Show 'em what you're made of

About 3 months ago, I got my wisdom teeth removed, and, of course, I blogged about it. Please feel free to catch up on the first post here and the second post here, if you like. (Unless, of course, you feel that reading about my rotting wisdom teeth is TMI; in which case, please feel free to skip my description of my newly posted photo.) Here you see a photo of my mouth. There in the shadowy spot behind my left molar is the gradually filling-up hole in my jaw where my left-bottom wisdom tooth used to be. My oral surgeon and his nurse explained to me that I had to take very good care of the 2 bottom gum-holes in my jaw so that they wouldn't become infected or injured after the teeth extractions. I had to be careful to not allow the blood clots deep in the bottom of my gum-holes to dislodge, or I could develop a condition called dry socket, which means that the nerves in my jaw would be continually exposed and continually screaming for mercy.

About a month after my surgery, I visited my regular dentist, who confirmed that my gum-holes were healing nicely, and he briefly explained that the healing happens "from the bottom up." My gum-holes have been gradually filling with new jawbone, from the bottom up, and it's important to keep them clean during the process.

And, of course, a metaphor was born inside my head.

"When an unclean spirit goes out of a man, he goes through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none. Then he says, 'I will return to my house from which I came.' And when he comes, he finds it empty, swept, and put in order. Then he goes and takes with him seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter and dwell there; and the last state of that man is worse than the first." (Matthew 12:43-45a)

After God pulls out a metaphorical rotting tooth out of my life, e.g., demons, strongholds, bad habits, terrible attitudes, etc., I need to fill up my metaphorical gum-hole with metaphorical new jawbone. Of course, the filling needs to be God's word. I think it heals from the bottom up: the blood clot would be God's truth.

For example, if God reveals and removes a lie in my life such as "Nobody will ever accept me," I need to replace it with God's truth such as these Bible verses: "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ... to the praise of the glory of His grace, by which He made us accepted in the Beloved." (Ephesians 1:3, 6)

If I'm feeling lonely and I don't know what to do about it, maybe if I'm wrestling with a lie such as "Nobody will ever want to be around me," I need to replace it with God's truth such as this Bible verse: "Jesus answered and said to [Judas], 'If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word; and My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our home with him.' " (John 14:23)

If metaphorical growing pains occur while metaphorical new jawbone is forming, and I freak out when somebody is wildly celebrated and I am not, and those old neglect and orphan wounds are flaring up at the old, still-healing roots, I can soothe them with God's truth like this Bible verse, where the Father in the prodigal son parable calms down the tantrumy older brother: "And he said to him, 'Son, you are always with me, and all that I have is yours.' " (Luke 15:31)

I am always with God, and all that He has is mine. I want that to be enough for me.

It's been fun and relieving to see areas in my life where my metaphorical new jawbone has been forming. My soul-catastrophes have shrunken. My fires have snuffed out quicker. My crises have been smaller. My freakout sessions have been shorter. For example, one day at work, God was like, "It took you 6 hours to get angry today." I used to get angry at my cubicle as soon as I'd arrive at work and open my Outlook. He's been showing me progress. And it's been all Him doing it.

"And you shall remember that the Lord your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not. So He humbled you, allowed you to hunger, and fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord." (Deuteronomy 8:2-3)

When God leads us into the wilderness, He wants to see what we're made of. It's sort of like a boot camp. In a way, He allows everything that was precious to us to be stripped off us, like Job. And in the hot, blazing sun, God lances every single one of the boils that have covered us from head to toe. Perhaps with each lancing, the enemy is right there waiting for us to curse God and die. And God, in His extreme, eternal faithfulness, is believing and declaring, "Nope, this one is going to make it. You'll see, enemy. And then she'll kick your butt, because My Son kicked your butt long before she was even born. And now she hates your guts more than she can do justice to describe on a tiny little blog post." Anyway, that's Tirzah's version of life in the wilderness.

Jesus was tempted in the wilderness, of course, and in Matthew 4, we all got to see what He was made of. He resisted very crafty temptations with flying colors. Then after we accept the sacrifice He made for us on the cross, we get to resist temptations, too. He helps us win.

Further back in the Bible, the Israelites spent a heck of a lot of time out in the wilderness. God taught them all kinds of things while He whipped them into shape, so to speak. He really was so good to them out there. He kept them fed with manna, He gave them water, He kept them organized with leadership, and He shepherded them with Moses, of all people. I could write forever about how awesome Moses was, but I would truly digress.

I think God found out who His friends really were among the Israelites, too, while they were in the wilderness. (I'm not a Bible scholar, but you're about to get Tirzah's cliffs-notes version of what happened.) God was like, "Hey, come hang out with Me on the mountain." The Israelites were like, "Uh, no, thanks. Moses can talk to You for us." Aaron and Miriam were like, "Hey! How come Moses gets to be the leader and not us?" God was like, "Uh, because I said so, and, oh, look, now you have leprosy." The Israelites were like, "Bleep this stupid manna. We want meat." And God was like, "Oh, My manna isn't good enough for you? Fine. I'll give you so much meat, you'll be sick of it." Even Moses accidentally dissed God in the wilderness. He hit a rock instead of speaking to it (so that the Israelites could get some water), and God disciplined him by keeping him in the wilderness. But I'm pretty sure Moses' mistake was redeemed, and I'm pretty sure he let God restore him, because He got to hang out with Elijah and Jesus in Matthew 17. And Moses' song is sung in heaven. I think that's awesome.

Speaking of Elijah, he escaped to the wilderness after Jezebel freaked him out, and he found God there. In His still, small voice, God was like, "What are you doing? You're Elijah! You rock! Shake this off and go kick some Jezebel!" (That was Tirzah's version of what really happened in 1 Kings 19.)

Yes, the wilderness, the desert, trials, and all of the above are very important processes that God uses to shape who we are and draw us closer to Him. However, I think sometimes the wilderness is put on a pedestal unnecessarily and almost unhealthily. I've heard people say things like, "Yeah, I like trials because God is, like, right there" or "Who wants to be up on the mountain? I prefer the valley." Well, I'm glad to hear that you enjoy being close to God and pitching a tent in the valley of the shadow of death. But that's not all there is to living a life with God.

"The Lord is near to ALL who call upon Him, to ALL who call upon Him in truth. He will fulfill the desire of those who fear Him; He also will hear their cry and save them." (Psalm 145:18-19, emphasis mine)

"Is anyone among you suffering? Let him pray. Is anyone cheerful? Let him sing psalms." (James 5:13)

See? You don't have to go through a hard time in order to be near to God. The wilderness isn't necessarily supposed to last forever. I think the wilderness is simply supposed to have a purpose that's supposed to last for a season. The wilderness is a place where God tests our faith in Him and our devotion to Him. I also think the wilderness is a place where we find out who are friends really are.

Anytime I've gone through a hard time, I've been able to see what's inside the hearts of the people around me, and I haven't always liked what I saw. I'll see it from the things they say, the things they do, or the things they don't say, or the things they don't do. It can be an extremely disappointing process, actually, on top of already going through a hard time.

