Those people

So, I've already blogged 11 times this month. Why not make it an even 12?

I'd quote that "Do not judge" verse from Matthew 7, but, well, I don't exactly want to categorize the behavior I'm about to describe as "judging." That could get dangerous.

I would just like to offer a bit of caution, probably mixed in with a lot of opinion, baked in years of observation. And I hope I won't accidentally rip off any teaching(s) that I've heard at church. Thank you in advance for reading.

I think it's very dangerous to use the phrase "those people" to describe somebody who's different than you, somebody you don't like, somebody you don't agree with, somebody you've probably never even met, etc. (Variations to the phrase "those people" would be "these people," "that crowd," "them," etc.) Because I love you, I just want to point out that "those people" could be a red flag that you could be accidentally walking in a religious spirit, because, well... "those people" is a phrase that Pharisees tend to throw around quite a bit. Take it from the chick who was raised by wolves. Take it from the chick who grew up to become a wolf herself.

What I'm talking about is categorizing people unfairly, unnecessarily, more than likely because you accidentally think you're better than they are. In general, of course there's nothing wrong with categorizing people. It's easier that way. Many categories come naturally. For example, visionary philosophers like me (which I scored on a personality quiz years ago) would rather blog while eating dinner than watch television. Sometimes it's helpful to know which category you fit in so that you can understand yourself better. My fitting into the visionary philosophy category helps me understand why I tend to choose chocolate as a snack and why I could spontaneously erupt in philosophy at any time like a meditative volcano. See? I'm not a freak.

But I think blindly categorizing a person as one of "those people" accidentally causes you to see a person as a freak, or perhaps it creates a very big distance between you and the other person. (When I say "you," I mean anybody.) And I've done it, too. But I would like to offer some examples of how people have probably accidentally categorized me as a "those people":

"Oh, no, you're a morning person?? You better not be singing Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah at 5 a.m.!"

"So, you like cats? How many do you have? Like, 7?"

"You're Mexican? That means you have to be Catholic, because all Mexicans are Catholic!"

"You like music, right? Would you like to come to a rock concert with me?"

"You couldn't possibly like music that people in their 50s like."

So, please let me set the record straight. Yes, I was up at 5 this morning, but I have possibly never sung Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah. I only have 2 cats; one is currently resting 4 feet away, and another one is currently perching on my thigh. I'm half-Mexican, and I grew up Southern Baptist. Yes, I like music, but that's like saying that I like to eat food; could you please understand that I have certain tastes and that I can be very picky? Speaking of, just because I was born in the mid-70s doesn't mean I can't get into Queen, especially their early albums. (In fact, I'm seriously considering playing their song "Ogre Battle" in the background the next time I give my babies some catnip.)

My point is that putting a person into a "those people" category creates a distance that almost completely kills any kind of growing relationship with them. Why would you want to associate with "those people," anyway? Do you see what I mean?

As a fiction writer, I understand that putting any kind of character into a "those people" category -- in other words, a 2-dimentional stereotype -- isn't even good storytelling. (Unless, of course, you're going for something like a comic strip or Lemonchicky.) A good character in a fiction story will have depth to him or her. Maybe a really good villain will be someone who continuously makes bad choices until the climax of the story, when the author flashes back to the villain's childhood, and then you understand how he or she became the villain, and then your heart softens for him or her when you see him or her wrestling with whether or not he or she should take out the protagonist, and then you scream in shock when the villain finally decides -- despite the wrestlings -- to remain a villain. (I think I just described Darth Vader?)

I understand that analyzing various things about life, including people, is important, but I think sometimes it can be taken a bit too far. I think that's one reason why I think the Five Love Languages is a load of hooey. I say if you find out that somebody's love language is physical touch, why should you go out of your way to slobber all over them? Or (especially) why should you allow them to slobber all over you? Why would you even want to imprison yourself in a love language category? If you love somebody, just tell them or show them. If they don't get it, find another way to communicate it to them until they finally understand that you care. Love is so strong that it has a way of communicating itself if you just keep showing up or if you just wait long enough. (Jesus dying on the cross for me is probably the biggest demonstration of love that anyone could have ever given me, but understanding that His suffering was a demonstration of love for me has taken years to sink in. I think love is either there, or it's not.)

If a person tells you that their love language is physical touch, and all you do is hug them every time you see them, where's the excitement? Where's the unpredictability? Where's the spontaneity? Where's the romance? Where's the life? Life breathes. It grows. It moves. It changes. Different needs arise at different times. Adaptability is crucial. Plans change. Life continues. You oftentimes don't know what you're going to experience until you actually experience it.

So, just calling a person a "those people" can bring death. Pharisees do it all the time. I used to think that "those people" who were depressed and needed therapy just needed to get with the program... until one day I found myself smack-dab in the middle of a brand-new program. I understood firsthand why "those people" couldn't just wave a magic wand and instantly get better. "Those people" needed real help, and now I myself was one of "those people."

Speaking of therapy, this book just came in the mail today, and I'm excited to start reading it for therapy.

My suggestion for putting an end to lumping human beings into "those people" categories is simply getting to know people, one human being at a time. Every person has a different history, a different testimony, a different story. Getting to know a human being as a person is something that can take a tremendous amount of time, but I think it's well worth the effort and investment. Doing so can build a relationship, form a healthy bond, add a helpful perspective, or even cure loneliness.

So, what I wrote about in this post is simply something I've had on my mind for a while. The next time you're about to label a person as "those people," please reconsider. Otherwise, it could get dangerous.

The no-comfort zone

Rated R! This post won't be pretty. I'm going to cuss. I'm not preaching. I'm processing.

I've noticed during my healing process that sometimes, an image from my past will stick in my brain and refuse to leave until I examine it. (Hence my writing this post.) Today, the image was from my ex-family. Please understand that these dear people are folks that I've separated myself from permanently on purpose, so they're not mine anymore. But I'm going to write about them in this post as if they were still mine.

When I was in high school, if I remember correctly, on a few occasions, my little sister would be sitting alone on her bed in her darkened room. She would be crying nonstop. Mama would be in the kitchen cooking dinner, and she would instruct us to leave my little sister alone. I think maybe at first, my little sister was crying because she had asked Mama if she could go somewhere or do something, and Mama said no. So, maybe at first, the crying was fake-manipulative. But as time progressed, it seemed real. When I spoke to my little sister about it years later, she explained that she really was crying, with no comfort from Mama, and she really was depressed.

So, while my little sister would sit in the dark crying, Mama would cook dinner with a hardened look on her face and be very unhappy about the fact that my little sister wouldn't stop crying. At least once or twice, Daddy went into my little sister's room and held her, and tried to comfort her, which is what a parent is supposed to do. I don't remember him taking his Bible into my little sister's room and training her how to turn to God during her episodes of grief. I don't remember him praying with her. But I do remember him trying to do the right thing with what he had.

