Word

I love fried chicken, which pleases my taste buds, tortures my waistline, and possibly teases my gallbladder. But this week, it seemed peaceable to enjoy some fried chicken from the Kroger deli and graze on it for dinner. Since I live alone, a family-sized portion of fried chicken will usually feed me dinner for several nights out of the week. Since I live with two cats, a family-sized portion of fried chicken has become a source of drama.

In the past, Choochie has stayed away from my fried chicken, but Macho has tried to claim it for himself as a meat-hunting prize. Unfortunately, he has succeeded a couple of times. While I eat on my bachelorette banqueting table, Macho will usually meow, claw at my clothes/arm/leg, perch onto my leg so that his mouth can have better aim at my plate, and/or snuggle on my lap, where he will either wait for crumbs to fall and/or sneak his little mouth near my plate. A couple of times, I became very frustrated because, well, who wants to eat dinner while a wild animal is meowing and clawing at you, and you're yelling NO with a mouth full of fried chicken? So, I would take him to the other room so I could eat my meal somewhat in peace. (In my previous post, I wrote about how he sometimes howls when he feels separated from me.) One time, I made the mistake of utilizing my restroom facilities while leaving my pantry door open ajar. (My pantry is where I keep my trash can.) While I was utilizing the facilities, I heard a loud thud, and, sure enough, Macho had knocked over the trash can and helped himself to my fried chicken bones, etc.

So much heartache over fried chicken! I've repeatedly vowed that I'll never bring fried chicken into my home again... and yet, I still keep bringing it. I believe we have a better handle on the drama now. I've learned to always keep my pantry door closed and to never take my eye off my Macho. This evening, I decided to give him a sample of fried chicken (just a tiny bit of grease on my fingers) before I heated it up in the microwave. The photo I displayed at the beginning of this post is my attempt to capture this heartwarming moment. I haven't quite figured out yet if the look in his eyes is saying, "Why are you trying to take my picture?" or "I want meat, but all I can taste is chicken grease."

All that to say -- Macho and I have known each other for many years, and we've bonded considerably. (It's the same with Choochie and me.) I know he loves me and that his tummy is a bottomless ravenous pit. He knows I love him and that I have plenty of access to magical food that's currently off-limits for him.

"So He humbled you, allowed you to hunger, and fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord." (Deuteronomy 8:3)

If you've ever wanted to hear God speak to you, yes, please read the Bible. That's how He speaks. But if you've ever wanted to hear Him speak to you conversationally, you'll learn how to do so really quickly when He's the only One available to talk to. And it might not necessarily be a major ethereal experience like the kind you have at a church retreat. It might be while you're in the trenches. You're crouching in a foxhole, the enemy is firing bullets over your head, and all you have is one grenade left. If you don't follow orders, or if you mishear your General's instructions, you're toast. But in the heat of the battle, you bond with Him.

Or maybe you know that He keeps the fried chicken in His refrigerator, so you follow Him to the refrigerator, even though you know it's a dangerous place for cats, but you meow-beg for some anyway, without any sense of shame whatsoever, because you know how wonderful the fried chicken tastes. When it's time, He lets you sample some. If you try to sneak in some bites without His permission, you could completely forget that you're a cat and He's 10 times bigger than you are, and all hell could break loose.

My point is that sometimes, one of the deepest ways you can bond with the King of Kings and the Lord of Lords is to just charge into battle with Him, walk into a green pasture with Him, enjoy a special moment with Him, or just live life with Him, with all its highs and lows.

Living life by hearing from God and letting God hear from you is, in my opinion, the only way to live. After you taste it once, you'll crave it so badly that you won't want anything else.

Take my job, for example. I know that God spoke to me approximately 10 months ago and told me to find another job. My knowing this has come in handy, especially now that my current job has gotten better. (For now.) It would be very easy to take a step back and logically say, "I should stay here for a few more years, because things aren't really as bad as I thought they were. Maybe I was just overreacting." Nope. I've done that before, let my guard down, and then wham, gotten knocked down again. God has spoken lots of times that I need to find another job, and He's confirmed it zillions of times.

