De light

"This is the message which we have heard from Him and declare to you, that God is light and in Him is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with Him, and walk in darkness, we lie and do not practice the truth. But if we walk in the light as He is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanses us from all sin." (1 John 1:5-7)

"If I say, 'Surely the darkness shall fall on me,' even the night shall be light about me; indeed, the darkness shall not hide from You, but the night shines as the day; the darkness and the light are both alike to You." (Psalm 139:11-12)

"You have set our iniquities before You, our secret sins in the light of Your countenance." (Psalm 90:8)

The other day while I was having my "quiet time" (I'm still not exactly sure why we Christians call our personal Bible reading/prayer/worship time a quiet time, 'cause it ain't always quiet), I decided to open my living-room vertical blinds instead of turning on my lamp. The afternoon sun illuminated my living room in a way that I'm not used to. I could see the dust on my furniture. I thought I saw vermin scurry across the carpet, but I think my mind was just playing tricks on me. My lit-up living room kinda freaked me out. During a "quiet time," God usually speaks. This time, He told me, "Being in the light makes you anxious."

Well, OK, I guess it kinda does. The King of the universe shines a spotlight on your heart, and every stinking sin floating around in there suddenly pops up to the surface like a cockroach that thought it could hide forever. All it needs is one good squash from a strong shoe, and it's a goner. Then you squinch your eyes shut and wait for the lecture as to why you should have kept your house cleaner in the first place.

But during this "quiet time," God spoke quietly/loudly a very gentle/firm reminder, and we had an "I'm not that guy" moment. (If you don't know what I mean, please check out one of my previous posts.) God won't heap shame, guilt, or condemnation on me. He doesn't want me to feel bad about myself.

I don't think He means for the light to be a scary place. When He shines Himself, His truth, on my life and my circumstances, I don't think His intention is to harm me, shame me, or burn me to a crisp. I think He wants to help me, purify me, and keep me as healthy as possible so that there won't be any damaging distance between us. I think the distance would break His heart.

But it's interesting to see that I'm not the only one who freaks out in de presence of de light. (No, I'm not Jamaican, but I thought I'd have some fun with this concept.)

For example, my boy cat Macho has a terrible habit of jumping on my kitchen cabinets. I think sometimes he looks for leftover food, and sometimes he just wants to hang out up there. He isn't allowed to do either of those activities. (I have enough problems in my life without having to clean up cat hair from my countertops, thank you very much.) I had warned him previously that I would take a picture of him and post in on the internet if he were to break my kitchen rule, but he didn't seem to take this consequence seriously. So, voilà, now my kitty's illicit activity is posted online for all to see. I even used my camera's flash 3 times, but he still stood his ground. (Come on, kitty, that's where I store my food. Uncool!) He didn't budge until I walked toward him. I'm not sure why he doesn't think Mama means business unless she advances like a forklift to transport him away. Hmm. Well, he is 14 years old. Perhaps he's just being a teenager.

Sometimes I catch him before he officially commits the crime. I follow him into the dark kitchen, I see his orange-striped face gaze up at the kitchen sink with longing, and I say, "Don't even think about it." He meows and ambles nonchalantly out of the room.

And, of course, as soon as I speak, I remind myself of God my Father. There are plenty of areas in my brain and heart that He doesn't want me to venture into because I could get myself in trouble. I don't think He'll follow me around like an OCD camera-flashing Mama; I think He trusts me. Perhaps He trusts me in the same way that He trusted Adam and Eve to NOT eat the forbidden fruit. Then voilà, they violated His trust and made a way for us all to fall into their trap this side of eternity. But He's also a good Father who takes me seriously when I give Him control of my life, so He's often there when I get too close to the dangerous places, and He sometimes reminds me that I don't need to go there: "Don't even think about it."

As another example, my girl cat Choochie has had different experiences with the light. Ever since she was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism, I've had to take her to the vet for regular follow-up visits. Of course, she absolutely hates these visits. The other day, after the vet's assistant weighed her and took her temperature the old-fashioned way, I held her shaking little body in my arms while we waited for the vet to come. Her little paws were beginning to sweat with nervousness. In the distance, we could hear a dog barking. Choochie perked up. The wild look in her blue eyes said, "I smell death. This is where mammals come to die." Then the vet arrived, whisked her away to the back room and drew blood samples, and then surrendered her humiliated furry self back into my carrier, and I drove her home. The drive home is usually more peaceful than the drive to the vet, because there isn't any point in protesting anymore -- Mama has had her way yet again.

I was glad to be at home after Choochie's vet visit, because I'm always concerned that my kitties could feel ill after receiving medical treatment. After this particular visit, however, Choochie withdrew from me and hid under my bed. Aw, my poor little innocent furball! I'll bet you're scared to death... 

...OK, I stand corrected. When I flashed my camera under my bed to capture this tender moment, I didn't see a helpless little feline flower. I saw a little puma ready to bite my face off. But I think she only said it with her eyes.

I'm not completely sure why I treat God the same way sometimes. Maybe I really am scared to death when He shines His light on me and my issues. I think He simply wants to fix me and draw me closer to Himself. One of His myriad areas of expertise is healing my heart. But I think sometimes I treat Him as if He wanted to rip my entire heart out like a horror movie. God isn't a rated-R villain. He's a first-class heart doctor, the best in His field -- the One who invented the field in the first place, the One who created my heart in the first place, the One who knew who I was before I was even born. If I open myself up to Him and His healing ways, He isn't going to make me worse. He's going to make me whole.

During the past few months, God has reminded me repeatedly that darkness and light are both alike to Him. I don't think any of my sins or iniquities will surprise Him, puzzle Him, or freak Him out. He can handle anything I can cast on Him, and He'll do it skillfully and thoroughly. He can use mud just like He can use a thunderbolt: He uses them to advance His Kingdom, to fulfill His purposes, and to just show everybody that He's in charge. And He won't zap me off the face of the earth, because He adopted me. If I surrender my mess to Him, I don't think He'll get offended.

However, I think He can get offended when I withdraw from Him or reject anything He wants to give me. I'm not saying He won't forgive me. I think it just hurts Him.

"How precious is Your lovingkindness, O God! Therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of Your wings. They are abundantly satisfied with the fullness of Your house, and You give them drink from the river of Your pleasures. For with You is the fountain of life; in Your light we see light." (Psalm 36:7-9)

"O Lord, You are the portion of my inheritance and my cup; You maintain my lot. The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; yes, I have a good inheritance." (Psalm 16:5-6)

I think I heard the offense in His voice one day when He almost yelled at me, "Did you honestly think that I didn't want you to experience pleasure?" What do you say when the King of the universe shines a spotlight on your heart, and something stinky suddenly pops up to the surface and can't hide anymore? I answered honestly, "Yes. I'm sorry."