Mama was mad because my little sister was sad? I don't get it. What the hell kind of a monster does that to her kid? Maybe I just answered my own question with my own profanity. She just let her own child boil in the darkness of her own sorrow. How dare she treat my little sister like that. How dare she instruct me to not comfort her, either. How dare I obey her. If I knew then what I know now, I would have told that bitch to go fuck herself. I want to punch her in the face. Stay the fucking hell away from my little sister.

Sigh. It's a bad idea to mess with a shepherd.

The Great Shepherd, who calms me down, is the God of all comfort. He's the One who's been comforting me in all the ways I was denied comfort when I was a child in my neglectful environment. He's the One who showed me that comfort usually requires physical presence and time. He's the One who doesn't hesitate to show up for me when I crack my Bible open and blubbler over Psalm 31. Then He's the One who listens to me while I cry out my pain and pray through my concerns all morning and/or afternoon. Then He waits with me until He knows that I'm doing better. Then He lets me have ice cream. Or if I can't have ice cream, He'll enjoy some yogurt with me. He's the King of the universe, and yet He makes the time to sit with me while I cry, to listen to me while I ponder aloud, and to be my Friend and simply hang out with me while the weight of my sorrow lifts from my shoulders and tearfully flows onto His. That's what a good Parent is supposed to do. A good Parent is supposed to take care of His child. A good Parent is supposed to correct and strengthen His child.

In contrast, I don't really think Mama was showing my little sister tough love when she allowed her to sit in the dark wailing and then griping at her to tell her to stop crying. Well, maybe it started out as tough love a time or two, but allowing the episodes to last for an hour or more kinda becomes cruel and unusual punishment. At least my little sister had the guts to show her feelings. I had followed Mama's macho example and had grown hard and numb.

I think several of those non-comforted crying episodes can send powerful messages to your kid: Mama doesn't care about you or your pain. You could shrivel up and die for all she cares. Your emotions are causing a commotion that's disrupting the happiness of the entire household. You better turn the light on, get ahold of yourself, and get with the program, missy.

Hmm. No wonder I need therapy again. No wonder she only cared about how my trip to the psych hospital affected her. No wonder she would spend Sunday nights holding and comforting the dog instead of my little sister or instead of me. I was raised by a total bitch.

I don't understand why God allows people like this to even have children in the first place. But I think maybe I understand why He hasn't allowed her to have any grandchildren yet. It isn't my place to judge the decisions that God makes. It isn't even my place to judge the extremely terrible decisions that other people make. But I'm stunned at how a mother can overtly hate her child, whitewash her face, and then show up for church on Sunday morning like everything is hunky-dory.

Well, fuck you, bitch, and stay the fucking hell away from me and my little sister.

In retrospect, I think maybe there could have been a zillion different ways that my little sister's crying episodes could have been handled better. Mama could have recruited me and/or Daddy to finish cooking dinner while she got off her ass and comforted my little sister. Or Daddy could have grown a pair and told Mama to grow a heart and comfort my little sister. Or Daddy could have grown a really big pair and told Mama that the next time that happens, to fuck dinner and let's all just go out to eat. Tirzah's old enough to dial the phone. She can order a pizza for all of us while we work through this thing together. Because that's what families do.

They don't ignore a valued member of the family while she's wallowing in pain in the dark.

Or Tirzah could have just punched that Mama in the nose.

Or maybe I don't have to. Maybe me not being there anymore is sending a message loud and clear: You failed as a parent, and now your offspring need to pick up the pieces. If that's how you're going to treat your children, maybe you need to just give your ovaries to somebody who will appreciate them. Jesus says that we need to forgive people from our hearts? Good. Here's all the shit that's been floating around in my heart. I am not cool with the way some bitch who called herself our Mama hurt my little sister.

Ironically, this same little sister is the one who, after I finally disowned myself from my parents, told me, "May God have mercy on your soul." I'm not really worried about my soul. However, I think the Mama who treated us like crap might need to worry about her soul.

Sigh. That felt good to type. Thank you for reading.

Nevermore?

Even though I was raised by a Bible scholar whose father-in-law was a Bible salesman, I'm still very much a novice at studying the Bible myself. I haven't really figured out how to know what certain Bible words are in Hebrew or Greek unless they happen to be listed in my hardcopy Bible references. But I have figured out how to Google-research the heck out of a Bible passage. And I happen to know the Person who authored the Bible. I gotta say, He can be really random. And I mean that extremely affectionately.

Since the Bible is a sword, I have to be careful around it, or I'll accidentally cut myself and have to stop the bleeding. For example, a couple of months ago, I read the following passage and almost hyperventilated.

"Now King David was old, advanced in years; and they put covers on him, but he could not get warm. Therefore his servants said to him, 'Let a young woman, a virgin, be sought for our lord the king, and let her stand before the king, and let her care for him; and let her lie in your bosom, that our lord the king may be warm.' So they sought for a lovely young woman throughout the territory of Israel, and found Abishag the Shunammite, and brought her to the king. The young woman was very lovely, and she cared for the king, and served him; but the king did not know her." (1 Kings 1:1-4)

When I read this a couple of months ago, I freaked out and angrily exclaimed something to the effect of, "DID DAVID JUST HAVE A PARTY GOING ON ALL THE TIME AT HIS PALACE???" God told me to calm down. I guess I can't argue with the fact that a woman could be a very platonic, rated-G way for an aging King David to keep warm. Have I mentioned lately that I'm in therapy again?

I've read the Bible at least once in my lifetime, so one would think that its contents wouldn't be surprising... except that the Bible itself is alive. So, once in a while when I read it, a chapter, verse, passage, paragraph, or word will jump out seemingly randomly and grab me by the throat until I unwrap its healing fingers from my throat and try to breathe. I had such an experience today.

In my reading today, I saw many of the effects of King Solomon's idolatry. I blogged a tiny bit about that story. I think King Solomon ended up opening the door to all kinds of trouble for Israel. The entire nation was divided and ruled by separate kings. Some of them followed God. Others ended up committing idolatry more severely than King Solomon did. 1 Kings reads kind of like history book montage for a little while, and then a guy named Ahab becomes king over Israel. 1 Kings 16:31 basically says, "As if it wasn't already bad enough that King Ahab was doing the evil things that his forefathers did, he went and married Jezebel." So, Israel was in really bad shape.

Then suddenly, with pretty much zero foreshadowing, Elijah randomly appears in 1 Kings 17 and prophesies that it will stop raining in Israel. Then suddenly, God tells Elijah to get the heck out of there. God gives Elijah a very specific place to go.

"So he went and did according to the word of the Lord, for he went and stayed by the Brook Cherith, which flows into the Jordan. The ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning, and bread and meat in the evening; and he drank from the brook. And it happened after a while that the brook dried up, because there had been no rain in the land." (1 Kings 17:5-7)

Then I think about three years later, Elijah goes back to Israel, where Jezebel has massacred God's prophets and Obadiah has been hiding the surviving prophets. Then Elijah has the famous showdown with Baal's prophets, who cut themselves to get their false god's attention, and Elijah gets the real God's attention by praying, so He sends down fire from heaven and shows everybody that He really is the One true God. So, Jezebel does her thing and freaks Elijah out by threatening to kill him. Elijah, who is used to hiding out, runs into the wilderness. Then he has the famous conversation with God who asks him a couple of times, "What are you doing here?" Since I've had to kick Jezebel out of my life, I'm kinda familiar with 1 Kings 19.