Maybe my wilderness is also God's way of identifying my bad friends and removing them from my life. Sometimes when people weigh you down, you gotta just let 'em go. When you grow up surrounded by terribleness, you develop a tolerance for terribleness that's so huge, you won't realize that terribleness is terribleness. The wilderness is a great place to be alone with God and your issues, and sometimes He holds up a mirror or shows you an annual report or emails you the screenshot of an error message, and He shows you where something needs to be adjusted. He waves a red flag and says, "This is not OK." And sometimes that can take a while to sink in. Seeing how terrible many of my friendships were was kinda like that.

For example, after I vulnerably shared with one friend about how badly I was hurting because I didn't have a mother anymore, she basically said, "Oh, read books. The authors can be your mothers and fathers." And another one bites the dust: insensitive friend.

In a previous wilderness from several years ago, I walked with another friend who gave me a ton of spiritual instruction, left town, came back into my life again, caught up with me a bit, and then dropped off the face of the earth again. And another one bites the dust: unreliable friend.

One time, I shared with an old college friend about my dream of being a novelist. I had begun a draft, and I'd been working on it, and then I told her about it. She said, "Well, it'll be a good learning experience." And then she laughed. And another one bites the dust: mocking friend.

"Blessed is the man who walks not in the counsel of the ungodly, nor stands in the path of sinners, nor sits in the seat of the scornful; but his delight is in the law of the Lord, and in His law he meditates day and night. He shall be like a tree planted by the rivers of water, that brings forth its fruit in its season, whose leaf also shall not wither; and whatever he does shall prosper." (Psalm 1:1-3)

"The righteous should choose his friends carefully, for the way of the wicked leads them astray." (Proverbs 12:26)

"He who walks with wise men will be wise, but the companion of fools will be destroyed." (Proverbs 13:20)

While I've been coming to terms with my rejection, my abandonment, and my loneliness, and while God has been helping me punch all of that in the face, I've noticed that I don't have mockers holding me back anymore. Dang, that's a liberating feeling. I think the person in Psalm 1 is blessed not only because they delight on and meditate on God's word but because they don't have scornful mockers squelching out their dreams constantly. How am I going to bear fruit in due season if I have jerky people around me stomping out my dream-sprouts to death? I hope this doesn't sound cruel, but there are some friends that can hinder growth, and sometimes you gotta pull 'em out of your life by the roots, as if they were weeds in your garden.

Regarding the mocking friend I mentioned above, God showed me that I had to just let my novel-writing dream die. I have new dreams, and He is teaching me how to cultivate those. And maybe in the future, He'll give me a new novel-writing dream. But I don't want mockers around me to pulverize my dream-embers.

In order for dreams to come true, in order to make it through the wilderness, and in order to just live life in a healthy way, what every person needs is at least one good friend. Of course, Jesus is the ultimate Friend. He will always be there for me, and He will never, ever let me down, and He will never, ever, ever, ever, ever leave me (Hebrews 13:5). But we all need regular, fallible human-being friends, too. In Genesis 2, God said it wasn't good for man to be alone. Yes, He was talking about marriage, but I think He was also talking about being a human being in general. (Ecclesiastes 4 also talks about the necessity of friendship.) I've learned firsthand why it's not good to be alone. Isolation can do crazy things to a person. Having people around helps me keep a healthy perspective. If I have healthy people around me, I can bounce ideas off people and get healthy feedback. If I have people around me, I won't be able to keep my head up my butt, because I'll need to be able to consider the fact that other people are living lives, too. Not everything is about me.

So, the wilderness is a great place to find out who your friends truly are, because the wilderness is a really hard place that you're stuck in for a really long time, and you go through some really crazy stuff that you'll need help processing. I've discovered that I can't talk to just anybody about my dreams, my issues, my triumphs, or my struggles. Some people will make fun of me. Some people will blow me off. Some people won't take me seriously. Some people will flatter me and never find anything wrong with me. But as a human being who wants to be healthy, I need a balance. I need to know who I can lean on when I'm struggling. I need to know who I can count on. I need to know who I can trust to give good advice. Deciding who is healthy for me during the long haul has been a surprisingly liberating feeling.

I think my friend Powerhouse is an excellent example of a long-haul friend who I can count on during a hard time. ("Powerhouse" describes her, but it isn't her real name. It's kinda like her superhero name. It's a bird! It's a plane! It's... my friend! Fanfare plays.) Powerhouse certainly isn't perfect, just like I'm certainly not perfect. I've seen many of her blemishes. But I've also seen her change over time as she's allowed God to do plenty of stuff in her life. Iron has sharpened iron, Proverbs 27:17-style. She's sensitive, she's reliable, and she wants to support my pursuit of my dreams. And I hope it's mutual.

Powerhouse isn't just a "Hey, I'm here for you" friend who never shows up. She has consistently shown concern for me and interest in me. And it's mutual. Lately, our schedules have been very incompatible, so we haven't been able to see each other often. But even in the midst of her busy schedule, she'll check on me. And I'll check on her. Technology exists, and we use it to cultivate the garden of our friendship. We want it to grow. We challenge each other, and we follow up on each other. We fight prayer-battles on each other's behalf. We encourage each other. We warn each other. We give each other feedback.

And it isn't always pretty. I'll be like, "I felt neglected." And Powerhouse will be like, "I felt manipulated." And we'll work through it. I know where I stand with her, and she knows where she stands with me. Even in the midst of our crazy schedules, we remember details about each other's lives. Powerhouse is an excellent friend, she's a useful friend, and she's a cherished friend. Powerhouse reminds me of Jesus.

"A man who has friends must himself be friendly, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother." (Proverbs 18:24)

From what I understand, Jesus is the Friend that Proverbs 18 talks about. You can be as friendly, social, and popular as you want, but when hard times hit, you'll want to know who will stick close to you for support.

Jesus is the One who never fails to challenge me, correct me, or be there for me. He's the most intimate Friend that I'll ever have, because He's God. I don't think God my Father cares how old I am; if I'm hurting, and I need the type of TLC that a toddler needs when she's hurting, He's going to give it to me. He lets me cry on His shoulder, He speaks words of comfort, He looks out for me, and He spends a tremendous amount of time with me, because He's my Daddy. The Holy Spirit is always around, too, and He's like the Perfect Coach who talks me through things and keeps tabs on things for me and tells me when to do certain things. We enjoy each other's company, and we'll be together forever.

I am always with God, and all that He has is mine. Jesus and the Father have come to make Their home with me. The Holy Spirit is my Perfect Counselor who is always there for me. And I'm OK with that now.

After the rotting teeth are extracted and the gum-holes begin to fill up with new jawbone, there's gonna be pain. And a new, solid structure will be built that will be chiseled and beautiful and strong. Along the way, I'll separate myself from people, I'll bond with other people, and my God will help me sort through it all. Because He's the most sensitive, reliable, supportive Person in the universe, and He always will be.

Honestly, one reason why I don't have a problem typing up long, rambling internet posts is because I think it's a way of identifying long-haul friends. If I only hear complaints about the sincere expressions of my heart, that's a red flag. If I get mocked or ridiculed, that's a deal-breaker. If I hear constructive criticism, that's a gift. Thank you for reading.

Really?