Having a religious spirit for most of my life, and being surrounded by other people who had religious spirits, truly messed me up pretty good. (Again, by "religion," I don't mean humanity's quest for God. I mean humanity's invention of stupid fun-sucking rules and claiming that these rules came from God.) Yes, I'm unemployed, and I'm looking for a job, but why can't God prompt me to unplug for a little while in the middle of the day and enjoy a movie on my DVD player? Yes, I'm lonely, and I'm looking for ways to hang out with friends, but why can't I spend a Friday night reorganizing my bookshelves? Just because I'm having a "quiet time" doesn't mean I have to play regular praise-and-worship songs to God. Sometimes He likes to hear Queen. Sometimes He likes to hear my original songs. Sometimes He likes to hear brand-new original songs that I haven't officially written yet. He and I have a relationship together -- the deepest, most intimate relationship that I will ever have with anyone else. Why can't He and I simply enjoy one another?

God isn't boring. God isn't a guilt-tripping stick in the mud. God isn't a Pharisee with a gigantic religious spirit who is looking for ways to stone me in public and write a huge headline about it that will sell newspapers so that all of humanity can read all about the ways that I defiled myself.

How dare I make Him look bad! Right? Wrong. I think my Heavenly Father would say yet again, "I'm not that guy."

"The Lord your God in your midst, the Mighty One, will save; He will rejoice over you with gladness, He will quiet you with His love, He will rejoice over you with singing." (Zephaniah 3:17)

This is God's heart. Yes, of course He wants to clean sin, iniquity, and any other junk out of my life. But He also wants to sing over me. He loves me. He likes me. He delights in me. How much does He delight in me? He reminds me every time someone tells me that they read my name in the Bible. In Hebrew, my name means "delight."

But it's not just me. My name means "delight," but I believe very firmly that God delights in every single one of His children, regardless of their names, regardless of their sins, regardless of their iniquities, regardless of their struggles. He loves us, He wants us, He cares about us, and He longs for us to draw near to Him.

So, de light ain't a bad place, just like delight isn't a bad thing. True dat.

Widescreen

I'm a HUGE fan of the widescreen or letterbox format for movies. I think the cable channel Turner Classic Movies does an excellent job of explaining the widescreen format and comparing it to the fullscreen or pan-and-scan format. In widescreen, the entire movie is shown pretty much exactly as it was in the movie theater, and it fits inside my TV set with nifty little black horizontal bars on the top and bottom of the screen. These bars used to bother me, but they don't anymore. In fullscreen, only part of the original movie can fit inside my TV set on the VHS/DVD, and it's blown up and slightly fuzzier than the original version. I used to be quite satisfied with the fullscreen format until I started watching my favorite movies in widescreen. Oh, my gosh, I can't go back to fullscreen. Widescreen has spoiled the way I watch movies forever.

For example, one of my favorite movie musicals is the 1982 version of Annie (NOT that 1999 impostor). I recently traded my fullscreen DVD of this movie for a widescreen DVD. I can't get over how beautiful it is. (The screenshot I snapped with my camera at the beginning of this post doesn't do it justice.) The last time I saw this movie in widescreen was at a movie theater in 1982 when I was a little girl. Then for years afterwards, I saw it repeatedly in fullscreen and completely missed all the stuff that was chopped out of the original widescreen version. Yes, the fullscreen does an excellent job of focusing on tiny details like the pictures that the orphans drew and tacked on the wall in the girls' dormitory. But the widescreen reveals major details like the fact that Molly was pretending to be a ventriloquist dummy in one of the musical numbers or the fact that Annie was standing on a chair while Daddy Warbucks was broadcasting a message to her birth parents on a radio show. I think the widescreen version is beautiful because it tells the clearest, vastest version of the story, even if I only get to see it on my medium-sized TV set. I think widescreen has the best movie perspective.

Perspective is extremely important, especially when you're desperate for truth.

"This He established in Joseph as a testimony, when He went throughout the land of Egypt, where I heard a language I did not understand. 'I removed his shoulder from the burden; his hands were freed from the baskets. You called in trouble, and I delivered you; I answered you in the secret place of thunder; I tested you at the waters of Meribah.' Selah." (Psalm 81:5-7)

I think whenever I'm smack-dab in the middle of a trial, or in a whirlwind of multiple trials, it's as if my life story is being told in fullscreen mode. Only a portion of the actual story is being shown, because that's all I'll get to see from my view down here. It's blown up a tiny bit out of proportion, it's a little bit fuzzy, and major details are chopped out of my peripheral vision.

But, in a sense, God wants to help me see my life story being told in widescreen mode. He wants to help me take a step back and see a clearer, vaster picture with the entire story being told. This version may be a bit harder to see because I'll need to squint to see everybody's faces on my TV set, but I'll be able to see the whole story, and it will be very beautiful.

Of course, this certainly isn't a perfect analogy, because God's TV set gets infinitely clearer pictures than a little widescreen version ever could. His picture defies the laws of motion pictures. I think maybe His projector goes backwards, sideways, and inside out, twisting its way through my history, present, and future in a way that only He can make it go. He knows my story frame by frame, and He knows what's coming next. And He can also change His mind about what's coming next if I ask Him to. And He can also repair the previous frames so well that He can help me forget that they ever played. And He's the Director, the Producer, the Executive Producer, the Director of Photography, the Writer, and the entire Crew during the actual filming.

So far, He hasn't seemed to mind whenever I crawl into His lap and ask Him a flurry of questions that completely interrupts His filming. Sometimes, a chick just needs answers. The wilderness/desert can be a very scary place, especially if you're not used to it or if you weren't expecting it. There's sand, wind, and very little else as far as the eye can see. Once in a while, you'll see cacti to drink from, or you'll get to hide behind a desert bush while you hunt for desert critters. Sometimes, caravans breeze through, and you're encouraged while they're there, but you don't know when the next caravan will decide to travel through your neck of the desert. The sun is very hot, and it's seeping into the worn-out holes on the roof of your tent. Your skin is redder and browner than you've ever seen it, and some of it is starting to blister and flake off because of the burns. It's natural to have questions. For example, how long will you need to stay out there? Why do you have to live there? Is God absolutely sure that you didn't do anything to deserve getting stuck out there, or is He just too nice to tell you?

So, perspective is extremely important. Having to swallow yet another mouthful of dry, crusty loneliness might start to get old. Lying on your couch while the suicidal-thought buzzards swirl around you yet again makes you wonder if you're really strong enough to keep swatting them away. Wanting to reach into next week and strangle your feel-your-pain caravan-therapist might help, but it isn't my therapist's fault. Sometimes a chick just needs perspective. And even though a therapist can offer a tiny bit, she can't watch my life story in widescreen mode.

My Father has a DVD copy of my widescreen story that I can borrow. Nay, I can crawl into His lap and watch it with Him. He carries a very nice bottomless canteen with Him that provides a river full of fresh water for me to drink out here in the desert. He owns the most soothing balm I've ever felt that cools down my sunburned skin perfectly. And His tent -- with its thick, sturdy, luxurious material -- provides a better covering from the sun than I could ever manufacture myself. I like it here in His tent. I don't ever want to leave.

