"Have you ever read..."

I'll do my best to not sound gripey-witchy in this post, but I should warn you that I'm going to write about stuff that has severely hurt me, that I've hopefully worked through (at least mostly), and that -- as a result -- I'm quite passionate about.

In social situations, one question that I usually dread being asked is "Have you ever read such-and-such book?" Considering that there are zillions of books that have been written since the beginning of time, and considering that I'm a relatively slow reader, there's a 99% chance that the answer to that question is No. Yes, this prolific blogger reads very slowly. I'm a professional writer, not a professional reader. And I'm a kinesthetic learner, so I usually learn by doing, not by reading. And I'm a meditator, so if I find a book that I really like, I'll probably read it at least twice. (That includes the Bible, which is more than just a Book, and especially the Psalms, some of which I've read a bazillion times.)

So, reader, I won't torture you by asking you, "Have you ever read He's Just Not That Into You?" Instead, I'll just say it directly: I'm currently reading a book called He's Just Not That Into You by Greg Behrendt and Liz Tuccillo.

That is, I'm FINALLY reading this book. It was originally written about a decade ago. I first heard about it when one of the authors was interviewed that long ago on Oprah. (It was also made into a movie, which I haven't seen yet.) Now I'm reading a nice, cheap used copy I found on eBay, but I really think if I had read this book when it was first released, it could have helped me get a grip on my single-chick issues and start healing significantly faster.

This book is primarily geared toward single women like me who hope that the man that she crushes on, that she's spent so much time with, is just taking his sweet time in asking her out. It's a very black-and-white, common-sense book that basically says, "If a guy is really into you, he isn't going to waste any time pursuing you. He's going to be a man and pursue the heck out of you, because that's what healthy men do. If he doesn't, that's a huge sign that he doesn't really like you as much as you hope he does." So far, this has been a very fast, entertaining read, even for molasses-slow readers like me.

The main idea behind this book has FINALLY helped me see -- even before I started reading it -- that men who like me won't care about obstacles. They'll hunt me down and do their best to win me, so to speak, because that's what straight single men naturally do to straight single women who catch their eye. For women like me who will keep liking a guy until he asks her out -- even if it means doing so for 14 years until she finally finds out that he only likes her as a sister -- this book is majorly helpful. If you'd like to read it for yourself, I would like to warn you that it wasn't written from a Christian standpoint, and it has a bit of profanity peppered in here and there. But even the chapter titles are helpful -- for example:

Chapter 1: He's Just Not That Into You If He's Not Asking You Out

Chapter 2: He's Just Not That Into You If He's Not Calling You

Chapter 3: He's Just Not That Into You If He's Not Dating You

Chapter 7: He's Just Not That Into You If He Doesn't Want To Marry You

Chapter 9: He's Just Not That Into You If He's Disappeared On You

This all makes sense as I've thought about the men who have been in my life. The ones who I liked forever but who asked out other women instead of me, well, they just weren't that into me. The ones who were slimy, disgusting, and creepy and who I had trouble distancing myself from, well, they were plenty into me, even though I didn't want them to be. I hope this goes without saying, but in case clarification is needed, "into" is slang for "interested in, pleased by," or maybe even "addicted to or craving."

I think the concept of "He's Just Not That Into You" can definitely apply to non-romantic relationships as well.

For example, my cats are really into me. I can tell because they keep showing up in my life. Yes, they live in a small apartment here with me, so they don't have much of a choice as to who to hang out with. But they keep showing up and voluntarily giving me love. As you can see, Choochie likes to pop up from time to time when I rev up my laptop and try to work.

Macho is really into me because he looks for me and tries to snuggle with me once in a while, even when he isn't hungry. Sometimes I have to be careful with his camouflage-with-the-floor sneakiness.

And yes, both my cats are really into cat food. I can tell because they usually magically appear anytime I open up a cat-food container and pour it into a cat-food bowl.

I think the concept of "He's Just Not That Into You" can also definitely apply to friendships. If the book had been written with platonic friendships in mind, perhaps the chapter titles would have been something like the following:

Chapter 1: She's Just Not That Into You If She Never, Ever, Ever Tries To Hang Out With You

Chapter 2: She's Just Not That Into You If She's Always Hanging Out With Other Friends Instead Of You

Chapter 3: She's Just Not That Into You If She Waits 3-6 Months To Reply To Your Emails

Chapter 4: She's Just Not That Into You If She Has Never, Ever, Ever Read Any Of Your Blog Posts

Chapter 5: She's Just Not That Into You If She Only Reaches Out To You When She's Lonely

I think maybe reading a book like that could have helped me much sooner in life in my hurtful friendships, too -- the ones that I allowed to drag on way too long instead of ending them myself so that I can move on and pursue healthy friendships instead.

And I think my therapist would remind me that I'm made in God's image.

"If you love Me, keep My commandments." (Jesus talking in John 14:15)

"A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another." (Jesus talking in John 13:34-35)

"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength." (Deuteronomy 6:5)

I think loving God can be a very tall order. Loving Somebody with every fiber of my being can be a very hard thing to do. But it's something that He definitely helps me do. And the more I get to know Him, I think the easier it gets, even though life itself gets harder. And the more I get to know Him, the more I like Him, especially when I realize how much He puts up with me, and double especially when He tells me that I don't get to judge how undeserving I am -- judging is His job. I'm rambling now, but I think maybe that's what happens when you truly love Somebody -- you kinda lose all sense of time and gush all over them. You don't care what obstacles get in the way of pursuing that Person. You just pursue Him, because you know you'll never be able to get enough of Him once you connect with Him.

