Unemployment, part 9

"Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!" (Psalm 46:10)

"Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness. Delight yourself also in the Lord, and He shall give you the desires of your heart." (Psalm 37:3-4)

It's amazing how a trial can bring you back to the basics of life. It's amazing how a trial can remind you how important the important things in life really are. I don't have very much right now, but I have everything I need.

Still alive? Check. Heartbeat, pulse, and oxygen? Check, check, check. Roof over my head? Check. Two cats who are still alive? Check, check. Empty mailbox? Check. Sense of sight, sense of hearing, sense of smell, sense of taste, sense of touch? Check, check, check, check, check. Breakfast food? Check. Lunch food? Check. Dinner food? Check. Running water? Check. Electricity? Check. Entertainment? Check. Musical instruments? Check, check. Extra sets of guitar strings? Check, check, check. One perpetually hungry cat who's trying to beg for food while I type this? CHECK.

Wow, that's actually way more than I need.

It's summertime. This is the time of year when I'm supposed to be vacationing. Instead, I'm looking for a job. And instead of a vacation, I'd much rather have two healthy cats. They are my family who waits for me when I come home. They are my family who puts up with me while I'm at home. No, they're not human, but they see, hear, and smell pretty much everything in my life. They probably know me better than most humans currently do.

My macho swashbuckler cat -- the perpetually hungry one -- will have surgery tomorrow. I don't know yet what all his recovery will involve, but I'm ready for it. I'm very thankful that I will be available to keep an eye on him.

I don't think it's an accident that I happen to be currently unemployed. And I don't think it's an accident that I have everything I need.

Adopted by the God of the Universe? Check. Protected under the shadow of His wings? Check. Equipped with armor? Check. Extreme hatred for the enemy who hates my guts? OH, HECK YES, THAT'S A CHECK. Instant access to my Helper, Comforter, and Empower? Check, check, check. Constant connection to my Father who really, really, really, really, really likes me a whole lot? Check, check, check, check, check... Relationship with Jesus, the Author and Finisher of my faith, the One who makes me more than a conqueror, who encourages me every step of the way? Check!!!

"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept when we remembered Zion. We hung our harps upon the willows in the midst of it. For there those who carried us away captive asked of us a song, and those who plundered us requested mirth, saying, 'Sing us one of the songs of Zion!' " (Psalm 137:1-3)

Hmm. I don't know for sure if my enemy has ever taunted me by requesting me to sing him a song, but I do know that he has definitely taunted me. I also know something else...

"O daughter of Babylon, who are to be destroyed, happy the one who repays you as you have served us! Happy the one who takes and dashes your little ones against the rock!" (Psalm 137:8-9)

I know that if my enemy ever tries to reproduce on my turf again, I am going to do everything in my power to smash his babies to smithereens. He isn't welcome in my turf, period. Neither are his little ones.

I think this is a very unique season for me. I don't think I'm going to have a season exactly like this one ever again. I don't want to miss anything that my Father has in store for me here. Sure, I'd love to be employed again full time, preferably as soon as possible. But I'm willing to wait for it as long as I need to. I very much look forward to having job security that involves a regular paycheck, benefits, and 8-to-5 sanity. But for now, I'll keep searching for it.

And I'll keep remembering the important things in life: life itself, creatures to share it with, and a Creator to enjoy it with and sustain it all.

Peace? Check.

Real reality

Lately, I've been catching up on old episodes of a hit reality show called Duck Dynasty. Now, THAT is some seriously awesome entertainment right there. If you're not familiar with the show, it's basically about a Christian family in Louisiana who founded and still operate a duck-call company. They live in a predominantly rural area. They spend much of their time hunting, cooking, and creating their own random redneck adventures that anyone can relate to. They are resourceful, opinionated, and hilarious.

