The vending machine

In my previous post, I mentioned that I have PMS. I hope my talking openly about PMS doesn't make you uncomfortable, because PMS is a natural part of life. And, honestly, there are times when my being witchy is just 100% hormonal, so I think it's good to at least know when I can blame hormones for witchiness. And, of course, chocolate usually makes PMS-related witchiness magically disappear, so it's good to have some in stock for those special times of the month. But other times, when I become angry, it isn't PMS's fault.

There's a verse in the Bible that says to not let the sun go down on your anger (Ephesians 4:26), and I think it's usually quoted in the context of married couples. But in my case, I don't think not letting the sun go down on my anger means don't literally go to bed until you've resolved your anger (especially since God often encourages me to sleep and take a break so that I can enjoy a few moments of bliss before I wake up the next morning and suddenly remember why I've been so ticked off). I think not letting the sun go down on my anger means not procrastinating working through my anger.

Anger is such a misunderstood emotion. And it's such a fragile, delicate one to work with, despite its loud scariness. If you express it all at once, not caring who you puke on, you could expose a scary part of your flesh that could permanently hurt somebody else. If you keep it all to yourself, it could fester inside you and become depression. But if you express it to God, He will take it and make something good out of it, and He'll pop it like a boil and let all the pus and junk flow out, and you'll temporarily wonder why God isn't getting mad at you in return and punching your lights out to finally end your misery. He's absorbing your emotion, and He's comforting you, and He's actually still wanting a relationship with you while simultaneously seeing all of your icky issues. (And when I say "you," I mean "me.")

But anger is often frowned upon, especially in Christian circles, so it's rarely expressed healthily, and I think leaders rarely set good examples on how to be angry and not sin (Psalm 4:4). But that is my opinion. In this post, I'm not trying to be a good Christian leader who's setting an example. I'm just trying to resolve an anger issue I've had for a while.

"And when you pray, you shall not be like the hypocrites. For they love to pray standing in the synagogues and on the corners of the streets, that they may be seen by men. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward. But you, when you pray, go into your room, and when you have shut your door, pray to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly." (Matthew 6:5-6)

This particular post will be a lot like this older post, but I'm mainly just going to vent.

Like I mentioned previously, I have PMS. In my monthly hormonal state, I made a wonderful discovery, of which I've shared a photo. Ohhhhh, chocolate. I found this beautiful bag at Target. Yeah, that's right. You won't find this awesome stuff in a dinky little vending machine.

Vending machines are peculiar things, really. They offer interesting (or sometimes uselessly boring) selections of snacks at often ridiculously expensive prices. The other day, I thought I would bypass the $10-for-a-bag-of-beef-jerky vending solution at my job and visit the building's vending machine downstairs near the lobby. There was an extended "Oh my gosh, we are so sorry if you lose money in this machine, we care about you, we can reimburse you with a gift card, come visit our café" apology pasted to the front of the vending machine. I should have taken this as a warning. But I deposited $1.25 for a Butterfinger into the machine anyway and, of course, my candy got stuck inside the machine. I think $1.25 is a relatively cheap price for a lesson learned. So, I have a couple of boxes of chocolately snacks ready to go to work with me tomorrow. But I've visited many other vending machines in the past, of course, that were priced much better and that actually worked. You just stick some coins in the slot or a dollar bill in the green-arrowed slot and, voila, you have something to quiet your tummy's rumbling. (And I always enjoy collecting the change for later. Will my next vending-machine victim enjoy receiving 12 dimes and one nickel as payment for a Butterfinger? Maniacal laughter!)

However, there's a problem. The last time I checked, I don't have a coin slot or a green-arrowed dollar-bill slot installed anywhere on my forehead. Why not? Because I'm a person, not a vending machine. Unfortunately, I sometimes feel treated like a vending machine instead of a person. I'll explain why.

I've heard that one way you can tell that you're gifted in intercession (which is basically praying for other people) is when you feel very honored when people ask you to pray for them. According to that definition, I am probably 100% NOT gifted in intercession whatsoever. I honestly dread receiving prayer requests.

And I honestly dread receiving prayer. If you ever hear a mental health case screech, "I DON'T WANT ANY BLEEPING PRAYER!!!" at the top of her lungs during a church service, it's probably me.

Maybe it's a pride thing. Maybe it's a bitterness thing. Maybe it's a loneliness thing. Maybe it's a post-traumatic stress thing leftover from so much spiritual abuse. Maybe it's all of the above. I'm not 100% sure. But this is what I've been working through lately. This is where I am right now.