In order to set the tone for this post, its title needs to be punctuated with an almost sarcastic, almost defiant blast. For example: "Class, today's assignment will be pretty easy. All you have to do is write a 10-page research paper in an hour." "REALLY?"

I hope that I'm not writing this with a rebellious or hardened attitude. I'm just saying that after walking through years of what turned out to be abuse, and getting very little help and very little empathy from others while I was experiencing it (or processing it), I would like to unload about a decade's worth of delayed reactions. Hopefully, this will be a healthy expression for me and an eye-opening read for anyone who would like to understand my frustrated perspective. I would like to offer a buffet's worth of food for thought. I would like for you to take a step back and just listen to the silly words that come out of people's mouths sometimes. Imagine how silly it would look if you had a friend in the hospital who's just been in a devastating, debilitating, life-altering accident, and all you do when you visit her is waltz into her room and place a bouquet of flowers on her lap, and she happens to be allergic to the flowers, but she can't smack them away from her lap because all of her limbs are broken, and you simply smile and waltz away. Really?

I'm not a clergywoman or a psychologist, but from what I understand, abuse is abuse -- whether it's physical abuse, emotional abuse, mental abuse, verbal abuse, sexual abuse, or spiritual abuse. It's all terrible, it's all bad, and it's all sin. But just like any other sin, Jesus offers hope. If you bring your sin to Jesus, He will take it away and heal it. If you turn from sin, if you realize that what you were doing is wrong and decide that you don't want to do it anymore, Jesus can reach down inside you and fix whatever drove you to sin. So, I believe that people who used to be abusers (like me) can change if they will let Jesus change them. Please keep that in mind throughout this post.

And people who used to be abused (like me) can also change, in the sense that they can stop allowing themselves to be abused. And Jesus can heal them from any way that they've been hurt. The deeper the wounds, the longer the healing process can take. Forgiveness can seem like a constant, neverending process, but it's necessary and worth it.

Meanwhile, while we ex-receivers of abuse were trying to get help out of our abusive situations, or while we were processing the fact that we were actually abused, and while we were being vulnerable enough about it to talk to trusted people about it, we've encountered some bumps in the road. To illustrate my point, I'll make up a story.

Imagine that Sally is married to Roy. Sally is an extremely nice person, to an almost fatal fault. Roy is an extremely, secretively abusive person. Roy's abusive tendencies keep him isolated, so he barely socializes at all, and the only person who really knows him is Sally. Roy is physically and verbally abusive to his wife Sally. If Sally sneezes too loud, coughs too loud, breathes too loud, or simply exists in the same room as Roy, Roy won't hesitate to clench his merciless fists and beat her up. While he's beating the crap out of her, he yells at her and tells her that she's worthless and that he doesn't know why he married her, because she's a terrible wife. Of course, Sally doesn't know any better than to believe everything Roy tells her, because he's her husband, and he's supposed to love her as Christ loved the church, right? As a result, Sally believes that God is mad at her, she has almost zero self-esteem, and she lives in constant fear. One day, she wakes up, God asks her, "Have you had enough?" and she suddenly realizes that the way Roy treats her is 100% abusive, 100% ungodly, and 100% wrong. She packs a suitcase, walks out the door, signs up for therapy, files for divorce, and never looks back. Roy sends her hatemail, which stings at first, but after talking with God and her therapist, Sally realizes that Roy is unrepentant, and she no longer wishes to subject herself to his extreme state of unhealthiness. She stops opening new hatemail and sends it back to Roy ala "Return to sender." While she grieves the loss of Roy and slowly puts her life back together, she feels her self-esteem growing, she learns that God isn't mad at her at all, and her fear gradually begins to melt away. Life is finally wonderful.

So, imagine what it's like for Sally to try to socialize either with old friends or new friends who have absolutely no idea what she has gone through:

"Hey, Sally! Have you talked to Roy lately?"

"Uh, no, he isn't my husband anymore."

"Aw, come on, Sally! God hates divorce!"

Really?

Yes, of course God hates divorce. He also hates it when people get beat up for no reason.

"Hey, Sally! I was talking with my friend Maria. She and her husband Gustavo recently got back together again!"

"Cool. Good for them."

"So, maybe you and Roy can get back together, too. God loves reconciliation!"

Really?

Yes, of course God loves reconciliation. But He also loves justice.

"Hey, Sally! Aw, why are you crying?"

"Today would have been my and Roy's 10th wedding anniversary."

"Aw, that's too bad. Well, if you ever need a husband, just call my house. Maybe my teenage boy could take you out on a date!"

Really?

A date would be nice. Know what would be nicer? Having a friend who understands that you're grieving.

"Hey, Sally! I'm so shocked to hear that you and Roy split up! What happened?"

"Well, it's a very long story, but basically he turned out to be an abusive jerk. You can't see my facial scars underneath my makeup, but he used to hit me on a regular basis."

"Aw, that makes me sad. I know he loved you. I bet he misses you."

Really?

God loves me, but He doesn't give me black eyes, split lips, and broken jaws. I hate to break it to you, but abuse ain't love. If a man is married to a woman, that doesn't automatically mean he loves her. There is such a thing as a loveless marriage, and there is such a thing as a marriage of convenience. And I'm sure anyone who's owned a punching bag, and took it for granted, missed it sorely after it grew a backbone, grew legs, and walked away.

Do you see how silly these well-meaning remarks sound?

Another thing I've learned the hard way is that there are 2 sides to every story. (Or there may be 3, 4, or 5 sides, depending on the situation.) So, there's always the possibility that a receiver of abuse could be exaggerating or lying. There's always the possibility that the abuser is completely innocent. And there's always the possibility that both parties are responsible and that both parties are actually abusing each other. Life is a crazy journey, and you never know what or who the heck will cross your path.

But I think most of the time, a person who has truly been abused and decides to leave the abusive situation does so because he or she has finally decided that he or she is sick of being abused. He or she longs for freedom, hears the Healer beckoning and making a way for escape, and runs to His open arms. Whether or not his or her friends believe, empathize with, or understand him or her is another story.

But I hope in the meantime, we as a human race can learn that not every story has an easy ending. Not every question has an easy answer. Not every rainbow has a huge pot of gold at the end of it. And not every smile has perfection behind it.

My gut reaction is to end this post with some humor, but, well... abuse just ain't a humorous thing. Really.

The gifts

In my previous post, I mentioned that I think my current soul-battles were conceived sometime back when I was 4 years old, shortly after the Christmas of 1980. I've been getting a better handle on that lately, and God has been showing me a very interesting combination of things that I'm still working through. This is gross, but the best way I can describe it is, it's as if somebody pooped a hairball into my soul, and God's unraveling it and helping me evacuate it out of my system. From what I understand, I will be working through this for the rest of 2013. If I've heard my Papa correctly, He wishes to take His time with this. I've learned the hard way to not rush Him. So, if it will bless you to check out this wound-healing / soul-evacuation while I'm experiencing it, please hang out here with me on my Therapist's cybercouch, and watch me take a step back while I process something that's extremely important for me.

Hairballs are messy by nature, but I hope you can see the parallels in the following.

1) This is Julie. I believe that's what I named her. She is the doll that I got for Christmas in 1980. (She is currently stored in a box with other childhood dolls and stuffed animals, which explains her unkempt appearance. And I think it's fitting that I propped her against my We Are The World poster and DC Talk cd for this photo opp.)