During one of the episodes, I believe it was Jason Robertson who said, "My mom and dad were hoarders before hoarding was cool." Well, I guess you could say that hoarding is cool in the sense that TV producers make reality shows out of it. But I personally don't think hoarding is cool at all. At least, not anymore.

I have a friend who is a hoarder. I didn't know she was a hoarder until she invited me over to her home. She was very hospitable and fed me dinner. At first, when I saw empty plastic bottles adorning the kitchen and roaches crawling on the walls, I thought maybe she was just a bit messy. But as the evening progressed and I noticed that roaches were crawling everywhere, garbage was strewn haphazardly throughout her home, and my skin began to crawl, her "I'm a hoarder" announcement made sense.

As the meal progressed, I noticed that she had served me a very nice china plate that appeared to have insect poop on it. I also think she dropped part of the food on the floor before she served it to me. I didn't complain outwardly, but inwardly I was praying. Jesus answered very kindly, "I would eat it. I do that with you all the time."

"Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears My voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and dine with him, and he with Me." (Revelation 3:20)

"Jesus answered and said to him, 'If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word, and my Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our home with him." (John 14:23)

"Ointment and perfume delight the heart, and the sweetness of a man's friend gives delight by hearty counsel." (Proverbs 27:9)

Of course, anytime you see that your friend has any kind of problem, the natural tendency is to spew unsolicited advice. While my friend and I were getting to know each other, and swatting away the roaches, we discovered that we had similar mental-health issues. I tried to gently empathize with her. I was like, "I think it would be very easy to just grab a garbage bag and dump stuff in. We could start with the empty bottles..." And my friend's eyes slightly widened with a hint of panic. But I continued to explain that I knew that I couldn't just wave a magic wand and voila, all her problems would disappear. She agreed.

Jesus is so like that, too, especially with me.

It's uncanny how many "layers" or "departments" or "piles" (or however you want to describe them) of issues can exist in a single soul. I think it's also equally uncanny how difficult it can be to find people in the body of Christ who will understand how huge of an undertaking it can be for Jesus to heal a person emotionally.

Some Christians act like prayer is some sort of magical "abracadabra, alacazam, presto, change-o, rearrange-o" formula that will instantaneously fix everything. They're like, "In the name of Jesus, be healed," which certainly could work, and which certainly has worked in the past, especially with physical healing. But emotional healing can take a heck of a long time.

I think Jesus understands this, too. When a person gets saved, when a person first gives their life to Jesus, they basically become His temple, and He basically moves in. Sometimes He instantly makes some things better. But other times, He grabs a magazine and starts reading and relaxing, because He knows He's gonna be working in one particular area for a long time. (At one point during my emotional healing journey, He showed me a "picture" of Him hanging out in my house, inside a room packed with magazines from floor to ceiling. I was freaking out, but He was just calmly reading a magazine.)

People aren't objects. You can't just literally sit me on a conveyor belt and create me on an assembly line. People are family. If You eternally adopt me, You're going to commit to walking alongside me for a really long time while I relearn what it really means, well, to walk.

Reader, I hope I'm making sense. Sometimes God can speak a word and split things wide open, like it says in Psalm 29. Other times, you have to squinch your eyes shut while Father God prunes parts of you that you never dreamed you would have to say goodbye to, and you decide that you're going to remain in the Vine, and you believe in faith that you're going to bear lots of fruit, like it says in John 15, even though you may not see any changes right away.

I wonder how slimy my hospitality skills have been to Jesus while He's dined with me in my "house." I'm thinking maybe I sneezed on His plate, wiped it clean with my cat's tail, and offered it to Him with a bit of mildew. I'm thinking maybe He accepted it with a kind grin and genuinely told me how He was truly looking forward to dining with me. Maybe I forgot to check the expiration date on the canned ravioli, and it smelled a bit questionable when I popped it out of the crusty microwave. Maybe I accidentally dropped part of it on the floor, but He told me He would be glad to eat it, anyway. Maybe He killed half a dozen roaches at the table while I wasn't looking. But He didn't get sick from the unsanitary conditions. He gently counseled me on the humongous cleanup job we had ahead of us. Perhaps I wasn't ready to give up my garbage yet, but I noticed how impeccably clean His robe was, and the last thing I wanted to do was let Him soil it while He was in my house... because technically, my house is His house now.