Wait. Back up to chapter 17. God sent ravens to feed Elijah? That's really random.

So, this evening I was Googling the heck out of ravens. There has to be some crazy, major symbolism going on with ravens in the Bible, right? I mean, aren't ravens supposed to be creepy? Edgar Allen Poe wrote about them and everything.

In my research, I found out that ravens are actually pretty cool. They're big and black, which probably scares people. But they're very smart and playful. Many ravens do cool tricks in the air while they fly; if they're carrying a stick while they're flying, they'll drop it and catch it while they're still in the air. As predators, they actually play kinda dirty. I think if an animal is tending to her young, as soon as she isn't looking, ravens will steal the young for dinner. Ravens can be trained to talk; I think this is one reason why Poe chose to have a raven as the subject of his famous poem. Otherwise, maybe today we'd be memorizing Edgar Allen Poe's "The Parrot" in school. Nevermore. Braaack. Polly want a cracker.

Then I found out that Noah released a raven from the ark to test to see if the floodwaters had evaporated. I found researching that particular subject to be quite disturbing. I had no idea that the ravens could be so naughty on the ark. (Seriously, y'all, they're just birds. Leave them alone. And please try to keep your Bible opinions PG when there isn't anything obviously rated R going on.) One blogger linked Noah's raven story with Elijah's raven story and came to the conclusion that God used a raven in Elijah's story to teach Elijah about having mercy on the people of Israel. I looked at my computer and said, "What the effing crap?" I have no idea how that scholar came to that particular conclusion.

So, that brought me back to my original conclusion: I think God used ravens to feed Elijah in 1 Kings 17 because my God can be really random. And I mean that extremely affectionately. I can almost imagine their conversation:

God: Hey, there. I have this prophet that I need y'all to feed for a while. Are y'all cool with that?

Ravens: Nevermore.

God: No, seriously, I'm commanding y'all to feed Elijah.

Ravens: Nevermore.

God: Sigh. Do I need to remind y'all who's truly Boss?

Ravens: Nevermore!

God: Good. Elijah will be at the Brook Cherith in a little while. Y'all won't fail Me, will you?

Ravens: Nevermore!

God: I thought so. Thank you.

So, after Elijah drops a prophecy bomb in 1 Kings 17, God whisks him away to a safe place where he's fed by ravens on a regular basis. Then Elijah hangs out at a widow's house. But during this entire time, Israel isn't a safe place for God's prophets, because Jezebel tried to kill all of them. God protected Elijah very specifically, very tenderly, and very awesomely.

Maybe Elijah forgot this when he suddenly freaked out in 1 Kings 19. When Jezebel threatened him directly, he ran away into the wilderness without God telling him to.

In the New Testament, Elijah and Moses appear to Jesus and hang out with Him for a little while. I don't think the contents of their conversation is recorded in scripture, but I wonder if maybe Elijah and Moses were encouraging Jesus. Maybe Moses was like, "Hey, You're the awesomest Deliverer ever. Also, if Your Father asks You to do something crazy like talk to a rock, don't get mad and hit the rock. That would be a big mistake." Maybe Elijah was like, "Hey, You're the awesomest Miracle-Worker ever. Also, if Your Father ever asks You to do something crazy like go hide out at a brook and get fed by ravens, He's doing it for Your own good."

But that's my imagination and opinion. I love God. I love how He knows exactly where we are, and I love how He knows exactly what we need. I love how He can be so random. I love how His randomness isn't haphazard. I love how the little, random things He asks us to do can actually turn out to be life-saving.

Just show up

I've more than likely mentioned a lot of the following information in previous posts, but I felt like I needed to repackage it here afresh.

I led a lifegroup at my church for a year and a half, and I learned a lot. But I think the most profound thing I learned was the simplest thing that God spoke while I would pray to prepare before the meetings: "Just show up and be yourself." I think the first one or three times I heard this, I asked for clarification. He gave it to me: "You show up and be yourself, and I'll show up and be Myself."

It's amazing how much can be accomplished simply by following the principle of just showing up.

"For my soul is full of troubles, and my life draws near to the grave. I am counted with those who go down to the pit; I am like a man who has no strength, adrift among the dead, like the slain who lie in the grave, whom you remember no more, and who are cut off from Your hand." (Psalm 88:3-5)

"My heart pants, my strength fails me; as for the light of my eyes, it also has gone from me. My loved ones and my friends stand aloof from my plague, and my relatives stand afar off." (Psalm 38:10-11)

These verses I just quoted contain some extremely uncomfortable information in them. What if I hadn't included the Psalm chapter and verse references? What if I hadn't used quotation marks? Would you have checked me into a psych hospital and/or given me a harsh rebuke and/or given me a platitude band-aid and hope I'd take my icky ideas elsewhere?

Now that I have your attention, I'm not complaining. The point I'm trying to make is that these are BIBLE VERSES. I've been in church pretty much my whole life. I've noticed that we churchgoers tend to skip over extremely unpleasant verses like these and go right to the "Be anxious for nothing" verses and "Do not worry" verses and hope that problems will immediately go away. But what if they don't?

And what are those extremely uncomfortable verses doing in the Bible, anyway? GASP! Did the psalmists actually have... GASP!! Emotions?? Say it ain't so!!

I hate to tell ya, but it's so. So, what are we supposed to do with all these emotions, anyway?

"Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us. Selah." (Psalm 62:8)

In 2001, pouring out my heart before God was how I ultimately got free from depression. Now in 2014, God is sort of doing a refurbished version of that lesson with me. I'm currently learning how to ride emotions like waves.

My point is that when emotions happen, even if they're sinful -- especially if they're sinful -- God wants them. I get to puke them out to Him, and the safety of His raw-honest presence is a refuge. If my emotions are wrong, or if my attitude is wrong, or if anything wrong was done to me, or if anything is wrong inside me, period, God's presence is the safest place for Him to fix all of that, even if it takes a while. Being happy, sad, angry, apathetic, confused, anxious, grief-stricken, furious, scared, ecstatic, etc., is 100% safe in God's presence. Please don't let anyone tell you any differently.

In John 8:44, Jesus explains that the devil is the father of lies. That is true. So, I've noticed that the Church's answer to mental health or pretty much any other issue is to get to "the lie" that's at the root of the issue and replace it with God's truth. For example, perhaps a person who's struggling with anorexia, bulimia, and/or self-mutilation was lied to when she was a little girl and told that she was fat and ugly. (Especially if she was actually slender and pretty.) The lie planted deeply in her soul would probably propel her to make bad decisions that lead to unhealthy patterns of behavior. Make sense?

There's definitely nothing wrong with identifying "the lie" and replacing it with the truth. That's how Jesus cleans house. But what if resolving a person's issues is more complicated than soul-hunting for a teensy little lie and getting rid of it?