If I remember correctly, I asked for a doll for Christmas. When I received her, some relatives who love me explained that Santa Claus gave me the doll. I think this was the first time that I had ever heard about Santa Claus, and now he had given me a gift. My relatives' story was quite believable. Firstly, Julie was completely unwrapped and ready for me to play with. Secondly, we were staying at my grandparents' house that Christmas. Even though that particular house did not have a fireplace, my relative explained that Santa Claus came to the door and had a conversation with my relative while he delivered my doll. Thirdly, receiving Julie made me feel special. I was 4 years old and, frankly, overshadowed by my younger toddler sibling who more than likely absorbed her parents' attention.

Shortly after Christmas, when I excitedly told my (ex) mother about how Santa Claus had given me my doll Julie for Christmas, my (ex) mother exploded angrily, "Santa Claus didn't give that to you! [insert names of relatives here] gave that to you!" I think she further explained how/why there isn't a Santa Claus. I don't remember the details. I just remember that that was how the illusion of Santa Claus was shattered for me when I was 4 years old. I think maybe Julie, who had been wonderful, suddenly became unwonderful during that conversation.

Because Julie had been wonderful on more than one level. She more than likely came with a water bottle (which is probably lost now), because she is quite equipped to wet. I mean, come on. A peeing doll is cool. Also, asking for a doll was an unusual Christmas request for me, because I don't remember playing with girly things when I was a little girl. Years later, I remember playing with action figures and the computer and the typewriter and the Atari, and I remember playing with dolls that were BOY characters, but I don't remember playing with GIRL dolls. Julie had been special.

But not anymore -- not if the non-existent Santa Claus hadn't given her to me after all, and not if my well-intentioned relatives who loved me had lied to me all along. How much had they lied to me? They made me feel very special and very important. So, now I wasn't special or important?

2) This is Psalm 46:10. I can't take a picture of the Holy Spirit or His gifts because you can't see them with your natural eyes, but this is a snapshot of part of the Book that He authored. I received Him initially when I got saved in 1986, but I got baptized with Him for the first time in 1994, and He gave me the gift of tongues sometime in early 1995.

If I remember correctly, years after I got saved, I attended a special service that was hosted by an Assembly of God church, and I witnessed firsthand how weird being a charismatic could be. I had been raised as a Southern Babbdist, so staying away from that stuff was OK with me. Then I went away to college, a Babbdist school, and I happened to visit a charismatic Babbdist church where I saw semi-weird (but genuine looking) behavior. After it was explained to me biblically how the Holy Spirit still moves and gives His gifts today (e.g., tongues, prophecy, and other cool stuff that you can read about in 1 Corinthians chapters 12 and 14), I decided to receive the baptism of the Holy Spirit for myself. And I haven't been the same since. Immediately, I repented for living to glorify myself instead of to glorify God. Sometime after that, I started learning how to hear God speak and let the Holy Spirit lead me. I was devouring the Bible, and God was satisfying my hunger. A few short months later, while I was lying in bed one night and wanting to pray for somebody, I suddenly started praying in tongues for the first time.

I made the naive mistake of excitedly calling home and telling my (ex) father, "I got a prayer language!" I don't remember the exact words of the conversation. I just remember this being the spiritual-abuse shot heard 'round the world. This was the conversation in which my (ex) father started deprogramming me. In a matter of months, I was subjected to countless lectures, forced to listen to sermon tapes, forced to read a book, accused of hypnotizing myself, etc. Eventually, I inspired my (ex) father to preach his own sermon series (during which he would not-so-tactfully glance at me) against the current validity of the Holy Spirit's gifts. One day, he got me to confess that the baptism of the Holy Spirit occurs at salvation. (It doesn't. Unfortunately, I think I was spiritually bullied and manipulated during this conversation.) So, my beautiful experiences with the Holy Spirit, my renewed relationship with God who spoke to me, led me, spent time with me, empowered me, encouraged me, and gave my life new meaning, was gradually explained away.

This was tragic on multiple levels. Firstly, I had let down my ultimate spiritual leaders: my (ex) parents, the ones who first told me about God's existence, the ones who were supposed to have developed a relationship with me that was supposed to have reflected God's Father-Mother characteristics. Secondly, my new life, which felt safe and exciting, was now questionable. Thirdly, even though the entire ordeal had driven me to search the scriptures for myself, a wrench of confusion had been tossed into the works.

So, who could I depend on now? If I'd go home, I'd be cornered, bullied, manipulated, and lectured anytime my (ex) father would feel like it, and my (ex) mother would enable it if not plan the entire thing herself. If I'd go to friends, they'd lecture me about how I had to honor my father and mother, who were supporting me financially, and just grin and bear it, because you're a child under their covering, and they'll always be your parents, even though you're an adult. If I'd go to God, well... how could I believe He was real if one-third of the Trinity was now a freakshow put on by charismatics who were controlled by their carnal emotions? Who could I trust now? I was trapped. There was no way out. I was hopeless. There was no future. I was doomed. Tirzah was just another worthless, mindless churchgoer whose life would never have any meaning because she was a useless, single female.

3) This is Choochie. This is a rare snapshot of her not playing with my camera strap. She was given to me back in 2000. The more I get to know her, and the more I get to know God, the more I realize how meticulously He created her just for me. She's perfect for me. (I have another cat, too, but my relationship with Macho is different.)

I remember an extremely important moment in my history when Choochie played an extremely important role, even indirectly. The day before I attempted suicide in 2000, I was supposed to lead worship that morning for a class. Instead, I got in my car and drove from Waco to Bastrop, Texas, in a mentally wild attempt to escape life and reconnect with my childhood. I was NOT in my right mind, I did NOT tell anyone that I was leaving, and I did NOT have a cell phone or any other way for the people in my life to get in touch with me. So, after aimlessly wandering around Austin and Bastrop for the day, I remember sitting alone in a Pizza Hut that evening with my hardened, confused heart. I looked out the window at the dumpster outside, and I saw a cat that looked just like Choochie. Instantly, my heart broke, and I wanted to be back home with my kitten. Long story short, I eventually got home and got help.

Technically, God saved my life and pulled me out of a pit during a long, grueling process. But there were times along the way when He left little gifts for me to find.

And here's why: I can count on Him. He exists, and I have faith that He exists, and He has a relationship with me in which it would be downright foolish of me to deny His existence.

No, He isn't Santa Claus, but He's the Father of Lights who doesn't ever change.

No, His spiritual gifts aren't always easily understood, but He's the God of the universe who likes to communicate with us in as many ways as possible -- through His word; through His still, small voice; through tongues, interpretation, prophecy, and knowledge.

No, He doesn't wish to remain anonymous through coincidences, but He's the Great Shepherd who knows how to draw a wayward sheep back to Himself.

God is real. He's mine. I'm His. People around me have let me down, but He has never let me down. He goes through a lot of trouble to give me good gifts, because I'm special to Him. If there isn't a fireplace available for Him to invade for His gift-giving, He'll knock on the front door. If I don't answer His knocking on the front door, He'll sneak in another way. He's the Lord of my house, so He can come in however He wants, whether I see Him or not. He exists, whether I believe in Him or not. And I choose to believe in Him.