So, the cleanup job begins, and He lets me use His gas mask while we mine through the rooms, unearth a few rats' nests, and kill a few snakes. My hands shake with fear, but He is cooler than a cucumber, because He's done this before. And He really seems to enjoy it.

Reality TV is fun entertainment to watch, whether it's a show about hoarding or a show about rednecks who enjoy the outdoors. But when the show is over, I have the luxury of turning off my TV or laptop, and I can return to my everyday life.

I don't think God gets to do that while He watches over me. He sees all the good, the bad, and the ugly. He doesn't get to change the channel. But He does help me see a clearer picture. And He's committed to sticking with me during each and every episode, through each and every season, from now through eternity.

Now, THAT is some seriously awesome love right there.

"All"

In today's post, I will probably be preaching to the choir, so to speak. I just thought I'd unravel something out of my brain and spread it out here for all to see. Thank you in advance for reading.

When I was in junior high (and perhaps also a freshman in high school), my family and I were members of a relatively small Hispanic Baptist church. I attended a Sunday School class that was so small that we met at the back of the church auditorium/sanctuary right before the service started. I think there were usually only about 3 or 4 people in this class every week, including the teacher. One handy truth that I remember from the teacher is that God has basically always told us, "I didn't promise you a rose garden." Indeed.

But one thing that the teacher taught us really bothers me in retrospect. She said that all God wanted from us was 5 hours a week: one hour for Sunday School, one hour for the worship service, one hour for the class on Sunday night, one hour for the Sunday night service, and one hour for the Wednesday night service. That's it. That's all. Just 5 hours.

Um... what do you mean, that's ALL?

"Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth. I did not come to bring peace but a sword. For I have come to 'set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law'; and 'a man's enemies will be those of his own household.' He who loves father or mother more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who loves son or daughter more than Me is not worthy of Me. And he who does not take his cross and follow after Me is not worthy of Me. He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for My sake will find it." (Jesus talking in Matthew 10:34-39)

" 'Will a man rob God? Yet you have robbed Me! But you say, "In what way have we robbed You?" In tithes and offerings. You are cursed with a curse, for you have robbed Me, even this whole nation. Bring ALL the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be food in My house, and try Me now in this,' says the Lord of hosts, 'If I will not open for you the windows of heaven and pour out for you such blessing that there will not be room enough to receive it.' " (Malachi 3:8-10, emphasis mine)

I have just quoted a couple of examples of how God wants us to give Him our ALL, not just our 5 hours.

I grew up in Hispanic Baptist churches. I don't mean to be insulting or offensive when I talk about this, but I just want to be honest. I am very sensitive to smells (which comes in handy when you're a cat person). Almost every time I've attended or visited a small Hispanic Baptist church, I have NOT liked how the building smells. I don't know what the scent is. Perhaps it's old wood. Perhaps it's B.O. Perhaps it's a lack of cleanliness. Perhaps it's a laziness. Perhaps it's the lack of funds required to pay somebody to thoroughly clean the church building on a frequent basis. But I rarely remember feeling thoroughly comfortable about the physical accommodations at any of the small Hispanic Baptist churches that I have ever attended or visited.

Perhaps the church that I mentioned at the beginning of this post had a problem attracting people to its building. I remember that this church had a gymnasium. I would rarely enter the gym because 1) I'm not athletic and 2) the gym smelled horrible.

So, maybe when my tiny Sunday School class would meet at the back of the church auditorium/sanctuary each week, my teacher would try to motivate us to attend church by telling us that 5 hours per week was ALL that God required from us. Maybe that's what happened.