God holds me safely in His lap and helps me make sense of that place of captivity that He rescued me from. That was a terrible place. The creatures there spoke a language that I didn't understand and that I was probably never meant to understand. But He's showing me His perspective of the story.

Annie tells a very interesting story that reminds me of mine. The little orphan develops a tough attitude at the orphanage that is run by an oppressive alcoholic who hates her. She is rescued accidentally by a workaholic billionaire who allows her to live in his mansion. He decides to adopt her after she wins his heart. Then her perfect story hits a snag when she gets kidnapped, but her billionaire father-to-be comes to her rescue, and then they live happily ever after.

Speaking of perspective, I always thought the 1982 version of Annie was one of the best movies ever made, and I've wondered why IMDB only gives it 6.4 out of 10 stars. Watching it again has helped me see why. All of the musical numbers are catchy and memorable, but a couple of them smack-dab in the middle of the movie do nothing to advance the plot. Yep, a scriptwriting class in college spoiled the way I watch movies forever, too.

Yet this movie version of Annie is still one of my favorite musical stories, even though the story isn't completely like my own. Like Annie, I was (spiritually) an orphan who was adopted by an extremely rich Daddy. However, unlike Annie, my Daddy didn't end up with me accidentally. He knew who I was, He wanted me, and He chose me before I was even born. He delivered me from the most heinously oppressive orphanage in existence, brought me into His house, protected me from kidnappers, and danced with me into the happy sunset. Yes, if you watch my movie in widescreen mode, you will be able to see a huge air-conditioned mansion in the middle of a scorching-hot desert.

"And if tomorrow I'm an apple-seller, too, I don't need anything but You."

Twenty

Due to the nature of marriage, singlehood, anniversaries, pain, catharsis, life, etc., this post is rated R.

"And it happened, as she continued praying before the Lord, that Eli watched her mouth. Now Hannah spoke in her heart; only her lips moved, but her voice was not heard. Therefore Eli thought she was drunk. So Eli said to her, 'How long will you be drunk? Put your wine away from you!' But Hannah answered and said, 'No, my lord, I am a woman of sorrowful spirit. I have drunk neither wine nor intoxicating drink, but have poured out my soul before the Lord. Do not consider your maidservant a wicked woman, for out of the abundance of my complaint and grief I have spoken until now.' " (1 Samuel 1:12-16)

I'm almost 2 weeks early, but I thought I'd celebrate a couple of anniversaries now while they're fresh on my mind. Firstly, I graduated from high school about 20 years ago. It is really hard for me to believe how quickly time flies, but wow! I am old, and I am proud of it. I am so thankful that I got an education when I did, and I am so thankful that I am not 18 years old anymore.

Secondly -- and this is where I'll park for the rest of this post -- it has been about 20 years since I've had a date. I think I've probably experienced every emotion imaginable regarding my involuntary singlehood, and yet there are probably even more emotions somewhere out there that I haven't even begun to experience yet. I've been sad, I've been bitter, I've been hormonal, I've needed to hit the snooze button on my biological clock with a baseball bat, I've been happy, I've been relieved, I've grieved, I've been depressed, I've been disappointed, I've been furious, and I've been thankful. I am definitely thankful.

Years ago, my birth father tried to set up one of my male relatives with a single girl that he was acquainted with. Unfortunately, it didn't work out between my relative and this girl. When my birth father was processing it later, and my family was giving him a hard time for trying to play matchmaker, he explained, "I couldn't help myself. I just didn't want that girl to go to waste."

Go to waste?

There were very few times in my life when I was given grace to lecture my birth father. This was one of them. "Go to waste?" I repeated. "She isn't a leftover piece of pizza. Is that what single women are to you? Just a piece of leftover pizza that will go to waste? Is that what I am to you -- a leftover piece of pizza?"

My birth mother answered for him: "She's not a piece of pizza."

Except for my word-punching attitude, this abovementioned conversation was funny, lighthearted, and peaceful. (Not pieceful.) I think maybe my birth father, who was married in his mid-20s, exhibited a type of attitude that many other people have: that the purpose of every human being is to get married and have babies; all single people are useless and take up valuable breeding space on our planet. My gosh. It's My Big Fat Greek Wedding all over again.

Yes, this particular subject can be funny. But it can also be heartbreaking. Somewhat off the subject, at the beginning of this post, I talked about Hannah from the Bible. She was married, but she was barren. Not being able to conceive was extremely heartbreaking for her. It was hard enough for her to be childless; to top it off, she was mocked because of it. I think the Bible captured her pain very well, and her story had a happy ending. She gave birth to Samuel the prophet. God didn't just let her have any baby; He gave her a really cool baby who grew up and anointed kings.

But despite the frustration of singlehood and the social landmines that I have to tiptoe around because of it, I truly am thankful.

I'm not necessarily thankful to be husbandless. I'm honestly just thankful to be alive. Can you imagine what it's like to go 20 years without a date, and to not choose this extremely long period of datelessness? I can't, and yet that's been my life. Inconceivable!

But I don't think I've gone to waste like a leftover piece of pizza. Last night, I was shredding old documents, etc., and I noticed a very long pattern in my life. For a major chunk of my adult years, I've lived alone with two cats. I've paid bills. I've been involved in church. I've worked long hours. I've moved, breathed, slept, cleaned, screamed, cried, dreamed, laughed, enjoyed, written, played, sung, created, frolicked, danced, etc.

No, I don't have children, a husband, a boyfriend, or a date to show for the past 20 years, and I don't need any of that to validate my existence. But I have been alive. And for that, I am truly thankful.

And I've learned a heck of a lot. I would like to organize some of what I've learned in a list below. I will probably pepper my word-punching attitude throughout.

1) We women aren't helpless. Despite what I've shared about my neglected/abused history, my birth father did teach me a few helpful life tips after I graduated from college. As a result, I know how to check the oil level on my car and refill my tires with air. Unfortunately, I don't think he taught these particular skills to my birth mother or sister, who relied on me once to check the air on the family vehicle's tires.

2) We women are more "old-fashioned" than you may think. In my opinion, the only positive things that came out of the women's lib movement a few decades ago were 1) giving women equal pay as men in the workplace for equal work, 2) allowing women to work outside the home without a guilt trip in the first place, and 3) showing the world that women are human beings just like men are. Sure, technically we're the weaker sex... physically. No offense, but I think we women can handle emotional crises hundreds of times better than men can, most of the time. (I think maybe God created PMS so that we could have practice every month handling an emotional crisis.)

However, we women want men to be MEN. I'm not saying we want all men to be men's men who like to hunt, fish, watch sports, belch, and be extremely macho. I'm saying we want males to be the natural covering and protection that God designed them to be. If you see us about to walk into a door, open it for us. We think chivalry is adorable and attractive. If you would like to talk to us on the phone, ask us for our phone number, and call us first. Don't write your number down on a tiny piece of paper, fold it up, and hand it to us while you're outside taking a smoke break. (A man did that to me once.) Unless, of course, you're in junior high -- if that's the case, you might need to speak to a guidance counselor instead of a female peer.