Tonight, God helped me see that some lies can be huge and woven together like a spider's web. How does the saying go? "What a tangled web we weave when we practice to deceive?" Hmm. I guess that's what the devil does. Remember what it was like to be a little kid, before you knew how to tell right from wrong, and make up stories to save your hide? (Or maybe that was just me.) You'd start with one little lie, and then it would get bigger and bigger and bigger. You'd spin one little yarn about how you really did brush your teeth, and your toothbrush is dry because the water just evaporated really quickly, and the water molecules rushed out of the toothbrush bristles because your dog rushed into the bathroom and demanded to be fed, but he tripped you, and the air current of his demandingness whooshed all the air away from your toothbrush bristles like a supersonic flood of dryness, and now voila, you have miraculously brushed teeth and a dry toothbrush. I'm having fun making this up, but my point is that some lies can be huge, have deceptive networkings, and can take a very long time to unravel.

What happens during the unraveling?

I think the area of mental health is a severely misunderstood one. It is a hugely complex one. It is a scarily eye-opening one. When you walk through mental health issues, you learn rather quickly who you can trust, who will make you feel worse, and who will be willing to simply show up and walk with you.

This isn't always a pleasant lesson to learn. It results in disappointments, which, of course, kinda keep the mental health issues fueled. But knowing who you can turn to in a crisis is essential. I've learned to pick up on clues. There are some people who I've tested with minor, fun things like "Pray for my job." How they react to that could determine how they can be counted on with major, serious things like "I don't know how to shake this temptation of wanting to cut myself." If somebody replies that they will pray for the minor thing, tries to sympathize or empathize, and/or checks up on me later, of course I'm probably going to think about turning to this person for more serious things. But, while I'm delivering my prayer request, if they bark at me with something like "Lots of people don't like their jobs!" then I'll probably search for a more understanding person elsewhere. Maybe I'm doing it wrong, but that's just how I roll for now.

I know about depression firsthand. There can be so many different components to it: demonic, brain-chemical, emotional, situational, etc. Not every case of depression is the same. But I've met at least one person who believes that depression is only demonic. I usually stay away from this type of people. For example, if I'm tearfully pouring out my heart to God, and He and I are talking to each other, I might not be dealing with a demon at all. (Because demons try to keep me away from God. Make sense?)

Many wise people have said this before me: Pain is the great equalizer. Anyone who has experienced pain -- especially if they've allowed themselves to process it honestly -- will more than likely understand what another person is going through when that person is experiencing pain. I more than likely understand what mental health patients experience because I myself have experienced mental health issues.

And I'm just using myself as an example because I know me well. People all over the world can understand each other on all kinds of different issues.

Granted, I don't understand all issues, of course. I have no idea what it's like to experience a miscarriage, because I've never been pregnant. I have no idea what it's like to go through a divorce, because I've never been married. I don't know what it's like to be dumped by a boyfriend, because that's never happened to me. I don't know what it's like to attend a friend's funeral, because that's never happened to me.

But I know what it's like to hurt. I know what it's like to experience deep loss. I know what it's like when my knees buckle out from under me, I tell God, "I can't do this," and I let Him peel me off the floor as He gently comforts me.

And I know what it's like to walk through something alone. I know what it's like for people to blow off what I'm going through. I know what it's like to be lectured when I would rather just be hugged.

Using mental health as an example, I think maybe there are three different types of people that can be encountered during a crisis, while the lies are being unraveled: 1) someone who has been there, 2) someone who thinks you should pull yourself up by your bootstraps, and 3) someone who doesn't understand at all, but who is willing to show up and be available.

I'm not officially complaining. I've just been thinking about what I've learned about mental health throughout the years. I used to be a 2) above, but now I'm a 1). For all the other issues that I've never experienced, I hope I can be a 3).

I really think anyone who's going through a hard time usually just needs a shoulder (to cry on) and an ear (to listen). But that's just my opinion.

I'm not saying that you shouldn't forgive people or not be gracious toward them or not give them the benefit of the doubt. I'm saying if you keep getting kicked when you're down, lectured while you're crying, or ignored when you're reaching out, perhaps you should find someone different to reach out to. And if they don't understand, either, move on to the next person until you find somebody. Jesus will always understand. He can also help you find other human beings who will understand (or try to understand), too.

I don't think I'll always understand God, even after I get to heaven. But I want to keep showing up and getting to know Him. I definitely like how He put an entire songbook smack-dab in the middle of the Bible, and a whole bunch of the songs aren't even pretty (e.g., Psalms 38 and 88 quoted above). It's as if God is giving us permission to be human while we're seeking Him. Yes, some of us actually experience some of the things that happened in the Bible. GASP! Oh, my gosh! Do church people actually have... emotions?? Do we actually have... pain?? Do we actually have to... FEEL ALL OF THAT??? Say it ain't so!!

I hate to tell ya, but it's so. Thanks for showing up.

Sowing and reaping

This is a snapshot of me and Choochie hanging out at my laptop last month. She and I have a very close relationship. Almost every time I rev up my laptop (actually, pretty much anytime I try to sit quietly), she shows up out of nowhere and tries to snuggle with me. I know she's just my cat, but she's extremely precious to me, and I cherish our relationship.

About 13 years ago, after I was released from the psych hospital, my roommate had to kick me out of her house for a little while. So, I was sent to live with a family from church. Choochie was a kitten back then, and I couldn't take her with me to my temporary home because the lady of the family from church was allergic to cats. So, I would drive about 30 minutes almost every day to my roommate's house just to see Choochie. I mean, I couldn't let her forget her Mama, right? (Pet therapy.) I think sowing into that relationship worked. Now she's a 13-year-old cat who insists on being wherever I am. I think she and I have a great owner-pet relationship.

Hmm. This sounds familiar. Have I blogged about this before? Probably. I guess you naturally tend to talk incessantly about whoever or whatever you love.

"Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap. For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life." (Galatians 6:7-8)

Lately, I've been thinking a ton about the subject of sowing and reaping. (Basically that means that if you plant apple seeds, you'll get apple trees. If you plant squash seeds, you'll get squash. But you can't plant beans and get watermelons. Make sense?) I used to think that was kind of a harsh thing, but now I'm beginning to see how merciful and loving of a law it really is. After all, sowing and reaping is a law that God -- a merciful, gracious, loving God -- put into place.

But the principle of sowing and reaping can definitely be a sad, tragic thing sometimes. Take AIDS, for example. Anyone who follows my blog knows how I feel about homosexuality and related issues. (I don't hate gay people; I know firsthand what gay desires feel like. I hate homosexuality, and I love the God who loved me first and who heals me.) I truly hope I'm not being insensitive by writing or saying this, especially since there are many different circumstances in which a person could get AIDS. I think AIDS can be a perfect example of sowing a bad thing and reaping a bad thing. If you sin sexually, you sin against your own body. So, after a person commits a sinful sexual act, AIDS is one way that that person's body can sin back against that person by eventually killing him or her.