One thing's for sure: When your people don't attend your church meetings, they probably won't bring their tithes with them, either.

In general, a tithe is 10% of your income. Malachi chapter 3 explains that God wants us to bring ALL of our tithe "into the storehouse," e.g., our church building. That means that 100% of my tithe needs to go to my church, whether I deliver it in person, by mail, or online. (This is a good thing.) That does NOT mean that if I visit a smaller church and decide for myself that this church needs my tithe more than MY church (my storehouse) needs it, I can give all or part of my tithe to this church. (I've heard that this is called "designating" my tithe. This is a bad thing.) If I want to give an offering to any church that I'm visiting, of course there's nothing wrong with that. But I think there's something seriously wrong with NOT tithing to my regular church.

Of course, the issue of tithing and its cultural relevance are still debated today. But I haven't found anything in the Bible that says that I don't need to tithe anymore. I've also discovered firsthand that when I tithe, my mailbox is empty because my accounts are current and my creditors are happy; my pantry is adequately stocked, and my bank account actually still has money in it; my cats are relatively healthy, and I am trying to figure out what to do with all this peace. When I do NOT tithe, financial catastrophe crushes the life out of me in a way that takes years to repair.

One thing that the tithe is used for is to keep church buildings up and running. I think this means that the bills are paid and the building is cleaned with the members' tithes.

And I certainly don't want to disrespect small churches or the small Hispanic Baptist churches I grew up in. I just don't understand how you can convince me to attend every week if the building you invite me to is stinky and if the God you invite me to worship only wants 5 dinky little hours every week.

God wants everything in my life. He wants my life. He wants it ALL. In Matthew chapter 10, Jesus challenges us to love Him even more than the dear people who raised us. He knows what He's talking about. He gave up His very life to save everybody, including the people who beat Him up, spat in His face, made fun of Him, and crucified Him.

Perhaps the concept of taking up one's cross and following Jesus looks differently for each person. But in each case, God definitely wants it ALL.

I'm a member of a megachurch. Many people don't like megachurches because the humongous size of the buildings and the crowds are intimidating. I can definitely understand this. If you feel that God wants you to be a member of a small church, please obey Him. Go wherever He wants you to go, serve wherever He wants you to serve, and do whatever He wants you to do. Please just give it ALL to Him.

I appreciate a lot of things about my humongous church. During the membership class, one of the pastors instructed us, "Unpack your bags." He meant that if we were to join this church, we needed to commit to it, stop church-hopping, and not run at the slightest sign of discomfort. So, I'm in it for the long haul. Honestly, one thing I like about my megachurch is that if I run into some problems in one wing of the church, I can always plug into a different wing. A couple of years ago, I was having very awkward church-related problems. One day, I wanted to avoid a certain person who I knew would be there -- someone who did not respect my personal space. So, I attended services at a different campus that day. Same church, different building. No problem. If I want to go to church on a Saturday afternoon, I can. If I want to sleep in on Sunday morning and go to church after lunch, I can. No problem. If I end up missing altogether, I can access a sermon online. No problem.

Incidentally, this is why I give all my tithe to my humongous megachurch. (In addition to the fact that not doing so would be robbing God, who truly is serious about me bringing ALL my tithe to the same place.) This is my storehouse. This is the place that feeds me. This is the place that trains me on how to feed others. This is my local headquarters. This is my church that expects me to put my ALL into everything I do, in every way I serve.

And the buildings smell pretty nice. Yes, they're relatively new, and they're staffed with very hardworking people who keep it impeccably clean. But I look forward to attending each week. Why wouldn't I look forward to attending a meeting where I'm valued as a human being who has a sense of smell, who lives in today's culture, who knows that she needs to pay her tithe or else, and who's extremely willing to give God her ALL?

God definitely didn't promise me a rose garden. But one of His promises is that He'll share Paradise with me.