Sometimes it can be easy to tell who follows Jesus and who doesn't. But sometimes it can be easy to spot a hypocrite. I think maybe perhaps if God were to write His own "He's Just Not That Into You" book, the chapter titles might look something like the following:

Chapter 1: If You've Never Attempted To Love The People Around You, You Might Not Be That Into Me

Chapter 2: If You Only Attend Church Services On Christmas And Easter, You Might Not Be That Into Me

Chapter 3: If You've Never, Ever, Ever, Ever, Ever Tried To Do Evangelism, You Might Not Be That Into Me, Because You May Not Fully Understand What You Have, And You May Not Understand Why Other People Need Me

Chapter 4: If You Only Read The Bible On Saturday Nights So That You Can Prepare To Teach Your Sunday School Class Every Week, Check Your Pulse, Because You Might Still Be Spiritually Dead

Chapter 5: If You Know Exactly How To Go Through The Motions, Especially When The Music Plays At Church And You Lift Your Hands And Make The People Around You Think That You Like Me, But You And I Both Know That You Just Want To Get This Charade Over With So That You Can Go Home And Do Whatever The Heck You Want, Because You Really Don't Like Me, You Just Want To Look Good To Other People, Well... I'm Sorry, Have We Met?

Of course, God is very gracious, and everybody is on different parts of their journey with Him, and He gives everybody zillions of chances to follow Him the right way. But I think it's common sense that if you want something, eventually you'll work through your fear, kick over the obstacles, and go after it. Speaking for myself, if I want Somebody, I eventually won't care who or what will come between Him and me -- I'll run after Him, and I'll go for it like there were no tomorrow.

The other day, I was at Target. As I was walking out the door, I caught a whiff of pizza from the snack bar. Ohhhhh, pizza. They don't sell that stuff at Dollar Tree. Anyway, I briefly remembered what it was like to have a boyfriend many years ago -- the type of boy who treated me to lots and lots of pizza. Then God reminded me that I have Him. Yeah, that's right. Physically, of course God isn't my boyfriend, and things between me and Him will never be like that. But spiritually, yes He's definitely my Bridegroom, and He always will be. I'll take that instead of pizza any day.

As for my single-womanness, I am letting my dream of getting married die completely. There is absolutely no guarantee that a man will ever be that into me enough to pursue me and claim me for himself, and there is absolutely no guarantee that I will return his feelings (instead of getting a restraining order). But I am very OK with that.

Like I've said before, God is better than a luckdragon, He's better than pizza, He's better than a boyfriend, He's better than any gift He could give, and He's better than anything or anyone I can think of with my finite little brain. Regardless of what or who He brings into my life, I love Him, and nobody will ever take Him away from me. Heck yes!

Unemployment, part 7

Wait. Did I just put a picture of my garbage on the internet for all to see? Why, yes, I did. This is actually a fairly common sight in my life nowadays: a bag full of shredded documents that were taking up way too much precious space. I bought extra-cheap garbage bags for the occasion -- the kind that are too wimpy, wimpy, wimpy for hefty, hefty, hefty garbage but just the right consistency for the kind of junk I was throwing away. (And, not to mention, since I've been throwing away more cat-food cans than I usually do, I've had to visit the Dumpster more frequently.) That's why this garbage is shaped so irregularly. See? I know what I'm doing. I have a system.

And I don't think I'm the only One who has a system.

"To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven... a time to gain, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to throw away." (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 6)

I was hoping to save part 7 of my unemployment blog-post series to say something like, "This is the last post! Yay, I found a job!" but nah. I'm still unemployed. In fact, one time recently when I was asking God for a job, He said, "You're not going to find a job until you're OK with waiting." When the God of the universe puts you on the spot like that, what do you do? The only thing you can do. Your heart invisibly stands at attention, salutes, and says something to the effect of, "Yes, Sir."

So, I'm OK with waiting.

Looking around at the current backdrop of my life, I don't think it's an accident that I happen to be unemployed right now. Yes, I am definitely still looking for a job (this chick needs to work!), but I've been involved in stuff that working 8-5 might get in the way of. My cats have had interesting health issues lately that I've needed to take care of. My mental health has been on the mend, and it's required me undergoing regular psychotherapy, and I plan to attend my last scheduled session later this week. I've still been selling things on eBay, and I've been reorganizing some stuff at home (which sometimes involves me making extra trips to the Dumpster).

I think maybe after the icky ordeal of my previous job, I've had to do some soul unraveling and detoxing. And in the process, I've learned and relearned some important things. I've learned that it's OK for life to be peaceful. I've learned that it's OK -- in fact, it's supposed to be normal -- for life to be still. I've learned that I like order. Yes, this creative, artsy-fartsy chick likes order.

And I don't think I'm the only Creative Being who likes order.

"See then that you walk circumspectly, not as fools but as wise, redeeming the time, because the days are evil. Therefore do not be unwise, but understand what the will of the Lord is." (Ephesians 5:15-16)

"So teach us to number our days, that we may gain a heart of wisdom." (Psalm 90:12)

I think time is an extremely important currency to God. Yes, of course He's forgiving, gracious, and loving. But He also means business. He's the most perfect, joyful, friendly Person you'll ever meet. But He's also the most serious Person you'll ever meet. When He sets aside a certain length of time, aka a season, I think He's very serious about it accomplishing a certain purpose, Ecclesiastes-3 style.

Being unemployed means that I can do crazy things on a Monday afternoon like go to the beautiful coin laundromat. While I was there today, the crowd was particularly interesting. A man and a woman in the background caught my attention... because they were talking so loudly. At first, I figured they were related to each other, because many people who visit the beautiful coin laundromat do so as a family event. Then it sounded like maybe he was interviewing her for a job, because she started talking about her education, e.g., "the school of hard-knocks." Then it sounded like maybe they were seriously flirting with each other, because I thought I heard him say, "You're mine," and I thought I heard her laugh and say, "Boaz! I need my miracle right now!"

Listening to this scene was more entertaining than watching television. I was trying to read a book, but I kept getting distracted by the life-entertainment. It was extremely hard for me to keep a straight face, even while I was trying to hide behind my book.

