"I whisk you away"

I think one awesome thing I inherited from my ex-mother is a playful creativity while communicating with our little ones. For example, when I was growing up, if any child had his or her two front teeth missing, my ex-mother would call the tooth-gap a "garage door." If I had a hole in my sock, my ex-mother would call the hole an "air conditioner."

I think I've been communicating with my little ones, aka my cats, in similar ways. (Cats really can be trained, or at least conditioned, honest.) If I want them to leave a room, instead of telling them to shoo, I'll ask, "Would you mind exiting the room, please?" Then Macho will usually meow, make a 180, and strut out of the room. I often have to reinforce my request/command with a few other utterances of "exit, exit" and/or nudge them out of the room gently with my foot. If I'm about to do something that will disrupt their world, e.g., brush past them or sit down next to them or gently scoot them out of the way, I'll say, "Excuse me." That worked earlier this evening right before I opened my wet umbrella so that I could allow it to dry. "Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me, excuse me" warned them of an event (the umbrella suddenly opening) that has scared them in the past. So, that's how we roll here in Tirzah's home.

In a previous post, I wrote about how I need to feed Choochie some special food for her thyroid issues. And I need to keep Macho away from Choochie's food, so I have to feed them in separate rooms now. What works well for most meals is if I give Macho his food in my room first. While I'm feeding Macho, Choochie will show up and usually try to eat from his bowl. Then I'll pick her up, I'll tell her, "I whisk you away," and I'll transport her to the bathroom in my arm(s) so that I can feed her there. I tried to capture this heartwarming routine with a photo of her in my arm, but, uh... I think maybe I accidentally spooked her with my camera, her nail got stuck in my clothes, and then she tumbled awkwardly to the floor, and after I scooped her up again, she escaped onto my shoulder. That's why I posted a photo of her on my shoulder. She's a cat.

I'm a shepherd. It's what I do.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters." (Psalm 23:1-2)

One of my cats' vets has been practicing veterinary medicine for several decades, so he's very familiar with every procedure he performs on them and recommends for them. Here's how he describes their dental cleaning procedure, for which my cats are put under general anesthesia: "It will be like a religious experience." He means that I'll drop them off at the vet hospital for several hours, and when I pick them up and bring them home again, they'll be really out of it, and it'll be a while before the drugs wear off and they're back to normal.

I've had quite a few "religious" experiences like these myself, minus the dental procedures and minus the drugs, of course. I know what they feel like. I know what it's like to go off to a retreat, or maybe a mission trip, or maybe a church camp, or maybe a church conference, or maybe an extended special event. The atmosphere there is 100% different than what you're used to in your everyday life. You encounter God in a very powerful, intense, sweet, heavenly, life-changing way. You suddenly realize that your beliefs and/or behaviors and/or attitudes need to be different, so you change them during your retreat/trip/camp/conference/event. God's presence is so strong that you don't want to do anything to spoil it or scare it away. Then when you leave your retreat/trip/camp/conference/event, you're afraid of doing or thinking anything that will snap you out of your buzz. You convince yourself that if you don't sneeze too hard or breathe too loud or sin too badly, you can stay in your buzz forever. Then when life resumes as usual and kills your buzz, you kick yourself for being so fleshly or unbelieving or just a spiritual slob.

Of course, when I say "you," I mean "me."

During one of these conferences, I heard a pastor explain something that has helped me tremendously. He actually was one of the people who established that particular conference, and he explained that they set them up to where you can go away for a while and get pumped with lots of vision, but life isn't meant to be one long neverending conference. After you get pumped up with vision, you have plenty to think about and process while you're living your everyday life.

I'm glad he said that, because I think he's right.

Of course, I'm pretty sure there are exceptions to this. For example, in Luke 2, Simeon and Anna were constantly hanging out in the temple; Simeon was waiting for the Messiah, and Anna was fasting and praying. From what I understand, people from other denominations still separate themselves from the world completely in order to seek God and enjoy His presence in a sort of monk-like way.

But I'm learning more than ever that I don't have to officially become a monk or a nun to enjoy God's presence in powerful, intense, sweet, heavenly, life-changing ways. I don't have to whisk myself away to a retreat/trip/camp/conference/event to encounter God in an almost buzz-like way.

God can whisk me away anytime He wants, even in the midst of my everyday life.

                                                                                                                                                        

Yes, I whisk Choochie away every time I feed her her "special medicine food," unless she already happens to be in the bathroom waiting for me there. But she only enjoys her "special medicine food" with me several times a day. Her experience is temporary. When it's over, I open the bathroom door and resume life as usual in Tirzah's home. (Macho's usually happy to see us again, too.)

Choochie is my baby. My whisking her away to feed her is only one special time that we spend together. She's also welcome to join me while I eat breakfast, while I type up blog posts, while I watch YouTube videos, while I play my guitar, while I read my Bible (known to my cats as "The Word," or sometimes "Aaah! Don't eat the bookmark for The Word!"), while I sleep at night, while/if I nap during the day, while I prepare my lunches, while I load/unload my dishwasher, while I watch my DVDs, while I dance around my apartment and listen to music, etc. (The dancing especially is more enjoyable with a cat in my arms.)

Yes, of course I have boundaries (which have kind of a touch-and-go reinforcement with cats), but my cats are my babies. I want to be close to them, I want them to be around me, I want them to enjoy life in my home, and I want them to feel welcome with me, with whichever parts of my life that are boundary-permissible.

Of course, God can be the same way. Yes, participating in retreats/trips/camps/conferences/events are definitely excellent ways to enjoy God's presence. But He can meet with me in my living room, too. He can meet with me in my kitchen, too. He can meet with me in my bathroom, too. He can meet with me in my car, too. He can meet with me at my desk at work, too. He can meet with me while I'm reading my Bible, crying at my keyboard, interceding for somebody, driving on the highway, staring at my sink, folding my laundry, watching my television, or pretty much anytime or anywhere I'll let Him. I don't have to hold on too tightly to the buzz that I get when He whisks me away to retreats/trips/camps/conferences/events. I can hug His face and kiss His cheek anytime I want.

I like that about Him.

Now if you'll excuse me, it's almost time for me to whisk Choochie away again. Then maybe I'll try to coax her into enjoying some "psychedelic kitty experience." (That's Tirzah-house lingo for "catnip.")