What you got?

This post is rated R for really honest.

Lately during my quiet times, I've been reading my Bible out loud because doing so helps me concentrate, mainly because in recent years I've developed the attention span of a-- Hey, you know what I like? Raisinets. Aww, yeah.

Lately during my quiet times while I read my Bible out loud, my orange cat Macho has shown up next to me on my couch. Is he really into the Word? Maybe. Does he really like to hear his Mama talk? Perhaps. (Seriously, doesn't he look fine to you?) What I do know is that he and I have a special relationship. He is one of my furry roommates, and we've known each other for almost 15 years, so we're pretty tight. Sometimes I think maybe he forgets that he's a cat and I'm a human being, and he plays a little roughly with me. He'll start to bite or accidentally scratch me with his humongous claw. But he's just being himself.

My other furry roommate, whom I've known for almost 14 years, is my mixed-Siamese cat Choochie. She likes to help herself to my stuff. In this particular photo, she's trying to catch my camera strap in mid-air. She and I also have a special relationship. We're very close, sometimes too close. (Do you know anyone else who lets her cat perch less than an inch away from her cereal bowl while she eats breakfast in the mornings?) She's a very affectionate little purr-furball. She often licks my hand or arm, sort of in the way that a dog would lick you. But her tongue definitely doesn't feel smooth like a dog's. She's a cat, so sometimes she feels like she's exfoliating the back of my hand with her little brush-tongue. She's just using the affection-tools that she has, even though they can be painful for me. But she's just being herself.

"And David took the shields of gold that were on the servants of Hadadezer, and brought them to Jerusalem. Also from Tibhath and from Chun, cities of Hadadezer, David brought a large amount of bronze, with which Solomon made the bronze Sea, the pillars, and the articles of bronze." (1 Chronicles 18:7-8)

Lately during my quiet times while I've read my Bible out loud, I've let 1 Chronicles melt in my mouth. From what I understand about this book, it's a beautiful collection of genealogies, war chronicles, and the ordering of life after David became King in Israel. It's fascinating. It fills in a lot of details from previous books in the Bible. For example, did you know that Heman, the writer of Psalm 88 (which I consider to be the most depressing psalm in the entire Bible), had 14 sons and 3 daughters? How can somebody like that be lonely enough to write Psalm 88? Maybe his daddy didn't pay for his therapy like he was supposed to. I feel like making a joke about Castle Greyskull now. Hmm. Maybe it's that attention span kicking in again. Did you know that I'm currently typing this with a very large orange cat draped across my desk?

So, one day while I was reading 1 Chronicles 18, verses 7 and 8 jumped out at me. From what I understand, King David fought against Hadadezer, King of Zobah. David won, so he got to take some spoils of war. Part of these spoils was a lot of bronze that King Solomon later used to build the Temple. (1 Kings chapter 7 talks more about how this bronze was used.)

Wait. So, something that belonged to the enemy was later used as a tool for worshiping God? Yeah, that's right.

While this was sinking in, I thought about how rock music has gotten a really bad rap during the past several decades for being used in Christian music and in praise/worship music. Yes, from what I understand, rock music originally branched off rock and roll music, which was named after something that hormonal teenagers did in the backs of their cars while they were rebelling against their parents. So, naturally, religious hypocrites and pure-hearted churchgoers alike have shunned rock music throughout the years. I even heard that some churches had official bonfires just to burn Christian rock music. What will people think when they hear that I'm a Jesus freak? Or better yet, what will Tirzah do when she hears that you're a crazy freak? Eh, she'll probably just blog about you. Oy vey. See what kind of crazy places my newly tiny attention span will take me?