I'm saying we want males to have backbones. If you're single men and we're single women, and if you like us, take a moment to work through your fear and just ask us out. You go first. We insist. God did not design us women to be the leaders in a relationship. He designed the men to be the leaders. Men initiate, women respond. That's nature. That's God's design. If women initiate first, all hell could break loose. Take it from the chick who used to have a Jezebel spirit: Initiation should be a man's thing. Do you think we'll automatically reject you? We may surprise you. You may never know unless you ask. I heard Beth Moore say once during a Bible study that we women are attracted to godliness in a man more than we are to good looks. (Otherwise, when your wife takes her children to church with her while you sit at home on your macho butt watching TV, you could end up on her church's prayer list.)

3) We single women aren't necessarily desperate. On the other hand, a single man should never assume that just because a woman is single, she will automatically be attracted to him. We kinda have standards, just like you men do. Each woman is different, but each woman is repulsed by very specific things.

The other day, I heard myself declare with a wistful sigh, "I remember when I used to be attracted to effeminate guys." Those days are over. Which leads me to my next point...

4) Men who don't have a pair should grow one. I'm begging you, please, stop breaking our hearts. Just because you grew up without a dad and are more comfortable relating to females doesn't mean that all females will be comfortable relating to you platonically. That is, if a woman really has feelings for a man, there could come a point in the friendship when she won't be able to stay platonic with him anymore. The friendship will need to become romantic or else. Seriously, you men have your entire lives to create children. We women only have a few set years, and then it's all over. Tick-tock. Biological clock.

I'm digressing a tiny bit, but perhaps you can tell how passionately I feel about this. I mean, I wrote 3 songs about the guy. I still can't believe how many years I spent on him, and he only considered me to be a sister. Dang. I had to block him on Facebook twice.

If you're a man who isn't comfortable having conversations with other men, please keep trying. Don't give up on your own species. I'm not 100% comfortable having conversations with other women, but that doesn't mean I can just hang out with other men as if they were my buddies forever, just because they're easier to talk to. You know what I mean? Eventually, somebody could start feeling something beyond friendship, and somebody could get hurt. One sin that gets a lot of airtime in the body of Christ is porn addiction, which can indeed be devastating. But what is porn? It's a picture of another human being that you will probably never have, and you're interacting with that picture as if you were married to her/him. And what is a female friend who you can pour your heart out to and assume that it will stay platonic forever? She's another human being that you will probably never have, and you're interacting with her as if you were married to her. Have you considered how she feels? Do you honestly think that she will be satisfied being your platonic buddy forever? Why do you continue hanging out with her platonically when she has already told you that she wouldn't mind having you as a boyfriend?

My gosh. I shouldn't have spent 14 years of my life on that guy. Moving on...

5) There is more to life than marriage and family. Yes, of course I would absolutely love to get married someday and have children (if I find Mr. Right before I become a senior citizen). But I'm not going to try to force any of that to happen anymore. And God certainly doesn't seem to be in a hurry to make any of this happen, regardless of how loudly my ovaries scream. There's no guarantee that I will ever get married, and there's plenty of life to live while I'm single.

I haven't written any of this to ask for pity. (Trust me. Singlehood pity is the worst kind.) I'm just venting, I'm processing, and I'm honestly thankful.

My gosh. It's been 20 years since I've had a date. I absolutely did not plan this, I did not want this, and I hope I didn't earn this by doing anything stupid when I was a teenager. But this is the life I've had so far. And I'm extremely thankful to be alive. I think my cats are, too.

Happy anniversary to me!

"I want to sit next to Tirzah"

I don't have a photo of this, but whenever both my cats are hungry at the same time, they will meow-beg for food, crowd around me, and follow me around the apartment until I feed them. This somewhat sad, mostly adorable scene occurs at least once per day. Of course, if I don't feed them, they'll die. (They don't need to worry about that. I feed them about 5 times per day.) They won't stop following me around until I give them what they need. Their situation reminds me of another scene with which I am also familiar.

"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28)

"For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." (Romans 11:29)

In today's post, I'm going to talk about myself in a way that I hope doesn't puff me up. I am definitely not better than everybody else. My life is just one example of the zillions of other lives in the body of Christ. I am gifted/called one way, but other people are gifted/called in other ways, and we all need each other. (If my choir peeps are reading this, please correct me if I'm wrong.) What I hope to do is just talk about my life because, well, I know me.

When I was in high school, I finally gave in to family/peer pressure, and I joined the church choir. We usually sang out of hymnbooks or cantata books, so the music was right there in front of us. I sang alto. After a while, the altos who would sit next to me would be like, "I don't know what note I'm supposed to sing. What is our part?" And they would lean their ears toward my head while I would sing our part. So, I accidentally developed this culture in our choir's alto section of me singing while everybody else's heads would lean toward mine.

This accidental culture kinda followed me around like a hungry cat years later. When I was in a worship choir at my church about 5 years ago, I made a friend in the alto section who would lean her ear toward my head and be like, "I like to sit next to you so I can hear our part."

Then I joined my current church and started to work through some inner-healing issues. After I tried out for my church's worship team and found out that I had been accepted into our choir, I had mixed feelings. I remembered all those times when altos would lean their ears toward my head and listen to me sing their part instead of learning their part themselves. I interpreted this as codependence (which, at the time, it possibly was). Codependence is something that's in my history, and I would like to keep it in my history and definitely NOT drag it into my future. (For crying out loud, don't depend on me to learn the alto part for you. Please practice and learn your part!)

So, naturally after I settled into my church choir as an alto almost 3 years ago, the other altos started leaning their ears toward my head while I would sing our part, and rehearsals would begin with one or two altos crowding around me and declaring, "I like to sit next to you so I can hear our part." At first, this freaked me out. My accidental choir culture nightmare had followed me yet again.

However, I finally realized something important very recently: I need to stop fighting this "I want to sit next to Tirzah" vortex and start embracing it. I don't think people in my choir necessarily want to sit next to me because they haven't learned their part. I think maybe people are attracted to my leadership because it's how I'm gifted and called. I need to stop fighting my calling.

"And He Himself gave some to be apostles, some prophets, some evangelists, and some pastors and teachers, for the equipping of the saints for the work of ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ, till we all come to the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, to a perfect man, to the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ..." (Ephesians 4:11-13)

I'm definitely a shepherd/pastor. "Sheep" are drawn to me to lead them, guide them, and point them in a certain direction. In my past, without realizing how I was gifted, I took advantage of my shepherding tendency and hurt people. And I think God disciplined me for it. (Because He's serious about shepherds not hurting His sheep.) I myself am definitely one of God's sheep, so He broke my legs and has been carrying me around on His shoulders while my legs have been healing. I like it here on His shoulders, and I honestly don't want to be away from Him ever again.