Lately, I've been doing a lot of research on Freddie Mercury's music and life. (He was an artistic and musical genius. It's a tragedy that he's gone.) From what I understand, he gradually embraced a homosexual lifestyle. Once he embraced it, he plunged into it very deeply and very promiscuously. Years later, at least one of his friends and/or business associates learned what AIDS was and asked Freddie Mercury if he was being careful, because they didn't want him to catch the disease. Freddie Mercury basically replied that he was going to continue to do whatever he wanted with whoever he wanted. Then AIDS killed him in 1991. He was a fun, talented, beautiful person who had been blessed with so much, and then it was all gone.

Freddie Mercury wasn't the only richly blessed man who sowed into the wrong thing. Check out the following progression.

"And I have also given you what you have not asked: both riches and honor, so that there shall not be anyone like you among the kings all your days. So if you walk in My ways, to keep My statutes and My commandments, as your father David walked, then I will lengthen your days." (1 Kings 3:13-14)

"Now if you walk before Me as your father David walked, in integrity of heart and in uprightness, to do according to all that I have commanded you, and if you keep My statues and My judgments, then I will establish the throne of your kingdom over Israel forever, as I promised David your father, saying, 'You shall not fail to have a man on the throne of Israel.' But if you or your sons at all turn from following Me, and do not keep My commandments and My statutes which I have set before you, but go and serve other gods and worship them, then I will cut off Israel from the land which I have given them; and this house which I have consecrated for My name I will cast out of My sight. Israel will be a proverb and a byword among all peoples." (1 Kings 9:4-7)

"Now all the earth sought the presence of Solomon to hear his wisdom, which God had put in his heart. Each man brought his present: articles of silver and gold, garments, armor, spices, horses, and mules, at a set rate year by year. And Solomon gathered chariots and horsemen; he had one thousand four hundred chariots and twelve thousand horsemen, whom he stationed in the chariot cities and with the king at Jerusalem. The king made silver as common in Jerusalem as stones, and he made cedar trees as abundant as the sycamores which are in the lowland." (1 Kings 10:24-27)

"BUT... King Solomon loved many foreign women, as well as the daughter of Pharaoh: women of the Moabites, Ammonites, Edomites, Sidonians, and Hittites -- from the nations of whom the Lord had said to the children of Israel, 'You shall not intermarry with them, nor they with you. Surely they will turn away your hearts after their gods.' Solomon clung to these in love. And he had seven hundred wives, princesses, and three hundred concubines; and his wives turned away his heart. For it was so, when Solomon was old, that his wives turned his heart after other gods; and his heart was not loyal to the Lord his God, as was the heart of his father David. For Solomon went after Ashtoreth the goddess of the Sidonians, and after Milcom the abomination of the Ammonites. Solomon did evil in the sight of the Lord, and did not fully follow the Lord, as did his father David. Then Solomon built a high place for Chemosh the abomination of Moab, on the hill that is east of Jerusalem, and for Molech the abomination of the people of Ammon. And he did likewise for all his foreign wives, who burned incense and sacrificed to their gods." (1 Kings 11:1-8, dramatic emphasis mine)

I think even while allowing His sowing-and-reaping law to take effect, God is merciful and gracious. It doesn't look like Solomon made one teeny little mistake and then suddenly had his kingdom ripped away from him. God ripped most of Solomon's kingdom away from his son after Solomon consistently sowed unfaithfulness to Him. I think Solomon had plenty of chances to repent. He had plenty of chances to be sorry enough for what he had done to stop doing it and turn back to God. Instead, he kept sowing unfaithfulness to God, so he reaped the ripping away of most of his kingdom.

This boggles my mind. (Not because I'm better than Solomon but because of the hugeness of what happened.) KING SOLOMON -- as in, the king of Israel who finally got to build God a temple -- turned around and built places of worship for OTHER gods. This happened after God very specifically spelled out for Solomon to NOT do this. I hope I'm not being disrespectful when I say this, but King Solomon was abundantly, prosperously, majorly, humongously, freakishly blessed. King Solomon didn't have to rent a storage space at U-Haul. He had entire storage CITIES. Even the Queen of Sheba heard about King Solomon, so she came to visit him, and she was extremely impressed.

(Awhile back, a few Christians freaked out because Joyce Meyer supposedly bought a $500,000 toilet. I researched the rumor a tiny bit and discovered that she had actually bought very expensive furniture (not a commode) for around $23,000 or possibly more. So what? She can buy whatever she wants with her money. Maybe instead of criticizing a public figure for how she spends her money, you should make sure you're actually tithing and not doing foolish things with your own money. Wait. Did I just type that out loud?)

Then King Solomon did the one thing that God didn't want him to do -- he turned his heart away from Him. (I guess in a way, he did what Adam and Eve did, what all of us end up doing.) I don't know exactly what drove King Solomon to do what he did, but maybe he got a tiny bit greedy? I mean, 1,000 women is a bit much. At any rate, he began to worship their gods. I haven't done very much research about these foreign gods, but from what I understand, worshiping these gods wasn't like worshiping the God of Israel. I think at least one of them required sacrificing children. I think at least another one of them required orgies. So, King Solomon didn't just build a nice little church building for each one of these gods. He built places where people could do all kinds of sins, and he himself indulged in this unfaithfulness to God.

So, as a result of the destruction that King Solomon sowed, God ripped most of the kingdom away from his son. Not to mention, I'm curious now about what the Israelites thought about everything. "Yay! I love living here in Solomon's kingdom! He's so wise and rich, and the temple he built is so beautiful!" "Um, wait. If God blessed him with so much wisdom, wealth, and women, why is he dissing Him by worshiping other gods? Doesn't he know that God sees all that crap? And what's going to become of us and our nation now if King Solomon is all distracted with his new party lifestyle?" "Uh-oh, maybe I should get out of here before it starts raining thunderbolts. I wonder if I can get a cool shepherding job in Egypt."

One thing about the sowing-and-reaping principle is that it honors God. I think in a way, it's proof that there is a God. And He isn't going to be mocked. He's going to allow whatever is reaped to be sown. I think anytime that happens, it's as if God is saying either "You thought you could get away with that? Nope, sorry, that wouldn't be just" or "You think you're not going to get something good out of this? Of course you are, and I'm proud of you for patiently waiting for it."

If I plant strawberries, I'm not going to get oranges. That would be absurd. There would be no order there. There would be no justice there. There would be confusion, heartache, and probably even paranoia. So, if I get oranges when I plant strawberries, what will happen the next time I plant strawberries? Will I get grapes? Will I get bananas? Will I get Toyotas? When the heck will I get strawberries? When will the madness end??

See what I mean? God designed strawberry seeds to produce strawberry plants, period, no exceptions.

Of course, all sorts of situations could prevent strawberry seeds from sprouting correctly. Maybe the seeds could turn out to be duds. Maybe the seeds could be neglected and not receive the proper amount of sunlight or water. All sorts of things could go wrong. But in general, if you plant strawberries, you'll get strawberries.