Indulge me for a moment. Use your imagination. Say a rock star is addicted to drugs, sex, and anything he can get his hands on to dull the pain that he feels deep inside. One day, Jesus comes along and announces Himself as the answer to this rock star's pain. (Which He is. Which He always will be.) Say the rock star accepts Jesus and lets Him do whatever He wants in his life. The rock star suddenly becomes a new creation. And yet, he is still himself. Would you honestly expect the rock star to completely give up his rock music? Well, if Jesus asked him to, he probably would. But why should the rock star suddenly not be himself?

I would say the natural response of the rock star would be to use what he has and what he knows to worship his King. I would say the sound of his shredding guitar in genuine praise to God would sound beautiful and smell aromatic to his King. I would say that 1 Chronicles 18:7-8 would support this.

Perhaps rock music started out in a very rebellious, very non-Christian, very terrible way. But it's still music. It can still be used in a different way. I don't think there's anything wrong with melting it down and reshaping it into a way to worship God... perhaps in a similar way that King Solomon's artisans reused their enemies' former articles of bronze for articles of worship to God.

This is just my opinion, and I'm probably not saying anything new. I'm probably just now finding my own biblical support for an issue that was already resolved about 40 or 50 years ago. But you need to remember who is currently typing this blog post with a mixed-Siamese cat lapping water from a porcelain bowl in the background.

I was definitely a Pharisee, definitely a hypocrite, definitely one of the squarest chicks you'd ever have the displeasure of meeting. When I was a teenager, I didn't listen to very much rock music at all until I was 16 or 17. Until then, I mostly listened to classical music, oldies, and the Carpenters. (The guitar solo in "Goodbye to Love" was as edgy as I would ever get, and even then I wasn't all that comfortable with it.) There's definitely nothing wrong with listening to all that easy-listening stuff, much of which I still have in my eclectic collection. My point is that I was very narrow-minded when it came to music, and I was extremely narrow-minded when it came to worshiping God.

Then I went off to college and got baptized in the Holy Spirit, and everything changed. Sometime after that, I went to a Newsboys concert (they opened for Steven Curtis Chapman), and I've never been the same again musically.

In my lifelong quest for honesty, God has been teaching me that He just wants me to bring Him what I have. For example, I don't remember His exact words, but while I was working through my prayer issues with Him, He was like, "You can pray as long as you want or as short as you want, just as long as it's genuine."

A day or two ago, I was about to start my quiet time and was perfectly ready to play a regular praise/worship song on my guitar, but God requested that I play only Queen songs. My Father wants to hear Queen? No problem. He heard "Bohemian Rhapsody" and "In the lap of the gods... revisited" with modified lyrics. I hope He enjoyed the spoils of war just as much as I did.

During today's quiet time, I played God regular praise/worship songs on my guitar, but I ended my singing with an honest question: "Why do I feel so bitchy?" Well, He and I had to work some stuff out.

A couple of nights ago at church, we had a majorly powerful extended worship service. Many of us were on our knees. One of the worship leaders began to sing spontaneously, and he invited us to sing spontaneously to Jesus. People around me were singing new, beautiful melodies. I decided to sing what I was honestly feeling at the time: "I'm so distracted." If I remember correctly, I think I heard God snicker.

My point isn't that we should all think up new ways of being irreverent toward or rebellious against God. My point is that it's extremely important to be honest with God. I think He just wants whatever we have.

I don't have children, but of course I have cats. Sometimes when Macho's humongous claws have become razor-sharp and he decides to be affectionate, I end up with a rip in my sock and/or a tiny bit of broken skin. What's he got? He's got a cat's claw, so that's what he uses to love on me. Sometimes when Choochie gets way too close to me at night and tries to convince me that she should snuggle on my pillow, I end up with an exfoliated arm. What's she got? She's got a cat's fur-brushing tongue, so that's what she uses to love on me.

Sometimes my soul feels lighter than a feather dancing through the air, and I enter into my God's gates with thanksgiving and into His courts with praise. What do I got? I've got joy, so that's what I use to love on Him. Sometimes my soul is nastier than a severely clogged drain, and I need God to scrape me off the floor before I can walk anywhere. What do I got? I've got tears, so that's what I use to love on Him and ask Him for help while He picks me up and lets me cry on His shoulder. I've heard that fathers like to do that sometimes. Since God is my Father, He's definitely the Expert in this particular area.