Yes, they were very religious people. He talked about having a ministry, and she talked about having a music ministry. She danced a little bit when she talked about praying over something and about the Holy Ghost, and then they both kept talking about the Lord. She got very excited and spoke in tongues for a little bit. Please understand that these people's voices were so loud that it was impossible to NOT eavesdrop. She explained to the man that she was all about "getting people saved." At one point, she even burst quite loudly into song.

My imagination went crazy, and I quickly decided to pretend that I didn't speak English if this lady decided to be a missionary to the lost in the laundromat right then and there. Perhaps today was her Sabbath, because she did not seek the lost while she was waiting for her clothes to wash and dry. At any rate, I was very relieved that this lady seemed too busy impressing her Boaz to do a spontaneous laundromat outreach to me or the innocent bystanders around me. I don't remember exactly if I asked God what to do, but while I was unloading a washer, He spoke to me, anyway: "You used to be that annoying."

Sigh. Yes. I definitely did.

I remember what it was like to be so supposedly on fire for the Lord that I was almost completely useless in His Kingdom. I mean, who wants to be around a clanging symbol? (Check out 1 Corinthians 13.) In the Bible, Jesus was very honest about who He was, but He was also very discreet about living His life here on earth. He was unashamedly the Light of the World, but he wasn't all LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME, LOOK AT ME, I'M SO AWESOME, I'M SO AWESOME, I'M SO AWESOME, I'M SO AWESOME, I'M SO AWESOME all the time, ya know? He was humble. He was meek. He was effective. (And He still is.)

At church this weekend, my pastor preached a very good sermon about spending your time and setting your priorities. He asked us to pray so that God could show us what our priorities were. I prayed, and God was like, "No, you don't need a schedule. You need to be flexible. I'll be your luckdragon. Stick with Me, and I'll take you where you need to go." Unless you're familiar with the movie The NeverEnding Story (which is my favorite), you may not understand what He meant. But I understood what He meant. In that movie, the protagonists sit on a luckdragon while he flies through the air and transports them throughout their land. This entire year, one theme that God has been teaching me is being flexible. Yes, unemployment is an ideal on-the-job training ground for flexibility.

Wait. Did the God of the universe just compare Himself to a movie character? Why, yes, He did. And it wouldn't be the first time He's done that with me. Yes, He knows exactly how to get through to me.

Yes, He wants me to climb on His back and just let Him take me wherever He wants to take me, even if I have to wait forever to finally find a job. And I'm OK with that. I really don't think He's in a hurry.

Last weekend at church, near the end of the service, I went to the altar to ask for prayer for a job. The lady (who did not know me) prayed very interesting things. In addition to praying for a job, she asked God to send me friends and a mentor. Hmm. These are things that I've blubbered to God about a TON in the past year or so. I don't think it's a coincidence that she prayed these things. (I don't really believe in coincidences.) I'm pretty sure she plugged into the Holy Spirit and let Him fly her around like a luckdragon, so to speak, while she was praying. And, again, I didn't get the impression that God was in any kind of hurry. I got the impression, again, that He knows exactly who I am and that He knows exactly what I need.

I think, like it says in Ecclesiastes 3, that sometimes we just need extended seasons when we let God take out the trash, metaphorically speaking. Otherwise, we could just be another annoyingly religious, loud-talking lady at the laundromat for the rest of our lives -- talking a good talk but possibly not really knowing how to walk a good walk at all.

Sometimes I just need to lean on God and let Him do all the fancy flying while I just hold on to Him and let Him go wherever He wants to go and take me wherever He wants to take me. It's hard to walk with a broken pair of legs, anyway.

Heck yes, He's better than a luckdragon.

Spoiled

As part of the treatment of the kidney and bladder stones that were detected at Macho's previous vet appointment, Macho now eats a special formula food and takes antibiotics. Currently, I've been giving him the canned wet version of his new food. I do so by spreading each portion out on a dessert-sized paper plate (so I won't have to wish a dish), and I hold it for Macho while he eats it (so the paper plate won't fly all over the floor while he scrape-licks his food).

Is he spoiled? Perhaps in one sense, you could say so. But there's more.

Sometimes, I also smush some of Macho's new food onto my fingers/palm so that he can literally eat out of my hand. This comes in handy for whetting his appetite while simultaneously hiding his antibiotic pill in his food. (This is much easier, much more pleasant, and much less traumatic than forcing his mouth open and shoving in his pill.)

Yes, of course holding canned wet cat food in my hand is really gross. But when you love somebody, that's what you do -- you sacrifice your own time and comfort, roll up your sleeves, and get in their world for a little while. That's what you do when someone needs you. That's what you do when you care about someone.

"He who spares his rod hates his son, but he who loves him disciplines him promptly." (Proverbs 13:24)

Have you ever heard the saying "Spare the rod, spoil the child"? I'm sure it came from Proverbs 13:24. I'm not a parent, so I definitely don't have any authority or reason to tell parents how to discipline their kids. So, just making an honest observation, I'm sure that Proverbs 13:24 DOESN'T say, "Spare the time-outs, spoil the child" or "Beat the living daylights out of your child so that he or she won't become spoiled." And just making an honest observation about my own childhood, I definitely know that Proverbs 13:24 also DOESN'T say, "Showering all kinds of love on your child will spoil him or her."

I think the very concept of affection freaked out my birth mother. I don't ever remember her holding me and comforting me while I was crying -- not to say that she didn't do so when I was an infant, but it's just that I don't remember it. This lack of comforting affection is something that I really obsessed over and have really had to work through. This is something that God Himself has been healing in me.

When my birth mother was visiting me several years ago, and I happened to pick up Macho, my cat, and hug him like I always do (which he usually likes), my birth mother looked at me suspiciously and asked, "What happened?"

I think the fact that I had to explain to my own mother what loving another creature looks like... um, I think that alone could explain why I've been undergoing psychotherapy lately.