Years ago, I was taught that something is a gifting if it's something you can do with ease, regardless of life's circumstances. I am definitely a worship shepherd/pastor. No matter how badly my feet hurt, no matter how terribly my back aches, no matter how exhausted I am, no matter how grumpy I may feel, no matter how emotionally war-torn my soul is, I can still lead people into worship. As soon as I see a living room full of people, or as soon as I see an auditorium full of people, my anointing will click on, and my spirit will see a gathering of sheep who are ready to meet with The Great Shepherd, and I'll get to direct them into His presence. This is something I delight in tremendously. This is something I was designed for. This is something God is very serious about, and He has spent years talking to me about it and training me for it. And I know I have lots and lots and lots of training still ahead.

Perhaps because we are human beings who like to study and dissect things, the concept of a "calling" can become an unnecessarily complicated one. When I used to attend spiritually abusive churches, the people would get very specific about their "callings." That's not to say that God can't get very specific. If you feel that God has "called" you to minister to orphans in Cambodia, please obey Him, and please go for it as wholeheartedly as you can. What I'm saying is that I used to get overly crazy about my "calling," so over the years, God has had to simplify my "calling." Whenever God simplifies something for me, He heals me.

"Listen, O daughter, consider and incline your ear; forget your own people also, and your father's house; so the King will greatly desire your beauty; because He is your Lord, worship Him. And the daughter of Tyre will come with a gift; the rich among the people will seek your favor. The royal daughter is all glorious within the palace; her clothing is woven with gold. She shall be brought to the King in robes of many colors; the virgins, her companions who follow her, shall be brought to You. With gladness and rejoicing they shall be brought; they shall enter the King's palace." (Psalm 45:10-15)

Psalm 45 is my calling. I belong in the King's house, I'm familiar with it, and I can show people around and lead them directly into the King's chamber. That's how I was designed. That's how I was made. That's a major part of my destiny.

And God usually simplifies that even further for me whenever He tells me, "I've called you to be a worshiper and a friend."

So, of course, my inner-healing process has involved God ripping things out of my life like codependence, idolatry, rejection, and loneliness -- things that get in the way of me worshiping Him and being a healthy friend.

It's been a very gnarly process. Almost 14 years ago, I responded to a "Hey, Tirzah, I'd like for you to lead worship for us tomorrow morning" message on my roommate's answering machine by driving out of town and not telling anybody about it. The next day, I attempted suicide, and then I spent a few days in a psychiatric hospital. Did I fail? Heck yes, of course I did. Did I poop on my calling? Heck yes, and I totally spat in God's face. Is it too late for me? No, I repented. I think I'm on the right track now. And I think I'm in good company, too. Didn't the prophet Jonah in the Bible do something similarly stupid that bought him a few days inside a really stinky sea animal? He repented, too, and he got a second chance, too, and he got back on the right track, too. God is a good Father who won't give up on His children. I think He looks deep inside the places in our hearts that we can't even see, and He says something like, "Aha, you really do want to follow Me, but you're hurting, and you're scared to death. I can fix that. This will be a long, bumpy ride. Are you ready?"

Yes, Father, I'm ready. Can You please point me to the devil's face? I would very much like to punch it.

So, that's my calling in a nutshell (or at least one aspect of it). But this is just my story. Everybody has a different story. Nobody's mere human story is better than anybody else's, but each person's story is just as important as everybody else's.

I'm learning how to nurture my calling, my giftings, and my dreams. Dreams don't always spring up out of the ground all by themselves. Somebody has to plant them, Somebody has to water them, Somebody has to take care of them, and Somebody has to help them grow. I'm learning that my Somebody wants me to partner with Him to make that happen.

Meanwhile, I'm also learning that if I don't teach my altos how to learn their part, I have failed. Please practice and learn your part. But you are also welcome to sit next to me as often as you want. I would like that very much.

Unemployment, part 5

My being at home during the day has completely disrupted my cats' routines. However, my babies are very flexible, so they've developed new routines. For instance, Macho has discovered that I keep dishes soaking in the kitchen sink before I transfer them to the dishwasher. So, he has taken the liberty of jumping onto my kitchen counter and helping himself to the leftover food that is stuck to the sides of my dishes. Um, kitty, I hope the vet doesn't ask me later why she found traces of soapy water in your system.

Choochie, on the other hand, has decided to nap incessantly in my living room, as you can see in the photo I've shared here. There's a space that's approximately 10 inches wide (not counting the sliding door's track) between my old living-room chair and my vertical blinds. It's a tight, cramped space, but Choochie doesn't seem to mind. She seems very much at home there. It seems to fit her. If I ever need to leave my apartment for a little while, all I have to do is glance behind my chair and see her napping triangle ears to know that she's OK.

"Every commandment which I command you today you must be careful to observe, that you may live and multiply, and go in and possess the land of which the Lord swore to your fathers. And you shall remember that the Lord your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not. 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. Your garments did not wear out on you, nor did your foot swell these forty years. You should know in your heart that as a man chastens his son, so the Lord your God chastens you." (Deuteronomy 8:1-5)

This afternoon while I was thinking about tomorrow's job interview, I realized that yesterday was the one-year anniversary of me officially hating my old job. I've been unemployed for approximately 45 days, but I've been in the market for a new job for approximately one year. Wow. God has brought me through a heck of a lot. (If you've followed my blog during the past year, you've more than likely gotten quite an earful/eyeful.)

I was thinking about all the times at my cubicle or in my car that I had conversations with God about how I felt about my job. I remembered the times I cried, the times I strained, the times I wanted to cut myself, and the mental health days I had to take off from work. I'm honestly amazed that I made it through all that. I'm pretty sure I made it because I wasn't alone. God was with me the entire time: holding my hand, collecting my puke, dragging my behind, wiping my tears, and comforting me as only He could. His joy really is my strength. He really does renew my youth like the eagle's. He really is my refuge and strength, and I really can be still and know that He is God when the mountains are carried into the sea and shake with its swelling. (That was a whole bunch of Bible verses smushed together.)

I gotta hand it to the Israelites. They had it pretty rough when they were hanging out in the wilderness wondering if they were going to make it out alive or if God hated them. I don't think they had a Bible with "wandering in the wilderness" stories to encourage them, and I don't think they knew that their experiences would become Bible stories later. We Christians use the term "wilderness" all the time to symbolize the extended hard seasons that we have, even though I think all our symbolic wildernesses kinda blur into each other. Did my unemployment wilderness start when I got fired, or did it start on May 20, 2013? Or does it really matter? Hmm. I might be overanalyzing this.

What I do know is that the Israelites, despite their circumstances, were very well taken care of in the wilderness. I also, despite my circumstances, am very well taken care of out here. I have manna, I have water, I have a cloud to lead me by day, I have a pillar of fire to lead me by night, I have sunshine, I have sand, I have a tent, and I even have animals. I have everything I need out here, and it is a very humbling experience indeed.