Evacuating somebody else's pooped hairballs isn't fun. But massive hairballs can be fatal. I choose to lean on my Surgeon who delights to unravel the foreign filth and help me spiritually purge my way to spiritual health. I choose to be still and know that He is God of this process. Choosing to follow Him has been painful, but I don't care. I want Him.

Breaking up, making up

This post will be like a grab bag of metaphors, etc. Please feel free to grab whatever you like and enjoy. Also, in case you were wondering, anytime I talk about my "Daddy," "Papa," or "Father," capitalized, I'm talking about God. Cuz He's my Daddy. And I'm His child.

"You open Your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing." (Psalm 145:16)

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil; for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me." (Psalm 23:4)

Speaking of grabbing, I enjoyed a beautiful banquet of breakfast taquitos this morning -- the kind that a little girl is supposed to enjoy with her Daddy on a Saturday morning (especially in Texas, where there's a Whataburger on every corner). The blurred photo at the beginning of this post is Macho my big cat trying to grab one of my beautiful burritos. (Choochie my little cat was in another room commencing her morning nap marathon.) I have to keep a very close eye on him, or he'll eat my meal. And his tummy isn't as big as he thinks it is, so if he overeats, he won't keep it down. So, whether he filches my food successfully or unsuccessfully, it's messy either way.

So, this morning while I was serving myself my Whataburger breakfast, I couldn't leave Macho alone in the room with my meal. If I left my coffee in the kitchen and had to go get it, I'd pick up Macho in one arm and retrieve my coffee with my free hand. Then I'd gently drop both of them off at their designated locations. I had to do this a few times during my morning. At one point, I had Macho in one arm and my coffee creamer bottle in my free hand, and he thought my creamer bottle was food, so he reached out and grabbed it (he has cataracts), and I had to explain to him in his carnivorous-feline disappointment that the bottle was for Mama's coffee.

This morning's breakfast was an adventure, for sure. Daddy and I enjoyed reruns of The Cosby Show, while I ate my taquito banquet, because that's what a little girl and her Daddy are supposed to do: enjoy each other's company. And while I was transporting my breakfast materials in one hand and transporting Macho in the other, that was my way of telling my cat, "I love you, but you can't eat my breakfast," and also "I love you, and I don't want you to get into trouble."

Years ago, I heard somebody explain how shepherds treat wayward sheep, and I've remembered their explanation ever since. If I understand correctly, in biblical times, if a sheep had a tendency to wander away from the flock, the shepherd had to discipline it in a way that the sheep would never forget. The shepherd would break the sheep's legs. That way, the sheep COULDN'T wander off. And while the sheep's legs were healing, the shepherd would carry the sheep around his shoulders. Then after the sheep's legs had healed and it could walk again, it would live the rest of its life extra close to the shepherd, because it didn't know how to live any other way.

So, I'm pretty sure my Papa has broken my legs, at least once, because I don't want to be away from Him or His shoulders ever again.

Last weekend was a special weekend at my church. For me, it was extra special. I sang in our choir while we led worship for 5 services. During the last service, I was hit with atheistic thoughts during the song set. In my opinion, the taking-the-thought-captive prayer for a "God doesn't exist" thought is probably one of the dorkiest-sounding prayers ever, because it's one of the dumbest temptations ever. I mean, seriously. "Uh, Lord, I'm getting tempted with the lie that You don't exist." (I wonder if Jesus would agree with me. Before He lived here on earth, He lived up in heaven and saw His Father, the only true, living God of the universe, with His own eyes. And the devil had the stupidity to walk up to Him in the wilderness and be like, "Hey, worship me instead." What the effing crap? Anyway, it's distracting and annoying, to be sure.) It took me the rest of the day to resolve that. I think the best way to narrate my process is with a stream-of-consciousness paragraph...

...thusly. So, after worship service #5, I drove home and was doing spiritual warfare on myself. I think I was binding the spirit of antichrist or something. And I went to buy lunch, and Daddy was like, "Would you like to listen to music together?" So, I went home and ate lunch and watched Billy Joel videos on YouTube with my Papa. He and I like to listen to "Goodnight, My Angel" together. (The first time I heard it about 20 years ago, I cried. Or maybe I just tried to not cry, since crying was kinda frowned upon in my house back then.) So, then I had to be back at church for a special evening service. While I sat in the congregation, I was very aware that I was still vulnerable to that weird "God doesn't exist" temptation. I was talking to God about it, and I kept seeing this picture of black seeds. I knew that they were inside my heart. God kept telling me that my (ex) parents had put them there. I couldn't shake this image of these black seeds. So, after worship and after the sermon, the preacher was like, "If you're being attacked or are depressed or are discouraged, stand up, and we're gonna pray for you." Of course, I shot up to my feet, and after people prayed for me, the black seeds turned golden. I was like, "What the heck? Am I supposed to plant the seeds now?" And Daddy was like, "I neutralized them." Then later while I was praying for people around me, God was like, "This goes back to rejection and abandonment. You thought I was going to reject you and abandon you, so you decided that if I ever did, you would reject and abandon Me, too." OH. I knew that I needed to get home so that I could pray more thoroughly for myself, because I knew I had some business to take care of. God was like, "I want you to write Me a loveletter." I wanted Him to help me, but He was like, "No, I'm not gonna help you." And of course, I was like, what the heck? Maybe He was doing like this reverse psychology thing on me, or maybe He wanted me to ask Him for help, because while I was driving home, I was like, "Lord, with all due respect, I know You said You weren't going to help me, but I need You. Can You please help me?" And I was crying a lot. So, I got home, and God was like, "Take your shoes off and kneel here." So, I removed my shoes and socks and knelt on my hardwood floor, and I probably spent a wee bit too much time talking to the demons. They didn't talk back, probably because I bound them, but I was like, "I'm sorry I agreed with you. You're wasting your time with me." It was a very angry prayer, probably like the kind you'd hear from a rape victim who finally got a chance to address her abuser. I was like, "You're attacking me with this lie that God doesn't exist, because you're demons WHO WERE CREATED BY GOD." The golden seeds were gone, and I asked God to replace them with His seeds, and He showed me a picture of these big, shiny things, and He said they were pearls and that they had already germinated. Then I sat in my living-room chair -- the same old chair where I sat when I got saved when I was 10 years old -- and I recited a verbal loveletter to my King in front of any principalities or powers or angels or demons who were listening. I explained that that "God doesn't exist" crap was going to end right there. I explained that as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. I got on my knees and gripped the ends of my chair -- kind of as if its ends were horns on an altar -- and I remembered in John 14 where Jesus explains that if anyone loves Him, He and Father will come and make Their home with that person. I want God to make His home with me. He told me that after that night, I wouldn't deal with that atheistic stuff ever again, and He was right.

So, later while I was processing all that stuff that happened last Sunday, I was like, "Oh, that was an inner vow." The Freedom ministry people can explain what an inner vow is much better than I can, but my quirky right-brained definition is "a promise that you accidentally made with the devil." So, I think that's why I kept getting hit with "God doesn't exist" temptations at the most random, inconvenient times. I think the demonic forces were claiming territory in my soul-vow.

