sacrifice for all of us."

My reaction then: Hahaha! My friend is so funny. And I am such a lazy Mexican for wanting to be a worship leader when all the rich white people are making the real sacrifices by becoming missionaries and earning peanuts of support per month.

My reaction now: I'm not even sure where to begin. I'm pretty sure I was a victim of gender discrimination, and possibly ethnic discrimination, while living in this spiritually abusive environment. Sometimes I remember how the worship pastor had me right under his nose all those years, and I wonder why he did nothing to help me or mentor me other than allowing me to play on his team a few times and meeting with me once to answer some songwriting questions. Then I remember how sometimes man's rejection is God's protection. Sure, I was greener than a Christmas tree, and I had lots of pride issues to work through. But it's nice to be mentored or at least treated nicely by people who believe in you.

Being a missionary is a calling, just like anything else is a calling. Being a missionary isn't an excuse to be lazy or mooch off people for money or prayer. It isn't a cop-out because you don't want to find a regular 8-to-5 job. It's a serious act of obedience when God says "Go," and you say, "Yes, Sir, where to?" It isn't a game for college graduates to play because some pastor with a business degree got the revelation that there's more to life than making lots of money and living in a nice house and driving a fancy car. And guess what? If everyone in your church becomes a missionary, who will be left to support them? Who will be around to start prayer groups for them? Incidentally, I hope my ex-friend who scoffed at my desire to check out Hillsongs appreciates me starting a prayer group for her work in XYZ country.

Not everybody is "called" to be a missionary vocationwise. However, everybody has plenty of opportunities to go on a short-term mission trip whenever they feel like God wants them to. Nobody should ever be spiritually raped into thinking that they're supposed to be something other than what they were designed to do. Some of us want to check out churches in other countries because we're called to be WORSHIP PASTORS, not missionaries. Please don't make us think that we're at the bottom of the barrel just because we're musicians. Biblically, we're actually on the front lines.

Wow, Tirzah, you got a little cocky there in that last paragraph, don't you think? No, not really. Knowing who you are is called humility. But these people invested in your life for years. Why are you publically dissing them like this? The Bible says to give credit where credit is due (Proverbs 3:27). Well, it also says to not honor a fool (Proverbs 26:1).

And why have you been on such an unfriending kick for the past couple of years? Well, it's just the season that God has me in. He's remodeling, and sometimes you gotta empty out a room before you can scour it clean and bring in new furniture. But you've taken this too far. I mean, your grandfather passed away a couple of weeks ago, and you didn't even go to the funeral. Whattup with that? Well, a lot of things. I decided long ago that I would not attend his funeral. Quite frankly, and quite sadly, I liked him better when he had a temporary case of dementia and he didn't know who I was. He was a nice person who seemed interested in getting to know me. When he went back to his old self, well, he went back to the way things were. I was the black sheep, and he was the scary guy who didn't have a problem picking a fight with another motorist while he was driving me to school in the second grade. Hmm. Is this the kind of person I really want to honor as a relative? this mocking maniac who the community put on a pedestal as a pastor and a Bible salesman? No, I don't think so. Some doors, once closed, are best left shut.

Wait. Did you record this session, or no? Well, that depends. How does the Counselor's couch smell? It smells very much like two cats. Good. Then it's recorded for posterity -- no mocking, no yelling, no stifling, no raping, no mooching. Just good, old-fashioned processing. Good. I hope the Counselor keeps remodeling.

Do-over

Two posts ago, only one of my cats was comfortable on my new couch. Now they're both mostly cool with it. In case anybody was wondering, one way to acclimate your cat to a new couch is to turn it into a playground.

"And my God shall supply all your need according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus." (Philippians 4:19)

Today, I'm ramblingly reminiscing, as usual. Lately, I've been thinking about money -- not because I'm obsessed with it but because my church has been doing a sermon series on it. No, my church isn't obsessed with it, either, honest. I've been in churches that were obsessed with money -- both the "God is going to make me a millionaire" prosperity-obsessed and the "if you have a dime leftover at the end of the month, you'd better give it to a missionary or else" poverty-obsessed. I think my church has a pretty healthy grasp on how to handle money. I'm ramblingly reminiscing today because on days like today when I casually waltz into the store, casually buy a few extra-grocery items for $8 with my debit card, and casually drive home without worrying about starving or going bankrupt, I remember a financially horrifying time in my life.