This blog post was brought to you by... Hadadezer, King of Zobah. Thanks for the bronze. And by... honesty. Don't love your soul without it. And by... Tirzah's extremely small attention spa-- You know what I feel like for supper? Burger and fries. Aww, yeah.

SIN!!!!!

Now that you've read the uplifting title of this post, you're really encouraged, right? No? Seriously, no?

As a disclaimer, I would like to reiterate that I'm not an ordained minister, licensed counselor, or medical professional whatsoever. I like my freedoms of speech and expression. I like getting to use them here on my blog. Thanks in advance for reading my opinions, ideas, and interpretations. (Especially when my cats are involved.)

While Macho awaits his surgery, the vet prescribed some medicine. I think it's an antibiotic. My job is to use a syringe and squirt 1 ML of this stuff down Macho's throat. The first time I opened a bottle of this stuff, I apologized to my cat in advance for having to give it to him. It's a thick, sticky, gritty brown liquid. It's really nasty. I don't blame him for fighting me every time I've had to shove it down his throat. It's been quite a daily ordeal that has involved me squeezing the back half of his body with my legs while I maneuver through his flailing muscular forearms and shove in a tiny bit of liquid past his freaked-out fangs. Sometimes, all of it gets down his throat like it's supposed to. Other times, he coughs part of it out, or he shakes some of it off his whiskers, or I miss his mouth completely and squirt myself with this nasty brown stuff. I've gotten it on my clothes, on my floor, and on my kitchen appliances. And have I mentioned that this medicine is extremely nasty?

Fortunately, I think this medicine has been helping him. He seems almost back to his old self. I'm hoping that the vet will tell me that Macho's bladder stone miraculously disappeared and that he won't need surgery after all. But meanwhile, this medicine has been good for him, even though having it shoved down his throat has probably been a terribly nasty experience.

"As it is written: 'There is none righteous, no, not one; there is none who understands; there is none who seeks after God.' " (Romans 3:10-11)

"For the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord." (Romans 6:23)

"Now then, we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God were pleading through us: we implore you on Christ's behalf, be reconciled to God. For He made Him who knew no sin to be sin for us, that we might become the righteousness of God in Him." (2 Corinthians 5:20-21)

So, the truth of the gospel is that every single person has sinned, and has therefore earned spiritual death, which means eternal separation from God in hell. In other words, I believe that everybody, EVERYBODY, is going to hell because everybody, EVERYBODY, has sinned... unless a person accepts Jesus as the sacrifice for his or her sin. Then there's no need for that person to go to hell, because God's wrath was already satisfied with Jesus. Any type of punishment that God was saving up for me, He poured it out on Jesus while He hung on the cross over 2,000 years ago.

Everything in the abovementioned paragraph is probably controversial, and theologians are probably still debating it, but from what I understand about scripture, that's what I believe. I believe that everybody, EVERYBODY EXCEPT JESUS, has sinned. Jesus is the cure for my spiritual disease. But in my past, people crammed Him down my throat so hard that I resisted Him at first. Then at some point, I think I stopped resisting and just took it, because fighting it seemed kinda pointless. But who wants something nasty shoved down their throat?

Of course, there isn't anything nasty about Jesus at all. (Except for the sin that was heaped on Him while He was on the cross.) He is 100% sinless, 100% holy, and 100% the answer to eternal life, the answer to all my spiritual crises, my King who will always have the ultimate authority, my Lord who will always be in charge, and my Champion who will always give me hope. I wouldn't have met my Heavenly Father if it weren't for Jesus. But it's the people who have stuffed Him inside a tiny little syringe, cornered me, and shoved Him down my throat that made Jesus taste so nasty to me for so many years.