And when things do go wrong, God -- in His mercy and grace -- can fix them. And/or He can comfort you if/when things are unfixable. And/or He can be there every step of the way and help you make some sense of it all.

King David (Solomon's dad) sowed some bad things, too. He made some major mistakes. He wasn't perfect. But from what I understand, he kept coming back to God. I think it's interesting that 1 Kings 11:2 says that Solomon clung to his new gods. (Or maybe he just clung to his women who happened to worship other gods?) In the NIV version of Psalm 63:8, David says that he clings to God. I think that's a very vulnerable declaration to make. I mean, a warrior-king telling a God that he can't see with his natural eyes that he clings to him? That's hardcore. David definitely wasn't perfect, but I think he followed God around like a lovesick puppydog. I think God likes that.

God wants us to give Him our hearts. I think when we turn away from Him by giving our hearts away to other gods/things/people, it breaks His heart. Yes, God is merciful and gracious, but He's also just. Maybe one reason why He allows us to reap what we sow is to remind us of who He is. He's God.

I guess another way of saying "you reap what you sow" is "you get what you pay for." Of course, there are tons of examples of this. My employer comes to mind. After only being inside our new office space for 3 weeks, we've already had lots of problems with plumbing, security, and construction. I keep thinking that my employer is getting what they paid for. I guess they paid for something cheaply, so they got cheap products and services at our expense.

Speaking of expensive, Queen's A Night at the Opera was a very expensive, costly album to produce. The band spent a very great deal of time and energy into writing, recording, and producing the album. Queen poured the best of what they had into the project. As a result, A Night at the Opera is a masterpiece. Queen took a risk, and it was very worth it for them, and it was extremely worth it for us listeners who enjoy feasting our ears on musical banquets.

We can all sow good things and reap good things, too. If I sow into a friendship with God, I'll reap the coolest friendship I'll ever have. If I sow into a Father-daughter relationship with God, I'll reap the deepest, most intimate relationship I'll ever have with anybody. If I continue to submit my emotions to Him, He'll continue to give me healing. But if I pour my emotions into somebody else, I'll break His heart. And I'm sure I'd hear about it later.

"Seek the Lord while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the Lord, and He will have mercy on him; and to our God, for He will abundantly pardon." (Isaiah 55:6-7)

I think many potential relationships have a window of opportunity. The most important relationship that anyone will ever have is definitely with God. While we're here on earth, our window of opportunity is wide open. After we die, it will close forever. If I seek God now while I'm here on earth, and if I find Him, I'll be His friend in the afterlife, too. If I sow into my relationship with Him now, I hope I'll reap an eternal sweetness later. (Heck, I think I'm already reaping some sweetness with Him.) But if I don't, I'll lose my opportunity forever. I don't think God will always be seekable, unless you've already found Him.

Of course, I'm just a finite little human being. God is big and infinite. But He's my Father, and I'm His little girl. As His child, I think I understand a little bit about how He feels about sowing and reaping into a relationship. If I choose somebody to be my friend, and that person neglects to sow into our friendship, or if I'm doing all the sowing, or if they only sow once in a while, after I was counting on them to sow more often, I won't feel like they truly want to be my friend. If I contact a friend who takes 3 months to contact me back and they say "Sorry for taking so long to reply" every single time, for years... well, yes, of course I'm supposed to forgive them. But after hearing dozens of "sorry"s for the same offense, you begin to wonder how sorry they really are, you know? I mean, do I really have my friend's heart? Or will I be taken for granted by this person for the rest of my life?

This is why the "Unfriend" button on Facebook is so exhilarating for me. You know what? After so much sowing, I usually let the person reap what they've sown. If the person doesn't really want a relationship, then they won't get a relationship. Bye. Smiling sigh. More room in my life for people who want me in their lives now.

But that's just how I roll. Rejecting God is much more eternally dangerous.

Switching gears to talk about something more pleasant, I appreciate you reading this very long post. I hope it's been a good investment of your time.

I'm still glad I invested all that time (and car miles) into visiting my little kitten all those years ago. She and I definitely don't have a perfect owner-pet relationship (I had to remove her from a forbidden countertop while I was typing this post), but I think it's a very nice one overall. Whenever she perches on my shoulder or tries to sleep on my pillow at night or crouches by my cereal bowl in the mornings, I wonder if she remembers all those times that I sowed into our relationship all those years ago.

I know God and I won't ever forget each other, either.

Setup

There comes a time in a person's life when she wakes up from a seemingly incessant dream and, wiping the hardness away from her swollen eyes, she begins to notice her surroundings more clearly. And she begins to notice the One who arranged it that way, in a new way. And she begins to remember the sniveling creature who used to taunt her in her nightmares, and her hatred for him fuels an ever-increasing fury like none ever seen on this earth. And a smile of vengeance slowly creeps across her face as the One who arranged her redeemed life gives her permission to execute and receive justice. She hears the sniveling creature scream and then suddenly become silent. She hears her Redeemer laugh with a triumph that reverberates seismically across her world.

Reader, that time is now.

"Before your pots can feel the burning thorns, He shall take them away as with a whirlwind, as in His living and burning wrath. The righteous shall rejoice when he sees the vengeance; he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked." (Psalm 58:9-10)

"God, who made the world and everything in it, since He is the Lord of heaven and earth, does not dwell in temples made with hands. Nor is He worshiped with men's hands, as though He needed anything, since He gives to all life, breath, and all things. And He has made from one blood every nation of men to dwell on all the face of the earth, and has determined their preappointed times and the boundaries of their dwellings, so that they should seek the Lord, in the hope that they might grope for Him and find Him, though He is not far from each one of us; for in Him we live and move and have our being, as also some of your own poets have said, 'For we are also His offspring.' " (Acts 17:24-28)

My favorite time of the week is usually the hour I spend at the beautiful coin laundromat. It's a crusty little haven for Hispanic rednecks like me who nerdifully delegate each of her quarters to its assigned task... or allow their children to transport their diapered siblings inside the rolling laundry baskets... or tie their Chihuahua to one of the folding tables while their clothes dry... or purchase homemade tamales from persistent salesmen who are perplexed at the frugally cautious concept of "no" and who may never understand the universal concept of "no soliciting."

I sincerely consider my beautiful coin laundromat to be a paradise.

It is wonderfully hidden in a seemingly forgotten suburban nook near a moderately busy highway. I feel safe there. And I don't think I'm the only creature who feels safe there. The outside of the beautiful coin laundromat is home to a large flock of pigeons. I assume that they feast upon the steady supply of crumbs that flows from the pizza place next door, because I doubt the beautiful coin laundromat is able to supply the pigeons with food. Regardless of their food source, the pigeons faithfully adorn the parking lot, often perching on the telephone wires above, occasionally getting spooked and flying across the street, and casually strutting onto the shoulder of the highway to seek food or, possibly, just for the sheer enjoyment of it. Logically, this place doesn't seem to be safe for them. Realistically, I haven't seen any dead pigeons on the highway. As casual as their attitudes are as they strut along the road, they're able to skillfully maneuver back to their safe haven. Where else can a pigeon be safe along a highway during a Saturday evening sunset?