About 10 years ago, I was in an extremely terrible financial situation. I had a full-time job that barely paid any money at all, and everything I earned went to the bills, which didn't even get paid completely. At each pay period, all I had leftover was about $10 to buy 2 weeks' worth of food. Most of the time, I ate 3 meals a day, but they weren't pretty meals. You'll be surprised how far a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread, a can of tuna, and a bag of tortillas will stretch when you're desperately hungry. One day, a coworker kindly remarked, "Ooh, Tirzah! You've been losing weight! Are you on a diet?" I awkwardly mumbled, "Um, I actually, uh, don't have enough money to buy food." To compensate and fill my belly during the day, I drank office coffee, which was free.

The last straw was when I woke up one morning with chest pains. I drove to the ER and discovered that I did NOT have a heart attack, good news. But I did have inflammation of the chest wall from drinking too much caffeine and not enough water (and probably from stress, too), bad news. So, poverty hit me pretty hard, and not just in my bank account.

I didn't have any money in savings, and I didn't even have a credit line to survive on. Back then, I had credit card debt that ballooned very quickly because I had a late fee and an over-the-limit fee every month. I was also doing something else majorly wrong financially: I wasn't tithing on a regular basis.

Lots of pastors can explain the concept of the tithe a lot better than I can. (Malachi 3 explains it even better.) But to me, it's the simple mystery of God automatically owning 10% of my income and me automatically having to pay it back to Him as soon as possible. After I pay Him, I get to keep and manage the other 90%, which He balloons very quickly so that I can eat something more substantial than eggs, bread, tuna, and tortillas.

I don't understand why tithing gets such a bad rap in the body of Christ. A while back, I was talking to a friend and trying to convince her that she needed to start tithing, but she said that she needed to get out of debt first. Huh? I think if God tells me that I owe Him 10% every paycheck, I should probably pay Him, right? Back during my egg/bread/tuna/tortilla days, I did NOT pay Him all the time. I would pay the bills first. I think that was a HUGE part of my problem right there.

Here is how I tithe today: God gets His 10% first, no matter how many bills I have to pay. If I owe anyone else any other money, too bad, so sad, you'll get paid next month. I need to pay my Rebuker of the devourer first. I would much rather pay you a late fee than for God to spank me so hard that a 99-cent package of hot dogs will look like a five-star-restaurant meal.

So, today, I'm not completely out of debt. I haven't accumulated a mountain of savings. I'm definitely NOT perfect when it comes to making financial decisions. But I know who my Daddy is. I know that He takes impeccably good care of me. I know that I owe Him 10% every paycheck. I remember the egg/bread/tuna/tortilla horror movie. And I know that I'm ultra-dependent on Him to make sure that I don't go back there. Every other Friday morning when I wake up, I check my bank website to make sure that my paycheck made it in, and then I hit up my church website to make sure that my Daddy gets paid. Then the big bills get paid. Then the smaller bills get paid. Then my car eats gas. Then I eat. (It doesn't happen necessarily in that exact order, but I'm just painting a rough picture.) Then I usually have more than $10 leftover, and I marvel at how awesome it is to have a Daddy who takes care of me in such an infinitely detail-oriented way that I'm able to sit on my new couch and type up my opinions on my new laptop in a very A/C-cooled apartment without worrying about creditors calling and threatening me. No chest pains. And I'm still hydrating. And I'm still learning. And I still have a lot to learn. And it's not just with my finances.

God has shown me over and over again that this long season of my life is like a big do-over. I'm learning stuff and going through stuff that I was supposed to have learned and that I was supposed to have gone through years ago. He's squeezing stuff out of me that should have gotten squeezed out years ago, and it has such a rotten stench because it's been fermenting inside me for too long. But He and I are working it out now. He'll always come through on His end of the deal, but this is my chance to get my end of the deal right. I think if I do it HIS way, it'll eventually all turn out OK. Duh.

Yep. One cat's scratching post is another cat's playground.