I was telling my therapist the other day that being unemployed kinda makes me an advice magnet. If I say, "I lost my job" or "I'm looking for a job," suddenly people start talking to me as if I'm 22 years old, fresh out of college, and have no idea how to survive on my own. Yes, I've already been applying for jobs on the internet for the past year. Yes, my resume is already quite updated. Yes, I registered with employment agencies. Yes, I'm already collecting unemployment. No, I don't sit around all day and eat bonbons. No, I don't expect the government to take care of me for the rest of my life. No, I am not qualified to be a salesperson; I'm sorry, I thought my resume said that I've held writing or editing jobs for the past 9 years. This is all humbling advice because I have to endure it, as if I were a 22-year-old kid. I don't really have a choice but to eat what's fed to me out here.

Rather, I guess the other choice is to shrivel up and die. Nope. That's not an option.

I'm 38 years old, and I'm barely discovering what I was designed to do with my life, so I think maybe after I reach my new-job promised land, I might need to enter a this-is-only-so-I-can-pay-off-debt-and-save-money-to-go-back-to-school wilderness all over again. I think reentering college in my 40s would be pretty darn cool. I'm hoping God will give me some more gray hair by then. Maybe I should start to have fun with this. "Hello, young college freshman who is hitting on me. Did you know that I'm old enough to be your mother?" Aw, heck, I'm already having fun with this. Reader, I hope you're laughing, because I am.

Life is awesome! I have everything I need right here! I live within very reasonable driving distance to a Dollar General, a Dollar Tree, a Big Lots, a Family Dollar, a Target, and the post office, all during a season when I'm watching my spending like a hawk and selling things on eBay! I just happened to get fired during a time of year when the weather was so mild that I barely had to use my A/C or heater at all, so my electricity bills haven't been astronomically high! I just happened to be unemployed right before I was scheduled to see generous relatives who like to give me money without me asking for it! I just happen to be old enough now to have made so many mistakes with money, employment, and unemployment in my past that I have plenty of experiences to draw from! I just happen to be the daughter of the King of the Universe who's richer than anybody else could ever hope to be, and everything He has is mine, and I am always with Him! (That last part was Luke 15:31.)

In case you can't tell, I'm trying to encourage myself. I think it's working.

So, maybe God has to discipline me after I help myself to the leftover food in the soapy sink. Or maybe I'm currently best suited for a napping space that's only 10 inches wide. I think that's OK. I still live in my Father's house, and He's taking care of me, just like He always does.

I have the most faithful Father in the universe. He keeps me as the apple of His eye, and He hides me in the shadow of His wings (Psalm 17:8). I think I can tackle my interview tomorrow, whether I get hired or not. My Daddy is with me, so I think I'm good to go.

Unemployment, part 4

This post could also be titled "On the shelf."

This is a picture of the lunch I ate today. Can you guess what it is? Nope, it's not Frito pie. That isn't chili underneath that beautiful mound of corn chips. That's lentil soup. I discovered the Frito + lentils combination about 3 years ago. It definitely isn't the same as eating Frito pie, but it's relatively OK. Sometimes a chick just wants some crunch with her bowl of mush. Heck yes, I'm a redneck.

Somewhat off the subject, I like lentil soup, but I'm not completely sure why Esau was so eager to trade his birthright to his brother Jacob for a crummy little bowl of lentil soup. I think Hebrews 12 says it's because Esau was profane, or I'm guessing maybe Jacob was a heck of a good cook. But seriously, lentil soup? Dude, keep your birthright and wait for your mama to cook you a venison casserole or something later. Not that I'm any better than Esau, but when I went shopping at Big Lots, the price tags on the cans of lentil soup said "$1.25," not "$birthright."

Anyway, I'm not going to just talk about unemployment today. I would like to touch on a subject that is controversial in some Christian circles: hearing God's voice. I would like to talk plainly about the type of stuff that God talks to me about sometimes. Yes, God talks to me, and not just when I read my Bible. He has a relationship with me. That's why He talks to me, and I talk to Him. Otherwise, our relationship would honestly stink. Have you ever had a relationship or friendship that felt very one-sided, or maybe you felt like you did all the giving and the other person did all the taking? Or maybe you did all the talking and the other person would just listen without offering feedback or would just completely ignore you? Yes, of course that would be a lousy relationship. So, why should my relationship with God not involve Him talking to me and me talking to Him, just like two friends would talk to each other? (Exodus 33:11) Yeah, that's what I thought.

Of course, I'm definitely NOT the only person that God talks to. He wants to talk to everybody. He aches for all of humanity to listen to Him.

"Today, if you will hear His voice: 'Do not harden your hearts, as in the rebellion, as in the day of trial in the wilderness, when your fathers tested Me; they tried Me, though they saw My work.' " (Psalm 95:7b-9)

I remember when I was first learning how to hear God's voice (because I used to believe that He didn't talk to people like that anymore). People at the church I attended would say things like, "Someone gave me this prophetic word, and I put it on the shelf." They meant that God spoke something about the future to somebody else, about them, but they didn't know if it was really from God, so they put it "on the shelf" to see if it really was God. Of course, if it really was God, this "word from the Lord" would more than likely come true. If it wasn't really God talking, this "word" would more than likely not happen. In general, I think that's how that works.

I have lots of words "on the shelf." Some of them have been on the shelf for almost 2 decades, and others don't spend much time on the shelf at all because they come true rather quickly. For example, during a mission trip to Mexico in 1997, I got a prophetic word from a Mexican guy. As far as I can remember, he said (I will give you my English translation) that God impressed on him that I'm going to marry a very good-looking man who won't fall in love until he sees the good qualities that God put inside me. Of course, this word hasn't come true, so it's been on the shelf. I've honestly kinda flicked this particular word off the shelf and into an invisible trash can because of frustrations that I won't go into at the moment. For a while, I wondered if this prophetic Mexican guy was just totally full of it and/or if he just liked me and invented this "word" himself. Or maybe it really is God and I just need to keep it on the shelf until I need it. (If it's God, I think it grew legs, crawled out of the invisible trash can, and leapt back onto the shelf behind my back. Heh. Sneaky little word.)

I could probably talk forever about how difficult it can be to discern if a voice is God or not, especially since He speaks in such a variety of different ways. (Just reading through the Bible will give you an idea of how many different ways He speaks to all kinds of people.) I've also learned that familiar spirits (demonic spirits that are assigned to your family) sound a lot like God. A Jezebel spirit sounds a lot like God. Sometimes waiting is a crucial step in discerning whether or not God really spoke. (Demonic spirits aren't patient, they don't love you, and they aren't the least bit encouraging.)

But once you know that a "word" is from God, you just KNOW. And even then, it can seem a bit iffy. I wonder how the prophet Hosea in the Bible first reacted when God told him to marry a prostitute. "Um... Lord, You want me to WHAT?!" I wonder if he had some trusted friends to test this word with. "Hey, Hosea, um... I don't think God would ever tell you to marry a prostitute." I wonder if Hosea had to wrestle with this word. "OK, Lord, so I'm pretty sure this is something You want me to do. And... wow, she's hot. Can You please make sure I don't catch anything from her?" I mean, seriously, I love God, and I know He loved me first, and He's 100% good, pure, and holy. But, well... being His friend never has a dull moment, honestly.