Just now while I was typing the previous paragraph, I heard Macho meow from the other room. Sometimes while he's napping, he suddenly wakes up and starts meowing, and he sounds frightened, as if perhaps he were having a nightmare, or perhaps he suddenly forgot where he was or wondered why the heck he was all by himself. He was originally acquired at PetSmart, so there's honestly no telling what kind of life he led before he became mine. Does dropping what I'm doing and assuring my cat of my presence, checking on his well-being, and doing my best to comfort him before he goes back to sleep -- does that constitute as spoiling him?

Maybe. But I guess it depends on your definition of "spoiled."

Going back to Proverbs 13:24, I think that whole "Spare the rod, spoil the child" concept of being spoiled means that if you're too afraid of your child to discipline him/her -- if you hate your child to the point that you couldn't care less about him/her growing up to become a responsible adult -- if you give your child way too much freedom where he/she needs boundaries, there's a strong chance that he/she could grow up to become "spoiled." In that sense, the child could become an adult who's used to getting his/her own way all the time, possibly dabbles in a life of crime, possibly has marital problems, possibly needs extensive psychotherapy, etc. From what I've heard about healthy parenting, it seems that a child who is disciplined by his/her parents grows up with the understanding that he/she is NOT the center of the universe, that there are consequences for his/her actions, and that his/her parent cares about him/her enough to say, "I love you, but what you're doing is wrong, and now I am going to spank you, put you in time-out, ground you, take away your allowance, or insert other preferred form of discipline here, so that you will know that I love you enough to follow through on this boundary that has been set just for you."

God does that all the time. I am writing this blog post not from an elaborate mansion, or not from a jail cell, or not from an organized-crime limo. I am writing from my cheap-rent apartment while I eat my bowl of Frito-laced dollar-store chili and wait to exit my metaphorical desert/wilderness. In terms of physical comforts, no, I'm not spoiled.

"Behold what manner of love the Father has bestowed on us, that we should be called children of God!" (1 John 3:1a)

"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)

"He who did not spare His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, how shall He not with Him also freely give us all things?" (Romans 8:32)

"The eyes of all look expectantly to You, and You give them their food in due season. You open Your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing." (Psalm 145:15-16)

But in the sense of being treated like a princess, heck yes, God "spoils" me. I think He'll treat all His children that way, if they'll let Him. I completely deserved to die for my own sin, and instead of letting me simply burn in hell, Father God gave up His Son Jesus to die in my place. That's beyond... I'm sorry, my brain is about to explode because I can't even find words to express how much that shows that God loves me. And Jesus willingly gave up His own life for me. That means He loves me, too. And the Holy Spirit lives inside me and puts up with every thought I think, every move I make, every breath I breathe. That means He loves me, too. The fact that He counsels me, on top of already giving me everything I need and then some, on top of loving me when I absolutely don't deserve to be loved, on top of adopting me and making me His heir, on top of everything else... heck yes, I'm spoiled. But not rotten. When God infuses me with His love, His life, Himself, the result isn't rottenness. The result is holiness, strength, courage, peace, and hope. The result is love.

No, I'm not a mother, and yes, I'm just a cat owner. But does that stop me from lavishing tremendous love on my babies as if they were my children? No, I don't let them get away with murder, and yes, I have boundaries in place for them and try to discipline them as much as I can. But that's because I don't want my cheap-rent apartment to be ripped to shreds, and I want order in my home, and I don't want my cats to give in to their curiosity, experiment with foolish things, and hurt themselves. I love them, I want them, and I care about them.

I mean, do you see Macho complaining? (That's him lounging on my leg and foot. Ain't he adorable?)

Another dream

This will more than likely be one of my cathartic-healing type of posts that I will use to process/vent about my past and my former family. It might need to be rated PG-13 or R. I may use profanity (which was rolling around in my head earlier today), but I'll try not to. At any rate, if this is the type of stuff that you're not comfortable reading, please feel free to skip this post, and I look forward to seeing you next time.

This morning, I awoke from a disturbing dream around 4 a.m. (no, I didn't set my alarm that early today). It was another one of those symbolic dreams like I had before (which I also blogged about).

In this dream, I was living (as an adult) with my parents. We were all living in a house that used to belong to my grandmother (who has been deceased since the 1990s and who was also deceased in this dream). It was an old house that had a strange security system. I think the outer gates were always securely locked, but the most convenient exit from the house was from a closet-style door that didn't lock or latch. We lived nextdoor to neighbors who had two vicious dogs.

One afternoon, my mother and I decided to go out, so of course we took the easy way out, through the flimsy unlocked door. We were lingering in the gated front yard for a while -- I'm not sure why -- but during our delay, the neighbor's dogs broke through into our yard, through the flimsy wooden gate, and attacked our poodle. While one of the dogs was clutching her helpless little curly-haired body in his fangs, none of us did anything to stop it. I think my sister observed the attack helplessly. I think my mother and I just stood there. Then I woke up.

Of course, after I woke up from this dream, all sorts of ideas flooded into my head as to what I could have done to the attack dog. I could have poked its eye out with a stick. I could have poked its eye out with one of my keys. I could have kicked it in the stomach. Of course, in response to my counterattack, it probably would have turned on me and gnawed my arm off. I wouldn't have cared. That's what you're supposed to do when an outsider attacks someone in your family -- you fight back.

Sorry for the violence in this post, but I'm just being honest.

For starters, yes, I am a cat person who was raised by dog people. Of course, there's absolutely nothing wrong with dogs. I like dogs. I grew up with dogs. I'm just saying that the incompatibility of my personality/interests/gifts/callings with my former family is staggering. God truly had His work cut out for Him when He saved me, drew me into His arms, and called me out of my family.

But while I was a member of my former family, all kinds of things went wrong.

Of course, the flimsiness of home security in my dream, in a way, reflects the flimsiness of spiritual security in my past reality. Hmm. I think in reality, though, I didn't really have just a flimsy little wooden fence protecting my home. I think maybe it was as if my former family printed up fliers, distributed them to burglars, and advertised our home as ripe for the plundering. Then they would wait until after the burglars left to start gossiping about them. They'd have fun making fun of the burglars behind their backs, but they'd also complain like crazy about all their goods being stolen.