When I think of the pigeons at my beautiful coin laundromat, I think of me. Like the pigeons, I also have a safe little nook carved out just for me.

"He gives to the beast its food, and to the young ravens that cry. He does not delight in the strength of the horse; He takes no pleasure in the legs of a man. The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear Him, in those who hope in His mercy. Praise the Lord, O Jerusalem! Praise your God, O Zion! For He has strengthened the bars of your gates; He has blessed your children within you. He makes peace in your borders, and fills you with the finest wheat." (Psalm 147:9-14)

This morning while I read Psalm 147, I was reminded of a time 13 years ago when my "quiet times" were simpler and my faith was being repaired. I was on an antidepressant and had begun to undergo psychotherapy. My emotions were gradually numbing as the medication adjusted my brain chemistry, but my invisible covering, if you will, felt vulnerable and shaky. I was still working through anger issues with God, and I still struggled through a very heavy war with my enemy. I began that season in an MHMR office where a counselor advised me that I would struggle depression for the rest of my life. I hoped that she was wrong.

So, this morning while I remembered what it was like to first learn that God doesn't take pleasure in man's strength but in those who hope in His mercy, I remembered the simplicity of that season long ago when, in the shakiness of my inner foundation, I finally began to learn that God just wanted to enjoy a relationship with me. I'm not sure how to do justice to the tears that are beginning to flow while I type this, but I hope I can communicate to you, reader, that my God was able to cut through all the mental health accessories that I was newly equipped with, and He was simply a Father enjoying His little girl.

Today, I officially started therapy again. Last night, I filled out the initial questionnaire that communicated my issues in a nutshell, and I said to myself, "No wonder I need therapy." Today, my therapist read through the questionnaire in my presence, and seeing the shocked looks on her face as she read highlights of my story was one of the biggest vindications, one of the sweetest snapshots of justice, that I had ever seen. Yeah, that's right. Psychoblogger didn't make all that up. She really lived through all that.

During my session, my therapist indicated that I currently have some depression to work through. But she didn't talk to me like I was a hopeless case who would be bounced around the mental health system forever. I appreciate that about her so far. I'm ready to tackle my issues head-on with some professional help.

After my session, I walked back to my car, and I heard God snicker.

I soon realized that over the course of this week, I just happened to think I needed therapy, and I just happened to find an interesting-looking therapist during a random internet search, who just happens to be a Christian who believes that my enemy lies to me, a therapist who just happens to specialize in non-drugs, emotion-focused, art-based therapy, and who just happens to practice counseling a 12-minute drive from my home.

Yeah, that's right. My God set me up.

"Your way was in the sea, Your path in the great waters, and Your footsteps were not known." (Psalm 77:19)

At a Sunday School class several years ago, the teacher explained something that I didn't really understand then, but I think I get it now. God didn't lead the Israelites away from or around the Red Sea. He led them through it. They thought He had led them into the wilderness to die, but He didn't. He led them there to teach them how to follow Him around like a lovesick puppydog. And their first stop was walking right through what they initially thought would be their watery grave. Nay. 'Twas their highway to freedom. And then after they had marched safely through, the waters of the Red Sea were released to flow freely and to freely drown the Israelites' enemies. In this beautiful true story, my God set everyone up: the Israelites on the road to life, their enemies on the road to death.

Of course, it's the same with me. (And I think it's the same with all of us who are in Christ, but I'm using myself as an example because, well, I know me.) Over the course of my life, I see that what appeared to be setups for my destruction have been redeemed into setups for my destiny.

That little girl who was decaying with codependence? She now follows her Daddy around like a lovesick puppydog.

That little stressed-out band nerd? She now relaxes by studying how rock stars wove their hits together, and she fantasizes about performing power ballads to her Daddy whom she follows around like a lovesick puppydog.

That little Pharisee's daughter who was so lonely and afraid of people that she used to fake being sick so that she wouldn't have to go to school? She now enjoys shepherding people with the help of her Shepherd Daddy whom she follows around like a lovesick sheeppuppydog.

That little liar? She now is so honest that people hate her for it, but she enjoys watching what honestly happens when she follows her Daddy around like a lovesick puppydog.

That little depression case with suicide in her history? She is now walking in so much joy that even shortly before she endured a mental health crisis, a coworker told her to stop smiling; and to thank for it, she has her Daddy whom she follows around like a lovesick puppydog.

I'm a cat person, but I grew up with dogs. Dogs are very interesting creatures who can often be very picky about who they like. They typically like their owners and set themselves to destroy anyone who threatens to come near their owner.

Regarding that creepy verse I quoted above in Psalm 58 about the righteous washing his feet in the blood of the wicked, well... I haven't done any in-depth Bible study on that yet, so of course it sounds gross. But just thinking about it in a common-sense, Hispanic redneck way, I think that means that after you kill something, you can add insult to injury by washing your feet with its blood.

So, that lovesick puppydog who's been to hell and back multiple times, the one who whimpers at the thought of not seeing her Owner's face or hearing His voice, the one who growls at His enemy and is all too eager to rip his sniveling little head off, well... she's looking forward to using the weapons he threw at her against him. He throws a fiery dart at her? She will hold up her shield and quench it, and then she'll charge at him with the charred-dart remnants and smack his face so hard that it'll leave a sniveling-shaped dent in her shield. He sneaks up on her like a cobra? She will call her Snake Charmer who will silence the cobra and release a boa constrictor to suffocate the cobra to death. He throws a grenade at her and waits for it to go off? She will catch the grenade, sneakily sprint toward him, and pitch it into his camp.

He plants fear in her mind? Watch this.

There's something about a scared little girl who runs into the arms of her Daddy-- wait. Sometimes the little girl is too scared to run, so her Daddy has to find her. When He does, the very fear that catapulted her into His arms becomes the very vehicle she needs to cast it away forever. Fear suffocates in the arms of her Daddy's perfect love.

See how simple that is?

When it gets complicated is when you begin to wonder if God is actually setting up His little girl's destiny... or if He's simply refurbishing what the enemy had intended to be her destruction... or if He's more interested in enjoying a relationship with His little girl than He is bleeding the enemy's blood and watching His little girl dance in it...

At any rate, it's interesting how a lovesick puppydog will suddenly be able to use her skewed perspective to an advantage. For example, rock music can often be a vehicle for the enemy to gain power in a person's life. So, we Christians sometimes avoid secular rock music altogether for the sake of purity. And it's definitely a good avoidance, because purity is extremely important. But in my opinion, shunning all secular rock music can rob a Christian of a raw expression of art that can be wielded as a weapon later. But again, this is simply my opinion. Rock music is an art form, and any art form must be handled with care, because it is dangerous.

Watch this.