I think breaking an inner vow is a lot like breaking up with an extremely unhealthy boyfriend. It's breaking off an engagement with a fiancé who you've suddenly discovered that you're not in love with. You rip his slimy, tarnished engagement ring off your finger, throw it in his face, and rage, "I HEREBY BREAK MY PROMISE TO YOU! IT'S OVER BETWEEN US!"

In my case, Papa has been showing me that I made that inner vow sometime maybe around age 4, when I was suddenly informed that Santa Claus doesn't exist. Years later, I was told that the person who blew my Christmas fantasy to smithereens didn't want me to believe in Santa Claus as a child and then later be told that he doesn't exist. This person didn't want me to be like, "Then, what about God? He doesn't exist, either?" I think this person's plan accidentally backfired on me. Anyway, the memories are vague, but Daddy and I are probably going to work through them.

Hmm. That reminds me. Christmas is coming up in a couple of months. I'm excited for making new memories with my Daddy! Our first Christmas together 2 years ago (that is, my first Christmas with Him as my only immediate Family), I ate pizza and drank root beer, and I spent about 4 hours that day writing Him a song. I think that's when I got that scab under one of my guitar calluses that took months to heal and go away. Dang, that was fun! Totally worth it.

"If a son asks for bread from any father among you, will he give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent instead of a fish? Or if he asks for an egg, will he offer him a scorpion? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask Him!" (Luke 11:11-13)

God knows what I need. He knows I can't lead people into worshiping Him if I don't believe in Him. (Seriously, it's the stupidest temptation ever.) He knows I was hurt by a severe, neglectful lack of relationship with parents when I was young. He knows the way to heal it is to just be my Daddy, and I'll be His little girl. No, not everybody's relationship with Him has to look exactly like mine. Goodness, no. But this is what's been healing me. I need Him. He's been making up for anything that I didn't get, anything I was supposed to get, when I was a little girl.

I saw the movie Despicable Me for the first time last year. Until I fully grasped what was going on in that movie, I couldn't really understand those "If you, then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children" verses in the Bible. Just being honest, I didn't know what it felt like to receive a good gift from a father. Despicable Me is about an evil man; the protagonist is a professional villain. He adopted 3 little girls so he could use them to commit at least one crime. But during the movie, something inside him clicks, and he begins to enjoy the little girls. He even disintegrated an amusement-park game to get one little gift for one of the girls. If THAT guy, being evil, knows how to give good gifts to somebody he didn't even father himself, then how much more does MY Father in heaven know how to give good gifts to me? God isn't a professional villain. He's the One who thought me up, meticulously created me, redeemed me, and has been restoring me. (And He'll continue to restore me.)

One day, God was like, "If I have to use a movie to show you how much I love you, that's bad." Yep.

So, today while I was running my pre-breakfast errands, I was telling God that I want Him. And He reminded me of that verse from Luke 11 that I quoted above. In His impression of the crazy soup guy from Seinfeld, God was like, "No scorpion for you!"

Regarding the "God doesn't exist" temptation (which truly is the dumbest temptation ever), as Gru would say, "It has been disintegrated. By definition, it cannot be fixed. Knocked over!" Aww, yeah. That's my Daddy.

Nest under construction

There have been several things rolling around in my head lately, and I think the best way for me to process them is to write a follow-up to my previous Construction post and my older post The Nest. So, it's sort of a part 2 for both posts combined. As a disclaimer, I would like to say that I'm currently not an ordained minister, a licensed therapist, or a church employee. In terms of life in God's kingdom, currently my only official title is a member of my church's choir. In terms of the gifts God has given me and the functions He has designed me for, I'm a creative shepherd. When I hit the worship platform at church, I'm basically saying, "Hey, look! There's Jesus! Let's go get Him!" When I interact one-on-one with somebody who's interested in learning from me, I kinda take them under my wing and kinda turn into a rambling old lady who's like, "So, way back in 1994 when we had to listen to Dennis Jernigan music on fandangled little contraptions called audiotapes, we had to be real careful to not play them too long or too hard, or they'd wear out, and then, well, you'd have to find out when his next concert would be, and then after you'd find that out, you'd have to pray that you'd be able to find a ride to the concert, unless, of course, you'd prefer to walk, in which case, you'd need to begin your journey at 0500 hours. Did I ever tell you about the time somebody forgot to pick me up?"

Testing the spirits is important (1 John 4:1), and being aware of false prophets and examining their fruits is important (Matthew 7:15-20). In fact, please do that with me. It's very possible that I'm completely wrong in my opinions and that I'm quite full of my own crap.

Abruptly changing the subject, my apartment complex finally put a new number on my door this week. That's what my picture is at the beginning of this post. No, I'm not going to post the entire number or my address here. As Ricky Ricardo would say, "Are you crazy or somethin'?" It took my apartment complex about 8 or 9 months to give me a new address sign. I think they're still in the process of putting signs on the other apartments' doors. Also, about 2 weeks ago, they warned us that our parking lot would be repaved. The potholes have been filled in, but the parking lots haven't been repaved yet.

I truly don't know what the delay is in construction, but I'm guessing maybe they've been paying it off with cash, so maybe every time somebody pays rent, they hammer on a couple of address signs and fill in a couple of potholes? Just a guess. The slowgoing process has been frustrating, yet it's simultaneously been very satisfying. Very gradually, I've seen the exterior of my humble-looking home (which I moved into because it was cheap) become a very nice-looking home with nice landscaping and an almost-finished parking lot. It has been worth the wait.

Abruptly changing the subject again, I think sometimes my brain surfs its own waves and stops on a channel that's probably labeled "Teachings that you now consider to be crap." In order for this to make sense, reader, I think it's important to remember my background. I had a very submissive, people-pleasing, let-me-lie-on-the-floor-so-you-can-step-on-me personality in my past. I'm pretty sure God designed me that way so I could be like, "Yes, Lord, how high would You like me to jump?" anytime He would instruct me to do something, but I think other people exploited/abused me and my personality in my past. So, my desire in writing this isn't to slander anybody. My desire is to ramble like an old lady to anyone who has, unfortunately, been taken advantage of as I have in my past, and to say, "My friend, you don't have to believe everything you hear."

I used to listen to a preacher/teacher on TV on a regular basis, but I don't anymore, because I've decided that I disagree too much with this person. I heard this preacher/teacher say, "Anger is an unholy emotion." From what I understand, it isn't, because God gets angry; there isn't anything unholy about Him at all. Psalm 4 says to be angry and not sin. It doesn't say that if you're angry, you're tainting yourself. If somebody close to me verbally punches me in the nose and spitefully spits in my face with insulting words, I'm probably going to get angry, not because of something unholy, but because I'm a human being who experiences emotions, period. Just because anger is scary, misunderstood, and often mismanaged as an emotion doesn't mean it's unholy. Also, this preacher/teacher said that we shouldn't say, "Help me" to God all the time; we should meditate on our identity in Christ instead. Well, yes, if I'm a Christian, it's definitely important to know who I am in Christ and to meditate on who I am in Christ. That is definitely true. However, I think anyone who would suggest that it isn't Christlike to ask God to help them has probably skipped reading like half the Bible. Check out Psalms 34, 46, and 50, for starters.

