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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?