If your husband were to kiss another woman, even if he weren't having sex with her and all they did was kiss, you'd call it adultery, wouldn't you? Of course you would. You should.

Like I've mentioned before, this is exactly what happened to me repeatedly, with two separate married men over the course of several years, under the roof of a church building that my former father pastored. My former mother knew about it and did nothing except tell me to not tell my blabbermouth father about it... which I equate to doing nothing. What the bleepity bleep were you afraid of? He was just a bleeping usher. Tell him to keep his bleeping hands off your daughter. If the neighbor's vicious dog breaks through your flimsy little wooden fence and sinks his fangs into the precious life that you're in charge of, you grab the nearest sharp object and poke his eye out. Or you take your heavy purse and punch his lights out with it. Or you take your manicured nails and scratch a fresh design into his leathery mustached face. Whatever it takes, you communicate to him that you're uncool with him touching your daughter with his bleeping bleep little hands. You don't let him have his way. Otherwise, what kind of mother are you to allow your child to involuntarily commit adultery?

Perhaps I shouldn't be too hard on you. Your husband's mother wasn't all that faultless, either. I'm not sure why she married an unbeliever, especially one who had an inner itch to go out partying. I never met him, but I hope he was an awesome guy. But then she freaked out when he was drunk in front of her kids. Um, I'm not sure why this would have surprised her if she already knew how he was and that he hadn't already repented.

And now I get to deal with this partying/rebellious itch that I inherited from him. Thank you.

You can show up for all the church services you want, and you can follow all the new rules that you want, and you can whitewash your face as much as you want. But your house won't stop stinking until you actually take the trash out to the Dumpster.

That's what I've had to do. I've had to dig through my basement, my closets, and those scary-looking storage boxes that beg procrastination. I've had to sort through it all, keep/fix some of it, throw most of it away, and burn the rest of it to a crisp. And when I'm done with one batch, I find another batch to work on. Sometimes this process has felt great. Other times, it's felt like Somebody was gutting me out with a butter knife.

"You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor." (Exodus 20:16)

Out of the Ten Commandments, this is number nine. After I disowned myself from my family, people kept quoting number five at me -- "Honor your father and your mother." But I think number nine, which basically says, "Thou shalt not lie; thou shalt tell the truth," is just as important.

That's definitely not to say that I shouldn't forgive my former family. That's definitely not to say that I don't love my former family. That's just to say that I need to be honest about what happened, about what my relationship with them was really like, and about the fact that they aren't God to me anymore. (It says, "Honor your father and your mother," not "Worship your father and your mother.")

I think in 1998 when God told me to leave my parents or it would "lead to death," He wasn't kidding. I didn't keep a log of all the suicidal thoughts that were flung at my brain since 1998, but I'm thinking that's the kind of stuff that God wanted to prevent.

Many years later, after I finally obeyed God, I can barely begin to tell you how much of a difference it made in my life. Of course I went through hell and back while I was grieving over my family being ripped away from me. But after I went through that, I learned more than ever why God wanted me to leave.

Father's Day was this past weekend. Many people celebrated their dads and the relationship they have or had with them. I hung out with Father God. I ate hot dogs (He didn't eat because He doesn't need to), and we watched Pollyanna together. It's an interesting movie about control, appearances, religion, repentance, love, joy, and adoption.

I realized that my former father (the spiritually abusive one) blocked me from getting to know my Heavenly Father. It stung a little bit realizing that I didn't really have a good relationship with my former father at all, but I'm honestly relieved that I know my Heavenly Father now more than ever.

Technically, I was saved when I was 10 years old, so even though I had a father and a mother, spiritually I was adopted by Father God (as every Christian is) when I was 10. But when I left my natural father and mother when I was 35, God became my only Parent. It was almost like getting adopted all over again. I can barely begin to tell you how different it was living under my former family's covering versus living under God's covering. My gosh, it's like night and day. With them, I had chaos. With Him, I have order. With them, I had anxiety. With Him, I have peace. With them, I had worry. With Him, I have hope. With them, I had sickness. With Him, I have health. With them, I had mockery. With Him, I have dreams.

Also technically, my issues are my issues. Yes, of course I could have thrived under my former family's covering. And to a degree, I did. But when God says go, you go.

If you lived in a house that was old and mildewed, and if the security system was a wimpy little wooden fence, and if you could hear the termites munching away at your shelter while you were trying to sleep at night, and if the head of the house was a namby-pamby narcissist with an anxiety disorder, and if the lady of the house was a cable-TV addict who bought magazines with money that she probably should have used to pay for your college education, and if you could constantly hear the walls creaking, which indicated that the entire house could crumble on top of you and crush you at any given moment, how secure would you feel?

But if you lived in a house that was always quiet, except for the angels loudly praising the King of the house, and if your Father provided for everything you needed, even the stuff you didn't dream of asking for, and if your house belonged to the Wisest Counselor in the universe who never left you alone, and if your belly only remained empty until you asked for it to be filled, and if your Father gently picked you up with His strong arms and held you every time you needed to cry, and if He snuggled up to you every time you needed a Friend, and if you believed that you could do anything He asked you to do, or be anyone He asked you to be, just because you knew He would help you do it or be it, how secure would you feel?

All I'm saying is that the former was my previous covering. The latter is my current covering. My gosh, it's like night and day.

Speaking of day, I have a job interview to get psyched up for. Game face on!

My day

There's a lot going on this time of year. Most everybody seems to be on vacation. But I am not. Today was quite busy. In a way, I'm glad I'm unemployed, because if I weren't, I think I would have had to take off work to cram everything in. Let me tell you about my day.

I applied for 4 jobs online, balanced my checkbook, and discovered old Petra songs. And in between all that, I drove my howling old cat (he literally howls when I transport him in his carrier) to and from the vet for his annual shots. During his visit, the vet X-rayed him and discovered that my cat has a kidney stone and a bladder stone. I took a picture of him a few minutes ago and shared it at the beginning of this post. Does he look sick to you? I think he looks fine. But I'm still waiting on more test results that will reveal the bigger picture.

