Heard

Reader, I hope you're not too tired of hearing me rant about my childhood, 'cause I've got more to say.

Macho has separation anxiety that bubbles out of him every once in a while. I spent all day at home today in my small apartment, with both my cats. And yet, this evening after I stepped outside for a few minutes to take out the trash and check the mail, and after I settled back in, Macho forgot where I was. At least, I think that's what happens. He dozes off (as cats tend to do), and when he wakes up, he's alone by himself in the dark, and he howls. Sometimes he even does that when I'm in the same room with him, with the lights on. It's OK, kitty, I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.

So, the photo you see here is him after he howled in the dark from the other room. I called to him and invited him to join me here in the living room where I have the lights on. He trotted over, meowed "Ma-Maow," and snuggled next to my feet for a moment before perching on top of my couch as you see here. (Yes, he talks to me, and I listen.)

I think that's what a good cat-mama is supposed to do. (At least, I hope that's what a good cat-mama is supposed to do.) She listens, she responds, she comforts, she reassures, and she remains available.

That's what God does, too.

"The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous, and His ears are open to their cry. The face of the Lord is against those who do evil, to cut off the remembrance of them from the earth. The righteous cry out, and the Lord hears, and delivers them out of all their troubles. The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart, and saves such as have a contrite spirit." (Psalm 34:15-18)

With what I'm about to say, I don't mean any disrespect; I just want to be honest. A huge part of my healing is accepting the fact that I just had bad parents. Why else would God tell me to separate myself from them for the rest of my life here on earth?

I don't remember this, because I was too young: I'm told that when I was a baby, I didn't cry real tears, and it freaked out my then-parents. So, they asked my pediatrician about their little freak-- I mean, about me. They explained to him that they would run to me every time I would cry, but they would never see tears. So, he was like, "You've never let her cry long enough to see her tears. If you let her cry long enough, you'll see tears." So, the next time I cried out to them, they let me cry, they ignored me, and it pained them to do so. But they got to see my tears.

Unfortunately, I think I was told a heck of a lot of lies while I was crying all alone with nobody to heed me. I have already blogged previously about my deep rejection and abandonment issues. I have already blogged previously about my neglect issues. I hear stories about people having issues with not being "seen." I have issues with not being "heard," and I think I understand why.

This might also be one reason why I'm working through my issue of hating prayer. (I hate prayer, but I don't really hate prayer, but I hate it, but I don't really hate it, but I don't like it, but I like it. Have I mentioned lately that I'm in psychotherapy?) If authority figures won't hear you when you cry out to them, why would God hear me when I cry out to Him?

I understand more than ever that God isn't anything like my earthly then-parents. He isn't a whitewashed hypocrite Pharisee who only wants to look good in front of other people. He isn't a power-hungry little wuss who condescends down at His own family for the sake of keeping His ego inflated. He isn't an elitist, guile-saturated snob who allows dirty old men to prey on His own children in a church building. He isn't a spiritual abuser who vomits confusion into spiritually hungry souls who have finally found the only One who can heal them from all of the above.

Nope. God isn't like that at all. But He is eternally serious about restoration and justice.

"Lift up Your feet to the perpetual desolations. The enemy has damaged everything in the sanctuary. Your enemies roar in the midst of Your meeting place; they set up their banners for signs." (Psalm 74:3-4)

My rejection and abandonment issues have affected my relationship with God, too. Recently, I've had to face a major fear of intimacy with God. Admitting that I was petrified of God -- the One who wants to be closer to me than anyone else does -- has been a bit embarrassing. But it makes sense in the context of everything else. If everyone else abandons me as soon as they see who I really am, why wouldn't God?

That was a rhetorical question, of course, that was voicing one of the lies that was floating around inside me. Dang. No wonder it felt easier to simply cloak myself in "religion" and hide behind hymnbooks and Sunday School literature. If I keep "God in a box," I can study Him from afar and remain safe.

Pffffft. I barely understand "safe." God invented "safe."

You won't find any Queen songs in a hymnbook. (Except for "God Save The Queen," but I think national anthems are public domain.) They don't explain in Sunday School literature that God will heal a cat-loving little artsy chick by prompting her to sing Queen songs to Him during her "quiet time."

Yep, that's a good way to get me to cry real tears: Let me sing a Freddie Mercury song to my God who wants to be scarily close to me. You know how He knew that? Intimacy.

Spiritual abuse really is heinously destructive. After God finally pulled me out of an unhealthy environment and transplanted me into a place where I learned about the Holy Spirit and started to enjoy intimacy with my God, and after I started getting fed poisonous lies telling me that what I was experiencing wasn't really God... well, it makes sense that God told me to separate myself from my spiritual abusers for the rest of my life here on earth.

With all due respect to my then-parents, I know how to cry now, with very visible tears, at the drop of a hat, as a result of genuine pain. But, unfortunately, they don't get to see my tears now.

I am not a guinea pig. I am not a linguistic experiment. I am not a science project. I am not an inconvenience. I am not a waste of time. I am not a burden.

I am a person who has every right to live on this planet. I am an artist who feels very deeply and who aches to express very honestly. I am a daughter of the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords -- a daughter who is welcome on her Daddy's lap, in her Daddy's arms, between her Daddy's shoulders. I am a woman who longs to know her God and to be known by Him. I am a cat-mama who knows how to heed her babies' cries.

Seriously, what kind of an ogre allows her young to cry in the dark? How dare you. That isn't "safe." No wonder God whisked me away from you forever. You weren't "safe" for me. You blocked me from the One who invented "safe," from the only One who will always be able to keep me "safe." I mentioned respecting you earlier, but I think my respect for you is gone now.

Can you hear me now?