At the beginning of this year, He told me, "This is going to be a tight year." I immediately suspected that I was going to get fired, even though my situation at work had cooled off a tiny bit. Sure enough, that's exactly what happened last month. I'm glad He told me ahead of time. He gave me plenty of time to dig through my things and prepare to sell some of my valuables for the occasion.

The last time I was unemployed, I was praying about something totally unrelated, and He led me to Psalm 5:12: "For You, O Lord, will bless the righteous; with favor You will surround him as with a shield." The next day, I got laid off unexpectedly. Then God told me, "You're going to be unemployed for a month." Approximately one month later, I got hired at my next job. Yep, that word didn't need to stay on the shelf for very long. That was definitely God, and He definitely shielded me and gave me tons of favor. In a sense, and mixing some metaphors, I guess you could say that He greased some wheels ahead of time, and my very brief season of unemployment was smooth sailing.

During that very brief time, I randomly ran into a guy from church at a restaurant one night. I told him that I had just gotten laid off, and he offered an exhortation. I don't remember his exact words, but he basically said that sometimes during seasons like unemployment, instead of rushing to find the next job, God just wants to take some time to refresh you. This word has been on the shelf, because I didn't need it back in 2011. (I found a new job rather quickly.) However, I think I've basically taken this word off the shelf, dusted it off, and have needed to use it now in 2014. This is definitely a season when God doesn't seem to be in a hurry at all, He doesn't seem worried at all, and He's taking care of me impeccably, just like He always does. He's been doing some major recalibration inside me, He and I have been organizing some things in my life, and I've been majorly refreshed.

So, during Unemployment 2014, I've felt like God has spoken to me again. If I heard Him correctly, I felt like He said, "You're going to be unemployed for 3 months." It's very possible that I completely missed God and/or that I'm quite full of it. Or it's very possible that I heard my Father speak to me like He always does. At any rate, this word is officially on the shelf. If I heard God accurately, I still have approximately a month and a half of unemployment to go.

I think the shelf is a very safe, handy place. If you take care of your shelf and the stuff you keep there, you could reap some very important things later. For example, I didn't realize in 1994 that that Yanni concert VHS that I acquired would be something I could enjoy today while I was eating lunch. But the VHS tape has been stored and preserved on the shelf, faithfully waiting for me to use it whenever I need it. And I didn't know when I visited Big Lots the other day that I was going to enjoy a $1.25 can of lentil soup with Fritos for my bachelorette Sunday lunch. My pantry shelf is a very nice place for my future meals to wait until I'm ready to eat them.

I like God. He's cool.

"Not the mama"

Speaking of intimacy, in this post, I'm going to talk about father figures (in case you didn't figure that out from the title of this post). From what I understand, theologically, technically, God is genderless. So, when I talk about Him being my Heavenly Father, theologically, technically, I think He's really more of a Heavenly Father-Mother, a Heavenly Parent. But for the sake of simplicity, for the sake of the kind of stuff He's been teaching me lately, and for the sake of explaining an infinite, eternal mystery in a way that will conveniently fit into my finite brain, I will refer to God my Daddy in the masculine form of His Parenthood -- my Father.

Also, depending on your level of sensitivity, this post might be rated R. And I might repeat some stuff that I've already mentioned in previous posts, but sometimes repackaging helps me.

Did you ever see a TV sitcom called Dinosaurs? It was Jim Henson's idea, and it was produced in the early 1990s, long after he passed away. This was a live-action puppet show, and it was very much like a satirical cartoon. It was about a dinosaur family. The feistiest character was the baby dinosaur who loved his mama so much that he would wake her up at 3:00 in the morning and demand to be fed. "No concept of time! I'm the baby! Gotta love me!" However, the baby was not so fond of the daddy dinosaur. Instead of calling him "Daddy," he would call him "Not the mama!" and smack him on the head. This show was hilarious.

It's funny how something so small can remind you of something so enormous. 

Yesterday in the early evening, while the sun was still bright, the breeze was cool, and children were outside playing before dinnertime, I walked outside to check my mail. In the distance, I heard what sounded like a young child practicing a tenor saxophone. I could tell that this was a beginning musician, and the tune being practiced sounded like "Go Big Red." After I checked the mail and began to walk back to my apartment, the musician was still struggling to play the right notes at the right time. I looked up, and I saw the top of a bassoon poking out from an apartment balcony. Ah. So, it wasn't a tenor saxophone that I heard. Then I heard voices discussing the notes, and I gathered that this young musician was possibly having a bassoon lesson. I wondered why this musician would be allowed to practice outdoors, because neighbors could potentially complain about music noise. But then I remembered how thin our apartments' walls can be, and I gathered that perhaps the bassoon sounds better when its soundwaves are disseminated outside instead of confined indoors. At any rate, the indoor-outdoor cat who lives in the bassoonist's downstairs neighbor's patio seemed to be enjoying the music.

My neighbor bassoonist reminded me of my young band days. I played the French horn from the 6th grade through the 9th grade. Learning how to play an instrument can be an extremely challenging thing, and when you're a young adolescent who's already quite insecure about herself, learning how to play a wind instrument can add plenty to life's challenges. But music as an academic discipline can do a really good job of keeping a kid out of trouble.

Today, I still play my guitar, and I try to keep up with my piano keyboard. Yes, cats enjoy music, but as their feline reputation implies, they can be pretty darn picky. Near the beginning of this post, I shared a picture of Macho, who loves for me to play my keyboard. Usually when I turn it on and begin to play, he perches on my couch and listens. (And sometimes he meows along. Actually, he might be begging for food, but still, he has excellent rhythm.)

However, anytime I grab my guitar, Macho bolts out of the room before I even begin to play. I like to think that perhaps this is because when I play my guitar, God's presence comes, and Macho considers this process to be intensely intimidating. But I hope he doesn't sprint away because I stink as a guitar player. (Do I really suck that bad?)

"There is an evil I have seen under the sun, as an error proceeding from the ruler: Folly is set in great dignity, while the rich sit in a lowly place. I have seen servants on horses, while princes walk on the ground like servants." (Ecclesiastes 10:5-7)

My birth father was an expert musician who was proficient in several instruments and had perfect pitch. Nobody could match him, and nobody could top him. He was the best. And he made sure we knew it. He demanded respect, and the people around him didn't have a problem giving it to him. My birth father was held in very high esteem. People looked up to him, and they depended on him for spiritual guidance. That was how people outside the family saw him.

Inside the family, however, I honestly think my birth father was one of the most immature people I have ever met. I truly think he had multiple mental health issues (OCD, possibly bipolar, possibly severe depression, possibly an anxiety disorder, possibly a personality disorder), but to my knowledge he never sought professional help for any of it, because according to him, modern psychology was humanistic. And also because my birth mother enabled him. Lucky us.