Of course, waiting is a very vulnerable position to be in, because I don't know all the answers while I'm waiting. How did my cat develop stones? Is my vet really a good vet or a crazy quack? Why was I glued to the World Cup at the vet's waiting room when I'm really not a sports fan? Am I being irresponsible with my time, my cat, or my money? Can I really trust that I'm following God the right way, or can I really trust Him?

"Blessed are those who dwell in Your house; they will still be praising You. Selah." (Psalm 84:4)

What I know for sure is that God is God. He will always be worthy of praise. I told Him so this afternoon while I was playing my guitar, right before I started crying, right before my supposedly ailing cat walked up to me and meowed. (He doesn't like it when I play my guitar.)

I mean, look at him. He looks fine. Does he look sick to you?

Another thing I know for sure is that my other cat was diagnosed with a heart murmur several years ago, but it's gone now. I'm convinced that God healed it. If He can fix a tiny little bug in a tiny little organ, He can fix tiny little stones in a tiny little body. That's not too hard for Him.

"O Lord of hosts, blessed is the man who trusts in You!" (Psalm 84:12)

This chick is choosing to trust God. There are so many things in my life that are uncertain right now, but one thing that is certain is the fact that God is still worthy of praise. He never changes. He's real. He's holy. He's a good Father. He's MY Father. I'm HIS child. OK, so those are more than one thing. But they are definitely certain.

And I have a job interview in about 36 hours.

So, counting my blessings, I have 1) a job interview coming up 2) two cats who are still alive 3) one cat with health issues that were discovered today before they became debilitating 4) a free 20-minute viewing of the World Cup 5) internet access that works well enough for me to apply for jobs online and blog about it later 6) a roof over my head 7) a car that still runs 8) a relationship with the God of the universe who actually likes me, wants to be around me, and takes care of me.

Hmm. I think I've got it pretty good.

And I had a crazy-full day. Time to sleep now. I think I needed to process/vent out loud. Thanks for reading.

Slow-cooked casserole

I think sometimes on this blog, I might come across a bit harsh. I don't really mean to. I just mean to express myself honestly and utilize my freedom of speech/expression fully. This is my online journal. I won't publish any books anytime soon, so this isn't free advertising for me. This is how I process my life. I thank you again for reading.

However, I did originally start this blog so that I could have a place to debate about political issues online ("window" = my computer monitor, "brawl" = the stuff that usually ends up happening verbally anytime two people disagree on a political issue). I'm not into political stuff or debating anymore. (In fact, I should probably change the subject. You know what I like? Chocolate doughnuts.) Now I'm really into all the emotional healing that God's been doing with me over the past several years. So, this blog sort of became a handy place for me to safely yell at my past abusers, etc., without actually doing it to their faces. (Anyone who has ever had their invisible talons in me, well, I ain't a-gonna come around for more.) And it's a place to vent. And I think it's a nice place for old friends and new friends to keep up with me while I'm going through stuff. And it's a nice place for me to shamelessly post cat photos.

But all of the above has turned some people off, and I can understand that. I think some people meet me in person after reading my blog and freak out a little bit because I'm the chick who can be really severe with her words. Or they might be a bit disappointed to discover that I'm not all that wordy in person. I also think people who truly know me know that I am NOT a very articulate person at ALL. Sometimes I might even stutter a little bit. If you put a computer keyboard under my fingers, I'll go to town and share my heart. If you talk to me in person, you should probably make yourself comfortable, because, um... Wait. I'm sorry. Was I... yes, I was talking. Sorry, I blacked out for a little bit. I was saying that if you talk to me in person, you might want to find a comfy place to sit down, because waiting for me to express myself verbally might take a while. I will more than likely look at the ceiling while I search for words, possibly forget where I am for a few seconds, allow my brain to trail somewhere else for a few more seconds, and try to not look crushed if you impatiently finish my sentences for me.

Yes, I'm THAT chick who's always in her own little world. Honestly, that might explain why I have few close friends in this season of my life, but, well... Wait. I'm sorry. Was I... What was I... Ah, now I remember what I was saying. I would much rather be me than pretend to be somebody else just because somebody told me to or just because I want people to like me. Yes, of course I want people to like me, because I'm human, and all humans want that. But I gotta be me.

Are you bored yet? Good. The casserole is still cooking.

And I think my therapist would remind me that I'm made in God's image.

Last year, at the beginning of June, I did a 2-week salad fast. If you'd like to read about what I learned then, please check out this older post. I just finished another 2-week salad fast (I broke this morning with a bowl of raisin bran). This is a photo of my favorite salad to fast on: Summer Fruit and Chicken Salad from the Target deli. Oh, my gosh, that stuff's good. You can't see them in this photo, but there are blueberries hiding underneath all that lettuce, cheese, chicken, and strawberries. I highly recommend this stuff for breakfast! I also discovered IHOP's new Citrus Chicken Pecan Salad. OH, MY GOSH, THAT'S GOOD SALAD -- even better than the deli stuff.

I realized during this fast -- a time when I get to intensely commune with God -- that I was eating better than I usually do. Yep. There's some definite symbolism there: Me seeking God and sticking close to Him is much better living than me doing my own thing and leaving God out of my life.

God my Father wants these fasts to be an annual tradition with me and Him: For the first 2 weeks of June, I can eat only salads. It's a way that He and I bond. And I don't think it's an accident that these fasts will end around Father's Day every year.

This year's fast was a bit different than I thought it would be, because it didn't really look or feel like a fast. I didn't spend hours of time praying or nursing migraines or obsessing over foods that I couldn't eat. This particular fast was very laidback and relational. I think God my Daddy wanted to hang out and take things slowly.