One of these confirmations was pretty cool. A few months ago, I was driving back home from my cousin's house, but I didn't exit the highway in time. I kept driving, and I saw one of those yellow "FREEWAY ENDS" signs, so I had no choice but to keep driving, and I was OK with having a spontaneous highway adventure late at night, anyway. I drove over a suspension bridge, and I was amazed at its beauty. The bridge led to a part of town that I didn't remember visiting before, but it was brightly lit, snazzy, and inviting. After a block or two, the snazziness quickly wore off, and I noticed that I was in a dark, dangerous-looking, scary part of town. I turned around as quickly as I could and high-tailed it out of that neighborhood. Of course, on the drive back, I got to admire the snazziness all over again. I drove over the suspension bridge again, and I marveled at how beautiful it was. Then, if I remember correctly, God told me, "That's how you're going to exit this job. When you first started, it was beautiful. Then it was dark and scary. Then on your way out, it will be beautiful again." I don't remember His exact words, but that's basically what He said.

That's how I like to live my life -- that's how I've always liked to live my life ever since I was first baptized in the Holy Spirit almost 20 years ago -- just conversing with my Friend who's in charge. Where He leads is where I want to follow. Where He goes is where I want to go. What He's OK with is what I want to be OK with. This morning, I told Him that I don't want to be at a job unless He can be there with me every day. I don't care where I work -- whether I'm flipping burgers or whether I'm giving speeches at the White House -- but if He can't come to work with me every time I clock in, I don't want to be there.

Recently, I've been watching episodes of a show called My Cat from Hell. It's a really cool show, and it's similar to Dog Whisperer, but it's about cats. After watching this cat show, I've caught myself feeling a tiny bit insecure about how I live with my cats. Are they bush dwellers or tree dwellers? Are they really supposed to be tree dwellers, but I don't give them enough vertical space? Do I feed them too often? Do I play with them often enough?

So, of course, I've had to ask them. Yes, of course I talk to them. I'll ask, "Do you feel that your accommodations are satisfactory?" And Choochie will often blink and have this, "Wow, you really need to chill out" look on her face, and Macho will often meow and walk away. (Those are yesses, right?) So, I've come to the conclusion that because they behave (almost) exactly the way I want cats to behave in my home, and because they're comfortable around me, and because they love me and I love them, we're happy together. (How is the weather?)

While the three of us have lived under the same roof for many years, we've bonded quite a bit, especially since the roofs have changed. They have faithfully adapted to every living situation I've had since I've known them. They've lived with me in tiny apartments. They've been escorted from my room to another room so as to limit their interaction with shiny things and indoor dogs. They've endured hours together inside a pet carrier while I moved out of town with them or while I hired movers. Their needs have changed as they've gotten older. I've cleaned up their puke and hairballs. I've introduced them to new litter and new foods. I've prayed for them while they've leaked blood in places where cats aren't supposed to bleed. I've whisked them away to vet offices and plunked down hundreds of dollars for their treatments. I've gotten awakened in the middle of the night because they've wanted to play or snuggle. I've wrestled with fried chicken, I've shared my yogurt, and I've coaxed with psychedelic kitty experience. (Catnip.) We've lived life together, and we've been through a lot together. So, we know each other.

I think that's how it is with me and God, to a degree. I think that's kinda how He wants it to be with all of us.

I know when He speaks to me because He's the One who hangs out with me wherever I am. He's the One who goes wherever I go. I usually know when others are trying to mimic His voice, because He's the One who's shown me what they sound like, and He's helped me kick them out. And I still go through a lot of maintenance in this area; that is, I still constantly seek discernment, and I still often ask for confirmation. I need His voice. His voice is my food. Without it, I'll starve to death.

I need Him.

I need Him!

I NEED HIM!