Last summer, as you may have read about, I got my wisdom teeth removed. I was concerned before the surgery, so I asked many people to pray for me. They did, and I appreciate it, because the surgery was a success. What bothered me is that as soon as I asked for prayer for a SURGERY (which is often a prayer motif), everybody and their grandma replied very speedily with an "I'll pray for you!" But after my surgery, I spent four days by myself in my apartment. I had to watch Mr. Rogers videos so that I could have somebody talk to me and encourage me. Mr. Rogers passed away about 10 years ago. What is wrong with this picture?

Sure, God took care of me while I was recovering from my surgery, as I knew He would, because He's a good, doting Mama with the most dependable bedside manner in the universe. But where was His church? Where were His hands and feet? Have I mentioned lately that finding God is a matter of life or death?

When people approach me and ask me (or tell me) to pray for them/somebody/something, I feel like they treat me like a vending machine. Just stick your coins and/or dollar bills into the slots in Tirzah's forehead, and you'll have instant spiritual gratification. Right? Um, wrong, and I'm sorry if reading that disgusted you, but that's how I feel all the time.

As Matthew 6:6 explains, prayer technically isn't relationship-building between you and me. It's relationship-building between you and God. You won't get closer to me by praying. You'll get closer to God. You won't get any reward from me by praying. (You might get some change out of the other slot, though.) You'll get rewarded by God. Prayer is something that happens between you and God, not you and me. (Even if I'm in the room while you're praying for me or with me.) Prayer is an expression of relationship between you and God.

However, prayer isn't an expression of relationship between you and me. A prayer won't hug me. A prayer won't offer me a Kleenex while I'm crying. A prayer won't hang out with me. A prayer won't watch a movie with me. A prayer won't offer me a ride to church. A prayer won't drive me to my dental follow-up visits. I can't buy dinner for a prayer. A prayer isn't a human being.

Technically, you don't need a friend to pray for you. You can technically receive prayer from a perfect stranger. You can approach somebody, anybody, at church, and ask them to pray for you. You can email a church organization who may possibly never, ever meet you and ask them to pray for you. You can call a prayer hotline from TV and receive prayer that way, too.

I feel like when people offer to pray for me, and if that's ALL that they offer, they create a huge distance between me and them. Or I feel like they completely destroy any kind of bridge of friendship that's been built between me and them. For example, I HATE it when I pour out my heart to a friend for like an hour, and after that conversation, they ask me, "So, how can I pray for you?" Excuse me? Um, were you not paying attention? Of course, you can always use prayer for manipulation, too. Recently, a friend emailed me and said, "Let me know how I can specifically pray for you." I was like, "You can pray that people who like me will get off their butts and spend time with me."

Seriously, I feel like the only way I can get people's attention anymore is if I tack the words "Please pray" onto whatever it is I'm saying. That will get people's attention REAL quick. I don't get it. If I were to say, "I'm lonely, I'm miserable, I'm depressed, I was fighting thoughts of self-harm at my desk the other day while I was at work," I'll get crickets. But if I were to say, "Please pray for my great-aunt, whom you've never met and will never meet, who is about to have surgery in Alaska," people who I haven't heard from in years will come out of the woodwork and shower me with promises to pray.

I am not a vending machine, and neither are you.

I am a human being who has a genuine need for genuine connection with other human beings. That's how God designed me. I have pesky little things called "emotions" that surface every once in a while because, as I mentioned, I am a phenomenon called "a human being." I am sorry if any of that makes you uncomfortable. I am sorry that I do not feed enough prayer requests into your forehead-slots to keep you engaged with my life.

Of course, there are probably lots of crazy wounds floating around inside me that God is still healing, as far as prayer is concerned. He and I talk about it from time to time. I'll be like, "I really hate prayer," and He'll be like, "You realize you're praying right now, don't you?" I think there are still some crooked things inside me that God is straightening out, as far as prayer is concerned. I've gone to a few prayer classes at church, and I bought a book about prayer that I hope to read sometime this year. And, of course, I pray. And I'm thankful that the God of the universe is merciful and gracious enough to NOT burn me to a crisp whenever I puke my prayer-witchiness-anger all over Him.

And even though I feel like prayer can't really do much to bond two people together in friendship, I have noticed that the more you care about a friend, the more natural it will be to pray for them without them even asking you to. The more you like a person, the more you'll be willing to pray Psalm 85 over them in the middle of the night with tears streaming from your eyes.

But I repeat: I am not a vending machine, and neither are you.