God usually gets very strict and very specific with me when I fast (I even gave up listening to Queen for 2 weeks), but even in observing the rigid boundaries, I had fun and enjoyed myself. Most anything that had the word "salad" on it was something I could eat. He and I had conversations at the Target and Tom Thumb delis that went something like, "What about potato salad?" "No." "What about macaroni salad?" "No, you can eat any salad that can be a main course, like chicken salad [which I would snack on]." "Wait. Why are You letting me eat ambrosia salad? I thought You said it had to be a main course." "Ambrosia is fruit-based. Potato salads and macaroni salads are starch-based, so they aren't really salads." And one morning while I was hungry at church and there wasn't any salad available, He said I could make myself a fruit salad. I grabbed some slices of honeydew melon and cantaloupe, chopped them up, and mixed them together, and He told me to pretend that the pieces of honeydew melon were pieces of lettuce. So, I had to depend extremely much on His instructions for 2 weeks. I mean, a chick's gotta eat.

But I think the main idea of this entire fast was what He spoke at the very beginning, before I took my very first bite of my very first salad, which is pictured below. God said, "Now do you believe that I can give you a banqueting table in the middle of the desert?" When the God of the Universe, the Almighty Lion of Judah who is a Consuming Fire, puts you on the spot like that, what do you say? You kinda look sheepishly at the floor and reply quietly, "Yes."

This is a turkey cobb salad from the Kroger deli. I made the mistake of not chopping it up properly before I chowed down, so I was very overwhelmed with the huge size of the ingredients. The bowl was deep, and its contents were very rich. I ended up eating this particular bowl over the course of 3 meals.

So, it was reinforced to me that sometimes overwhelming tasks need to be tackled one piece at a time. ("How do you eat a big salami? One bite at a time.")

I don't think my cats have learned this lesson yet. (Perhaps they never will. They're cats.) During my fast, I also had to refill Macho's food containers. This is a big deal in my home, because it involves me opening 2 large bags of cat food and mixing them together so that the cat-food cocktail will be ready to go during mealtimes. Choochie used to eat this cocktail, too, but now she's restricted to her hyperthyroidism food diet. However, she still tries to help herself to Macho's food whenever she gets a chance:

In this photo, the food happens to be conveniently at eye level for her to steal. Interestingly, I'm often very reminded of my relationship with God whenever I have to rebuke my cats. I was like, "No, that's not yours!" (She has at least $48 worth of her own food stored in a separate room.) And when Macho would try to help himself to the food when I was still mixing his cat-food cocktail, I was like, "WAIT!" If he would just have waited 5 more minutes...

Yep. There's some definite symbolism there, too: Sometimes I need to wait for my Father to finish preparing my food -- my very own provision, not somebody else's -- before I can enjoy it properly.

During these cat-food cocktail mixing parties, I usually end up accidentally spilling cat food on the floor. Of course, the cats are welcome to help themselves to the stray pellets (yes, they are live-in vacuum cleaners), but it's at their own risk. If I remember correctly, shortly after I took the above photo, Macho couldn't keep his stray-pellet plunder down. I think maybe if he had waited for me to measure out the proper amount of food for him, he could have kept it down. But if he's just eating everything in sight, of course it's going to be too much for his senior-cat system.

Gosh! Sometimes I wonder if I'm a terrible cat mama. When I'm at the vet's office, and I see other cats in carriers, I notice how calm those animals are. Mine, however, are howling inside their carriers as if I'm some kind of axe murderer who's kidnapped them.

In my home, I haven't built any elaborate cat mazes or trees or wall trails or havens like you may have seen on TV. Sorry, but usually when I spend money on cat toys or accessories, my babies snub them and play with my fingers or my drawstrings or my Q-tips or my dental floss or my [insert anything that is shiny, dangly, and/or mundane and boring here] instead. That's the kind of life that I share with them. I try to make life here indoors with me as interesting as possible, with boundaries, but I ain't the Queen of Sheba.

So, I've caught myself feeling a bit insecure about how I treat my cats. Yes, I'm a crazy cat lady, but am I a good cat lady? One evening, I was looking around my artsy-fartsy-chick-cave apartment, and Macho caught my eye:

And God told me, "He's fine." So, I chilled out. See how peaceful and macho-adorable he is there sleeping on top of my couch? I think that was God's way of telling me that I'm doing an OK job.

Macho was also there during another major revelation that God gave me about myself. Lately, especially while being unemployed, I've struggled with fighting the lie that I'm a loser. In my head, I know that I'm not a loser. In my heart, I've mostly known that I'm not a loser. But I think in my gut, the feeling of being a loser has kicked against my belly and ached to gush out from time to time. Then one evening -- I think maybe when I was having a quiet time, possibly when I had my Bible open, but I honestly don't remember -- God spoke very clearly. He said, "I don't want you to believe that you're a loser ever again. You won his heart, so you're not a loser." Macho was snuggling on my lap at the time. I looked at him and remembered how his previous owner was rarely home, how he would nap on a chair in the living room waiting for her to come home, how I would try to get his attention but he wouldn't stir. But during that time, I didn't put my ear on his orange furry belly. If I had, perhaps I would have heard him deep-purring while I was petting him.

Well, he's my cat now, and God used him as an illustration to talk to me way louder than any Bible verse has been able to speak to me on this issue. I definitely don't mean any disrespect to the Bible when I say that. I need the Bible. That's my spiritual food. I just mean that God can speak whenever He wants, however He wants, as randomly or spontaneously as He likes.

"But You, O Lord, are a God full of compassion, and gracious, longsuffering and abundant in mercy and truth." (Psalm 86:15)

I ended up kinda pray-meditating on that verse one day out loud, spontaneously, like the kind of praying when you pace around your living room for a long time and say things that really aren't coming from you. That was cool. I really don't think that was me.