A couple of years ago, an author came to speak at my church, and I was very alarmed by what I heard. He had an awesome testimony, and he had what I thought was good insight. But what alarmed me was that he said that he never asks God for anything; all he does is meditate on his identity in Christ. I guess his quiet time is a simple time of saying something like, "God, thank You that I'm Your friend. Thank You that I'm seated in heavenly places in Christ. Thank You that I'm more than a conqueror." There's certainly nothing wrong with that, and what happens during his quiet time is none of my business. But to never ask God for anything for himself? Has he ever met the Father of Lights? Does he not realize how extravagant of a giver of gifts He is?

Going back to my apartment construction analogy, say for instance I'm driving home in the dark, and I don't know if I'll be able to park in my parking lot. (Which has become a common occurrence recently.) In my opinion, it would be foolish, naive, and stubborn of me to declare, "I know who I am; I'm a licensed driver who's operating an insured vehicle that's perfectly fit for road travel, so why do I need extra lights in the street to show me where the coned-off areas are?" Uh, no. I would probably damage my vehicle and the parking-lot cones and get towed or cited in the process. What I would probably need to do is ask God for help. "Lord, it's dark out here, and I don't know what I'm doing. I've never driven this way before, and I don't know what my final destination is going to look like. Can You please help me? Can You please show me where to go?" And He'll get me there safely... in addition to me being a licensed driver who's operating an insured vehicle that's perfectly fit for road travel.

At least, that is my experience and opinion. These two individuals -- the preacher/teacher and the author -- have books for sale at my church's bookstore, so these individuals probably aren't terrible people (at least, from what I understand). Their teachings point people to God. But a decision I've made for myself -- just from listening to the red flag screaming inside me -- is that I won't buy these people's books unless I'm coerced to do so, because I disagree with them. That is my decision.

Regarding the author I mentioned a few paragraphs ago, I messaged one of my pastors to express concern over the author's teaching. I don't remember the pastor's exact reply, but it was something like, "Whatever, Tirzah. But I love how you pursue God!" Uh, have I told you lately that I have issues with pastoral neglect?

The reason I spoke up when I saw my internal red flag waving and heard it screaming was because of stuff I've experienced in my past. That is, I grew up blindly believing and accepting anything that anyone in authority fed me. Whoever's nest I was in, I would open my mouth wide and gulp down whatever worms that my mama bird would feed me, because I was hungry, and it was time to eat. Now I know that I can examine what I'm being fed before I eat it. I could even decide to not eat it after all. But that is my decision to make.

As an example of a bad worm that I gulped down in my past, did I ever tell you about the time a preacher told me all Christians are supposed to be missionaries? (I think I've probably mentioned this in a previous blog post or two.) In 1997, I attended a missions conference in which one night's speaker said, if I remember correctly, "If you're a Christian, you should want to be a missionary unless God calls you to do something else." This speaker didn't mean to be a missionary in the sense that you can be a missionary in the workplace, in the shopping mall, at the convenience store, everywhere your foot treads, because you have the Holy Spirit living inside you. He meant vocationally. He meant that all Christians should desire to be a paid/payroll/support missionary unless God communicates with a Christian specifically and says something like, "I want you to be a doctor" or "I want you to be a lawyer."

I found out years later that this speaker was rebuked somehow later for that comment. I really wish somebody had told me. I kinda rearranged my entire life around a lot of the things he mentioned in his speech.

So, that's why I often feel like speaking up anytime I see my internal red flag waving or whenever I hear it screaming. I'm not saying that any of these people I disagree with should be disgraced or stripped of their credentials. I'm saying if anyone tries to feed me anything that looks, smells, or tastes mildewy, moldy, or rotten, I probably won't eat it. But that is my opinion, and that is my decision to make. If your system can digest questionable-smelling food better than mine can, and you want to try something new, go for it. But if your system has already been compromised by disease or injury, I might speak up. It's OK to be cautious.

OK, so I was exaggerating a tiny bit about the Dennis Jernigan tapes and walking to his concerts. But somebody really did forget to pick me up for a church event one time circa 1999. It was disappointing, it was a time-waster, and it was a bummer. I didn't speak up, though. That was back during my let-me-lie-on-the-floor-so-you-can-step-on-me days. That chick is dead. Tirzah is alive now. Tirzah has her life back. Tirzah doesn't live in a spiritually abusive environment where her future is toyed with or manipulated anymore. Tirzah doesn't tolerate spiritual abuse anymore. No way. "Are you crazy or somethin'?"

Living in an 80s commercial

Do you remember that one commercial from the 80s that went something like this?

"[Guy in kitchen holding an egg] This is your brain. [Points to a frying pan on a burner] This is drugs. [Cracks egg into hot frying pan] This is your brain on drugs. [Sizzling] Any questions?"

I'm definitely not making fun of that commercial or minimalizing how devastating it is to have a drug addiction. I was just thinking that that metaphor from the commercial is probably the coolest one for me to borrow so that I can describe what it's like to leave a religious/Pharisaical/hypocritical environment, because...

...my brain isn't sizzling anymore. Hallelujah! Perhaps a more descriptive title for this blog post would be "What it's like to grow up in a Pharisee's house." Unfortunately, I won't consider breaking my no-cooking record for a photo opp. Reader, I hope you don't mind using your imagination:

"[Tirzah in kitchen holding an egg] This is my brain. [Points to a frying pan on a burner] This is a Pharisee's house. [Cracks egg into hot frying pan] This is my brain in a Pharisee's house. [Sizzling]"

Technically, I think I grew up in a house with two Pharisees, but I'll only elaborate on one of them here. And I think Jesus probably had the best metaphor to describe what a Pharisee can do to a person, but, well... I was just thinking about my brain. And that 80s commercial with the egg was always cool.

"In the meantime, when an innumerable multitude of people had gathered together, so that they trampled one another, He began to say to His disciples first of all, 'Beware of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy.' " (Luke 12:1)

When you're born into a Pharisee's house, you will live in an extremely unhealthily competitive environment. It will always be understood that the Pharisee will always be better than everyone else in the house. Unless you can oppress your sibling and strangle your way to the top of the heap, you will always remain at the bottom. The fear of man will motivate you to slap on a fresh coat of whitewash every Sunday morning, Sunday night, and Wednesday night. The fear of failure will drive you to perfection. The fear of rejection will drive you to isolation. The fear of dying will drive you to feed your infirmities until you have developed an all-you-can-eat buffet of health problems. Fear will rule almost everything you touch.

When you live in a Pharisee's house, he will recite the books of the Bible while he drives you to school in the mornings, so you'll be forced to memorize them. When you get older, you'll be forced to participate in family devotionals at 9 p.m. on a Saturday night only because the Pharisee heard James Dobson say that families are supposed to do this.

When your home is a Pharisee's home, he'll be waiting for you when you come home from college. But it won't be to find out how you're doing. He'll want to show off his new cantillation skills. He won't care how exhausted you are from your road trip. He'll just sit next to you, open up a book, and begin to cantillate as if you were at a synagogue service, not a living room.