That Queen song "Death on Two Legs" was originally written by Freddie Mercury, from what I understand, in a vengeful, hateful expression of bitter unforgiveness. But because I am a lovesick puppydog who follows my Daddy around and who thoroughly enjoys snapping at His enemy and drawing blood, well... "Death on Two Legs" doesn't remind me of a person. It reminds me of the devil. And the interesting thing about the devil is that he doesn't walk around on two legs. He crawls around like a serpent. And he screws my brain till it hurts. With his narrowminded cronies who are fools of the first division, he's a killjoy, bad guy, big talking, small fry. He's a sewer rat decaying in a cesspool of pride. And he can kiss my bleep goodbye.

Sigh. The blood feels good flowing between my toes.

Hmm. This post rambled in all sorts of directions. I guess that's what happens when lovesick puppydogs open their furry fanged mouths. Have I told you lately about how thankful I am to my Daddy?

Community honeymoon

This post is rated R for a [bleep]load of honesty. What I'd like to do is type this out with the cuss words as is and just bleep them out before I publish this post. Hopefully I'll catch all of them. I apologize in advance if I don't.

I have a feeling that 2014 is going to be an awesomely wild ride. It's going to be a fun year for me, and I mean that sincerely, not sarcastically. One thing that God told me to do is to be flexible this year. So, here I go. I had no [bleep]ing idea that I was going to have a mental health crisis yesterday. Heh, heh. Funny how life can throw [bleep] like that at you sometimes. Today, I'm taking a mental health day (a sick day from work). So, here you see a photo of me regrouping today while taking selfies while my cats nap in the background. Yes, I posted the dorkiest looking pose on purpose.

So, I understand that I'm miserable 1) on weekdays because I hate my job and 2) on weekends because I'm lonely. What freaked me out yesterday was that at work, I stared for almost 8 solid hours at my computer and could barely function.

I don't trust my supervisor enough to talk to her about my job problems because 1) I'm already looking for another job and 2) the company doesn't exactly have a good track record of listening to me. For example, I've mentioned to them on multiple occasions that I need a quiet area to work. So, after we moved to the new building, they seated me facing 1) an exit door and 2) a breakroom door. I constantly see foot traffic and hear conversations. On days when I'm doing data entry, I can put on my headphones and block out the noise and people, and I can focus just fine, no problem. However, yesterday when I needed to think deeply for an assignment, I was deeply distracted. I couldn't [bleep]ing take it anymore. There were a couple of occasions when I had to leave my desk to clear my head. But when I returned to my desk, there was still a blockage.

Also yesterday, my supervisor literally boogied into a meeting with me (with just me) and greeted me with, "Whattup?" This is the same woman who criticized me several weeks ago for not being professional. (Since then, she has seen the diplomatic Tirzah. I now call her "Ma'am.") She has been training me to reply, "Fantastic!" anytime she asks me, "How are you?" Yesterday, I had a hard time going along with her charade. After she boogied into the mini-conference room, she asked me, "How are you?" and pointed at me. I replied, "OK," which she has never liked. I explained to her, hopefully diplomatically, "What you want to hear is, 'Fantastic.' The real answer is, 'OK.' " During the rest of the meeting, she explained that my performance has improved. Of course, that was why she was happy.

I'm thankful that God has given me some favor at this [bleep]y job, even though I'm on my way out of there. I'm thankful that its [bleep]y weirdness is catapulting me out of there. However, it isn't a coincidence that I had to take a mental health day after I had a favorable meeting with my boss and after attempting to work about six feet away from two busy office doors. I don't think my boss noticed me silently wigging out at my desk.

God has shown me several times that the way I'm treated at this current job is the same way I was treated by my ex-family. More than likely, this has something to do with many of my current issues squirting out. So, I'm taking a mental health day.

On my way out the door yesterday evening, I talked to God and tried to find out what the heck is going on. I heard Him laugh. I think that means everything is going to be OK.

"The wicked plots against the just, and gnashes at him with his teeth. The Lord laughs at him, for He sees that his day is coming." (Psalm 37:12-13)

"Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed. Truth shall spring out of the earth, and righteousness shall look down from heaven." (Psalm 85:10-11)

I think sometimes when the earth splits open and buried truth gushes out, you have two choices. You can 1) wallow in the truth and let it sink you down or 2) flow with the truth and let it carry you up and out. This time around, I hope I'm doing 2).

So, after I finish typing up this post, I'm going to continue to look for a new job and also look for a counselor. I would like a fresh perspective. I kinda think I have a good handle on my issues, but staring at my computer yesterday and not being able to write (especially when you can see right now that I can write just fine) really freaked me out. That hasn't happened in a long time.

What I'm about to share is probably me being a [bleep], so I hope I don't offend you too much. But I know what it's like to see somebody at church, hear them preach at you, and assume that everything is 100% OK with them while you're the [bleep]y little dork who has way too many issues. So, even though I'm not an ordained minister, I'm going to do a little bit of preaching. Please understand that I'm not 100% OK, at least presumably so, and you're not a [bleep]y little dork with way too many issues, reader. I have 24/7 access to God my Healer, yes. But I'm also a member of the Church at large, which, frankly, can be so clueless.

I mentioned to some people yesterday that I was going through a teeny little crisis, and I am truly thankful that people responded and offered to pray. That is wonderful. Thank you. However, just because I'm around praying people doesn't mean the [bleep]load of crap I've been walking through will miraculously disappear. It could, of course. But I'm saying that the Church at large often thinks everything has an easy answer.

I think I'm currently in what I'll refer to as "the community honeymoon." 'Aww, the little mental health case reached out for help. Isn't she cute? I'll pray for her, and she'll be completely cured of everything instantaneously. Aww, we're in a community. We love each other.' I've been in a similar place before. That honeymoon lasted way too long, and it ended when my community checked me into a psych hospital. I don't think I'm that mentally [bleep]ed up again this time around. I just wanted to say that I hate the community honeymoon. I would like for it to end immediately. Sorry, Church, but you married a [bleep]. The honeymoon is over.

I'm laughing now. I must be certifiably crazy.

I just don't like to play games anymore. I don't like to wear masks anymore. I don't like to put on charades anymore. My employer already pays me to do that (and I'm not sure how much longer I'm going to be able to take it), and I would rather not do it at church, either. Life can be a real [bleep]pile sometimes. I'm increasingly unable to find people who understand what I'm going through, yet I'm increasingly discovering that Jesus understands me completely, and then some. With all due respect to Him, I think He's divinely crazy for marrying me, but I don't think He'll slap me away for being honest. Psalm 37:9 says so, in a roundabout way.

So, I'll try to censor my language and keep my middle fingers to myself, but I'm more than likely going to be more honest than I've ever been before. (If you ever hear me say that I don't give a [bleep] about prayer, that's why.) I'm sitting here in a wonderfully quiet apartment typing this calmly, and I haven't cried in a while. So, that's definitely a good thing. I hope that means I'm OK.

But if I'm not, that's OK, too. I'm definitely not fantastic.

I look forward to what this leg of my journey will bring. God is so laughing at the devil because I'm not going to forget Him. And He is so laughing with joy because He likes me. He and I are digging each other's company, even in the midst of a mental health crisis.

True dat. Word.