So, if I remember correctly, all of the above happened during this year's edition of my 2-week salad fast. I liked it. And God my Father reinforced big-time, yet again, that He's definitely not in any hurry with me. He has what I need, and what I need is Him. The devil might be waiting very eagerly for me to fail, but God is showing off -- setting up a huge banqueting table for me right in the devil's face, Psalm-23 style -- and He's making it very clear that He has infinitely more abundance than I could ever muster up myself. He's carved out a place just for me in His house, and I don't want to be anywhere else but in His house, in His arms, in His lap, in His face, in His will, in His anything He'll let me be in with Him.

Fast food can definitely be important and necessary, especially if you have a long commute, an empty stomach, and miles of city highways to zoom across to reach your destination. You need to grab something quick, something that's ready to go, and something you can hold in one hand and wolf down while you hold your steering wheel in the other hand. Life can definitely be that way, and it can move fast, and God can definitely speak that way, and He can maneuver situations and people so that they can be around you at the exact moment when you need them, while the pace of your life is zipping along at dizzying speeds, and you're loving every minute of it.

But other times, life with God is like waiting for a slow-cooked casserole to bake. God ain't in no hurry at all. He's taking His time, and He's mixing His casserole ingredients, and He's served you a nice, tall glass of iced tea in His scorching-hot kitchen. He's asked you to sit a spell, and your tummy begins to growl, but you don't really mind waiting to eat, even though He's explained that His casserole will need to bake for 6 hours after He puts it in the oven, because He's the best company you've ever had, and He treats you like royalty. He invites you to sit on His lap and snack on His homemade cookies, and when you zone out while you're telling Him your life story, He doesn't impatiently finish your sentences for you. He sits patiently and lets you finish. And you don't mind waiting for the casserole to finish baking, because you believe it's going to be the best-tasting meal you've ever had.

Wait. I'm sorry. What was I talking about? Um... Yes. That's right. I need Him.

The empty shelf

Empty Nest Syndrome is something that many parents go through after their children grow up and leave home, aka the nest. From what I understand, if parents (especially mothers) experience Empty Nest Syndrome properly, they will acknowledge and work through their grief, loss, sadness, etc., as opposed to simply buying a puppy to replace the flown-away child, which could only be hurtful and awkward if the grownup child decides to move back home and witnesses her mother snuggling with the dog instead of her. (Yes, of course there's a story behind that last part, but I won't get into it now.)

I don't have children, but I think I may have developed the opposite of Empty Nest Syndrome. I have what I'll call Empty Shelf Hopefulness.

The last time I moved, I moved into a smaller apartment on purpose (which came in handy because the rent here is cheaper), so there's a bit less room to store things than I was used to. I remedied the less-room situation by selling or otherwise getting rid of some things I don't want/need. So, recently while I was reorganizing things in my home, I felt compelled to leave one of my shelves completely empty. God showed me that I need to leave room for textbooks.

Yeah, that's right. Lord willing, I'm going to go back to school someday. I don't know when yet. But I definitely need to find a job first so that I can start saving up for it. I'm not looking forward to being trapped inside classrooms all day, reading ridiculously long assignments, composing gut-wrenching research projects, or studying for sleep-sucking exams. But I am looking forward to preparing for my second career, for the next phase of my life, for my squeaky-clean new future.

"Prepare your outside work, make it fit for yourself in the field; and afterward build your house." (Proverbs 24:27)

When I see my empty shelf, I don't just see wood, simulated wood, or a potential napping spot for my cats. I see my future. I see endless possibilities. I see hope.

Sure, it might be a little bit awkward being in college while I'm in my 40s and most everybody around me will be in their 20s or still a teenager. But I'm looking forward to the challenge. At least this time around, I'll know myself a lot better. This time around, I'll know that I'm right-brained, that I'm a kinesthetic learner, that pulling all-nighters is rarely worth it in the long run, that most of the information in my courses could be absorbed by simply showing up and paying attention in class, and that I might not get a job right away after graduation simply because I slaved over earning a certain college degree. Life can be much more complicated than your professors will try to tell you, but the best way to learn that is to simply live it for yourself.

Recently, I was going through some music CDs, and I was reminded of how the church I attended in college did not create very much original music. For the most part, they covered Vineyard songs, Dennis Jernigan songs, Hillsongs, and Keith Green songs; they recorded their own versions of these songs and sold them to us. They are good recordings, most of which I still have. But they themselves did not compose very much new music. This exasperated me when I was thinking about it recently, but then I thought about how busy the musicians' schedules probably were. They had to play for 2 Sunday services, probably some Wednesday night services, and then they had to come back every Sunday night to play for the college service which required about 7-10 songs per worship set. On top of that, many of the musicians were also weekly lifegroup leaders, which, in that particular culture, sucked up all of your time. I can't imagine how the musicians or worship leaders at this church could have possibly carved out any time for songwriting at all. Yet they had so many resources with which to do so, produce/record their songs, and distribute them wherever they liked. Was that a missed opportunity for them?

I don't want to miss my opportunity. I know my God gives second, third, fourth, fifth, and infinity chances, but I don't want to blow my chances anymore. I have an empty shelf that's ready to receive brand-new textbooks at a moment's notice, whether it be 3 months from now, 3 years from now, or 30 years from now.

I hope I won't miss my opportunity. I hope I'll get to fill my empty shelf with lots of new books someday. I hope I'll take full advantage of the resources around me. I hope my dreams will become realities. I hope I will never lose hope ever again.

"When I remember You on my bed, I meditate on You in the night watches. Because You have been my help, therefore in the shadow of Your wings I will rejoice. My soul follows close behind You; Your right hand upholds me." (Psalm 63:6-8)

Hmm. I remember this Guy. This Keeper of the Universe, this King of Kings and Lord of Lords, this Person is my Father. He's the One who's obsessed with planning out my life, obsessed with being my Friend, obsessed with protecting me, obsessed with being glorified through me and in me. I think He's infinitely more interested in me grabbing hold of my future than I am. I don't think He'll let me slip up, especially if I follow Him around like a lovesick puppydog and let Him hold me close. I don't ever want to leave His nest, because I'll never stop needing Him.

He'll make sure of that.