When the head of your house is a Pharisee, he'll be in charge of the TV, even though he won't have any concept of entertainment. If you try to watch a movie with a Pharisee in the room, he'll punctuate the film with a running commentary to define the obvious innuendos and to make sure you caught every single cuss word. Every time a character says "God" or "Oh, my God," and they aren't praying, the Pharisee will declare, "Blasphemer!" Even when he is exhausted and watching TV with his eyes closed, he'll declare groggily, "Blasphemer." Every time President Clinton shows up on the news, the Pharisee will yell, "Baby killer!" at the screen.

When you grow up in a Pharisee's house, you will learn quickly how to lie, because the Pharisee won't do anything to develop any kind of relationship with you. Why should you tell the truth to somebody who doesn't bother getting to know you? It's not like he would ever do anything to find out the truth. Knowing how to lie and deceive will especially come in handy during your high-school years when you want something so badly that you'll develop a secret life on the side to get it. When you're in junior high and you don't want to eat your dinner, he'll think you've become anorexic like Karen Carpenter, even though the truth is that you're not hungry because you snacked all afternoon, and if he had kept an eye on you, he might have seen it. When you're in college and you really become anorexic, he'll smile and tell you that you look like a model. The main thing that the Pharisee wants is for you to show up for church on Sundays and Wednesdays and to vote Republican. If you do anything to voice a political opinion that doesn't 100% mirror his -- even if it's a simple admiration for an actor's creativity, even though you disagree with the actor politically -- the Pharisee will bark at you, "I believe the Bible."

When you're in a Pharisee's home, you will live in a constant blanket of shame, partly because the Pharisee won't always acknowledge your presence as a human being. When you arrive in the kitchen in the mornings to eat breakfast -- because you are a morning person just like he is -- he may or may not greet you. All the times he briefly grinned and waved at you while he was eating his breakfast and silently reading his Bible would be overshadowed after he would be given more authority as a teacher. In time, all you will remember is those silent breakfasts when you would serve yourself some cereal and coffee and not get any eye contact whatsoever from the Pharisee, even though you were the only other human being in the room, until he would launch into his lecture about Israel. Without so much as a "Hi" or "How are you," the Pharisee would begin speaking about the landmarks in Israel, as if you were a university student who was taking notes for a test... instead of a valued member of the family who has interests, dreams, desires, and personalities that are different than his.

When you are part of a Pharisee's home, when you are away at college, you will call home and want to speak to the other Pharisee instead. This trend would continue into adulthood when you would call home, the Pharisee would answer, and he would give the phone to the other Pharisee. He wouldn't always bother to develop a relationship or maintain a connection with you, even if you were in the same room or on the other end of the phone.

When the head of your house is a Pharisee, you will be afraid of interacting with him, because he will always be right, you will always be wrong, and he will not stop talking about it. After you begin discovering that following God is more than just following rules and attending church and whitewashing yourself, he will try to deprogram you. He will interrupt your meals or your homework, and he will launch into a tirade and/or commence a lecture that will be quite lengthy. More than likely, this will not be a conversation; this will be a monologue. If he remembers an additional point after he walks away, he will interrupt your meal or your homework again, for another 5 or 10 minutes, and pick up wherever he left off in his tirade and/or lecture.

Years later, after you begin to process your life, terms such as "spiritual abuse" or "emotional abuse" or even "mental abuse" will come to life in a way that will bring you to your knees and give you many "WTF" moments with God. You will realize that the Pharisee did not cherish you. He studied you. You will play back a tape that he recorded of you when you were 5 years old, and you will yell at the speaker something to the effect of, "SHE DOESN'T CARE ABOUT HEBREW! SHE ISN'T INTERESTED IN LEARNING LANGUAGES! SHE WANTS TO DRAW!"

After you leave the Pharisee's house forever, you will communicate with the Pharisee to answer his question as to why you left forever, and you will briefly answer that God told you to leave and that he and the other Pharisee spiritually and emotionally abused you. Instead of acknowledging the abuse, he will reply with 3 different Bible verses that all say to honor your father and mother, and he will later add the Bible verse that says that you have brought shame and disgrace.

And as you pick up the pieces of your life, you will understand more than ever why God told you to leave, especially when you realize that your brain has stopped frying.

"For the Lord takes pleasure in His people; He will beautify the humble with salvation." (Psalm 149:4)

Yesterday, I heard my pastor preach a sermon about pride. (He didn't mean the good kind of pride like taking pride in your work or saying, "Hey, I'm proud of you." He meant the bad kind of pride like being self-righteous or believing you're better than everybody else.) After church, God took me aside, and we found a quiet little nook at a restaurant for lunch. (You'd be surprised how peaceful Jack In The Box can be at 2 p.m. on a Sunday.) While I was eating, checking out my Bible, and enjoying the tranquility, God basically told me that pride was a major stronghold in my family. (Technically, it's my ex-family.) That is, pride would blind us from seeing anything that God wanted us to see. It was a lot like a deception. If anyone would try to show us something new, we'd respond by saying something like, "We've never heard of such a thing," and we'd continue living our extremely narrow-minded little lives. (Not the good kind of narrow-minded like believing that people in Japan shouldn't marry their video games. The bad kind of narrow-minded like believing that if the Holy Spirit wants to lead you to do something, He's going to have to flex your muscles.) This kind of pride is what kept me from getting saved in the first place. When I was a little girl, I would hear a preacher at church talk about how to accept Jesus as your Savior, and I'd think something to the effect of, "They mean everybody but me. I don't need that."

So, while I was enjoying a quiet lunch yesterday with Father God, and He showed me that pride was a major stronghold in the family that I've irrevocably separated myself from, He said, "It would have killed you." He's right. He told me to leave the family back in 1998, and I didn't. And I paid for my disobedience with mental illness and several days at a psychiatric hospital. I finally obeyed Him and left the family back in 2011. And God allowed me to be tempted in the same way that I was tempted many years ago; and this time, the mental illness could have been worse, and my giving myself over to the temptation could have had excruciatingly tragic results. I more than likely would not be typing this right now.

But God helped me, because He takes care of me like a good Daddy is supposed to. Jesus helped me, because He's a conqueror, and in Him, I'm more than a conqueror. The Holy Spirit helped me, because He's a Helper, and He's a Counselor, and He's a Comforter, and yes, He most certainly does still work the same way He did before the Bible was canonized. And I know Him. And He knows me.

And that doesn't mean that I'll never struggle with anything ever again. I'm not perfect, and I still have lots to learn, and I still have a long way to go, because life has just re-begun for me. But I'm willing. God is holding my hand, and He won't let go. He's been squeezing out the leaven of hypocrisy, which was probably rising inside the dough of self-righteousness, which was probably baking in the oven of pride and narcissism.

Putting it crudely, it's hard to love other people when you're living with your head stuck up your butt.

And I'm certainly glad that my brain has stopped frying in the pan of self-righteousness, which was greased in hypocrisy, which was heated by pride. And that metaphor is definitely not perfect, but I hope I'm making sense. I think God looked inside the Pharisee's house, saw me, and said, "She and I are eloping now," pulled me out, sandblasted me off, and is now embracing me in His arms. Because He's my Family now. And I'm glad I'm His. And I'm glad He's mine.

"[Sizzling stops] Any questions?"