So, while everybody at church saw my birth father as a highly skilled, tremendously gifted, extremely capable, polished man, we at home saw him as an effeminately emotional, whining basketcase. He would frequently throw temper tantrums, and anything would set him off. He would literally scream anytime, anywhere. We would be minding our own business, and we would hear a scream from across the house, and we would run to see what had happened. My birth father would be doing something like pouring himself a glass of orange juice and spilling a tiny bit of it on the kitchen counter. That would prompt the extremely loud scream. This kind of thing would happen ALL THE TIME. By the time I was a teenager, I learned to ignore or at least minimize the screams, because my birth father was more than likely NOT in any danger. He just needed to turn it down several hundred notches. People would come over to our house, hear a scream from across the other end of the house, and wonder where the fire was, and we would nonchalantly reply, "Eh, it's just Daddy." That was my life.

The last Thanksgiving I spent with my birth father, he literally threw a tantrum on his front porch after he returned home from Walmart because the cashier misplaced part of his broken computer equipment when he had returned it, or something like that. Um, sorry, but what did you expect would happen when you showed up at Walmart on Thanksgiving, hours before the official start of Black Friday? The last Christmas I spent with my birth father, he used up most of our family time (Wait. Did we ever officially have a "family time"?) by distributing photos of his mission trip to Israel to all of our computers and by having two separate slide shows in the living room. Um, sorry, but I didn't realize Christmas was supposed to be a holiday that revolved around you and your missionary endeavors. Can you please consider the fact that you're not the only person who exists in the universe?

So, put all that together -- the extreme talents, the immaturity, the volatile disposition, and the narcissism -- and add a stubbornly unrepentant religious spirit to the equation. Voilà, you have a first-class spiritual abuser.

After I went off to college and was baptized in the Holy Spirit, I would return home for holidays and summers and endure my birth father's spiritual abuse. Please keep in mind that another term for "spiritual abuse" is "spiritual rape." My birth father would lecture me incessantly about how "these charismatics" claim to speak in tongues but really, it's "self-hypnosis." He would prattle on forever, leave the room, and then he would remember a few more extra points and return to my room to continue prattling on. Whenever I had a job to go to, I didn't have a car, so my birth father would drive me and lecture me some more during the drive. At one point, he got me to confess that the baptism of the Holy Spirit occurs at salvation (which it doesn't). I was extremely confused. My sophomore year of college, I pulled back from church a bit, and I think it grieved God.

While I was at home, my birth father would usually look down and heave a deep sigh before spontaneously lecturing me about how wrong my new beliefs were. Years later, anytime he would sigh, my insides would still freak out, even when a lecture wouldn't follow the sigh. I was living in fear. Towards the end, when I would visit my birth parents, I would get up early for breakfast, and he and I would be the only ones in the same room, but he wouldn't make eye contact with me. He was ashamed of me. Not only was I living in fear, but I was also an embarrassment to the family, and I was always wrong. (Do I really suck that bad?)

I'm told that the way we perceive our earthly parents tremendously effects how we perceive our Heavenly Father. I'm learning that my abusive relationship with my birth father has majorly affected my relationship with my Heavenly Father. Once in a while, God has to pull me aside, remind me of who my birth father was, and tell me very clearly, "I'm not that guy."

So, God has been helping me embrace intimacy at a deeper level. He's been healing how I perceive, pursue, and enjoy intimacy with Him. At the beginning of this intimacy-healing journey, I think I was in my living room, I possibly had my guitar, I was more than likely trying to sing to God, and I think I was scared to death. God basically told me, "You think I'm going to violate you."

Yesterday, I heard myself pray one of the weirdest prayers I've ever prayed. I told God, "Strip me naked spiritually and tell me what's wrong with me." I'm a Psalm 141 kind of woman. I can take a healthy rebuke. But God had to gently, firmly remind me of my birth father and tell me again, "I'm not that guy."

This is terrible. I should fear God, yes, in the sense of respecting Him, in the sense of being in awe of Him, in the sense of understanding that He's the Best, in the sense that He's the most powerful Person in the universe who could very easily squash me like a bug and destroy me. But I think I keep waiting for Him to do so. He adopted me. He bought me. He wants me. He loves me. He takes extremely good care of me. Why would He want to destroy me?

I think He would remind me of my birth father and repeat, "I'm not that guy."

God is right. He isn't like my birth father at all, not one iota.

God isn't interested in spiritually violating me. He isn't a spiritual rapist. He isn't a spiritual abuser who demands respect, makes the people around Him feel stupid, and royally freaks out whenever He doesn't get His way. He doesn't expect me to mess up, wait for me to mess up, and then shame the living daylights out of me after I mess up. He won't lecture me for 45 minutes at a time because He disagrees with me about something. He isn't a first-class hypocrite who breaks His own rules but then attacks me whenever I accidentally break one of them. And He isn't a wuss who allows the ushers in His own church building to physically violate His own daughter.

God is a loving Father who covers me, protects me, and leads me. Sometimes He does so gently, and sometimes He does so very loudly. I can talk to Him about anything. He corrects me, but not in a way that makes me feel bad. He corrects me in a way that brings me hope, that bonds me closer to Him, that makes me want to crawl into His lap and let Him hug me until I peacefully fall asleep. He's my Friend. He doesn't spend time with me because He's obligated to do so. He hangs out with me -- nay, He abides with me -- because He wants to.

God didn't create me, beginning with my DNA, because I was some accident that was the result of a passionate encounter with my birth mother. God didn't freak out at the doctor's office when he first learned about my existence. God doesn't look at me with a very pathetic look on His face because He thinks He's homely and I look just like Him.

Nope, God is not that guy.

God my Father created me because He wants me. He redeemed me -- paid for my life with the life of His only Son Jesus -- because He wants me. He spends time with me because He wants me. He heals me because He wants me. He wants to get to know me -- even though technically He already does -- because He wants me. He wants me to get to know Him because He wants us to have a fabulous relationship and also because He wants me. He has absolutely, completely, 100% zero intention of violating me, spiritually raping me, or harming me. He wants to keep me safe. He wants me.

He's a good Father, the best there will ever be.

So, my therapist assured me that Mother's Day will more than likely be a tough day for me to endure from now on. However, I think Father's Day will more than likely be an extremely pleasant day for me to enjoy from now on. Even after I separated myself permanently from my birth father, I was already starting to enjoy Father's Day with my Heavenly Father. Perhaps this year, He and I can enjoy some music together. Or maybe I could pretend it's Memorial Day and microwave some hot dogs while I pretend that He's a sports-enthusiast dad and we watch my VHS tapes of Olympic coverage. Perhaps we could go to the movies together, and He can speak something major about art like He usually does. Or perhaps we could simply just enjoy being together, quietly and peacefully, safely and strongly, just like a daughter and her Father are supposed to enjoy each other all the time.

Methinks the possibilities are endless.

(I don't think I really suck that bad. At least, Choochie doesn't seem to think so.)