I'll admit that it worked at first. I got saved in the first place because I didn't want to go to hell. (I mean, who does?) But after my Father adopted me, a lot of His people kept trying to motivate me to behave by stuffing Jesus inside a little syringe, accusing me of sinning when I really didn't, and shoving Him and His supposed punishment down my throat. Nasty!

Sin is real. Sin really does have serious consequences. And everybody does it and could possibly continue to do it until we leave this earth -- lying, stealing, being impatient, yelling for no good reason, manipulating, cheating, disobeying, etc., you name it. But I personally have found labeling something to be "sin" to be a terrible motivator to behave. In fact, I personally have found using sin, or even inventing sin and accusing me of having it, to be kinda hurtful.

"Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing?" (my Jesus talking in Matthew 6:25)

For example, I heard a sermon at least once on how worrying is a sin. From what I can remember, the above verse was used in this sermon.

Um.

So, in addition to me worrying about life in general, I now have to worry about the fact that I've just SINNED by worrying? How is that supposed to make me feel any better? I think it might actually make me feel a bit worse.

OK, so Jesus said to not worry about the basics of living life here on earth. I get it. But to label it as a "sin," stuff it into a syringe, and corner me by preaching at me is going to make truth taste really nasty to me. Wouldn't it be easier to just become an irresponsible human being and move back in with my parents? I wouldn't have to worry about my life then. I might not even have to worry about paying bills, showering, or becoming an adult, either.

(The abovementioned paragraph was just an example. Moving back in with your parents is definitely not always a bad thing.)

As another example, some of my church's literature teaches that you fear whatever you worship. (Or perhaps that you fear the opposite of what you worship.) In other words, if you have a fear of rejection, you worship acceptance. If you have a fear of failure, you worship success.

Um.

So, in addition to me dealing with a fear of rejection or a fear of failure, I now have to worry about the fact that I've just SINNED by committing idolatry? How is that supposed to make me feel any better? I think it might actually add to my problems.

OK, so if you stare at something long enough, if you idealize something long enough, you might eventually become afraid of losing it forever. I get it. But to label it as a "sin," stuff it into a syringe, and corner me by accidentally labeling me as an idolater might make me gag on the truth while I'm trying to swallow it. Wouldn't it be easier to just convert to another religion that would require me to keep a statue of my god inside my house? I mean, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

(Those last two sentences were me being facetious.)

My point is that Jesus is the Cure. But we're the ones who can package Him wrongly and make Him taste nasty to people.

"Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal. And though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries and all knowledge, and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, and though I give my body to be burned, but have not love, it profits me nothing." (1 Corinthians 13:1-3)

I'm discovering that love can be a lot harder than it sounds. God commands me to love all people. From what I understand, He doesn't want me to like everybody, but He wants me to love them. That's hard to do. From what I understand, the word "love" here in 1 Corinthians 13 isn't a word that means physical love or brotherly love. From what I understand, it's an unconditional, sacrificial love.

And that's exactly what Jesus did when He died on the cross for me, for everybody. He gave up His life willingly not because I was perfect, not because I was loveable, or not because I did anything to deserve a second chance. He died for me, sacrificed His life for me, because He loved me. He died for everybody, including all the people who crucified Him, mocked Him, and spat in His face.

Um.

I know, it's hard to fathom. But that's Jesus. That's how He rolls. That's just the way He is. I hope I didn't make that truth taste nasty to you.

Meanwhile, Macho is almost done taking all his nasty medicine. Seriously, doesn't he look fine to you?

 

Unemployment, part 8

This is my little cat Choochie. Perhaps you remember reading about her in previous posts. To treat her hyperthyroidism (which has gotten much better), I've been feeding her a special diet. To keep this special diet away from my other cat, I've had to separate my two cats during feeding time and feed Choochie in the bathroom. This new routine took some getting used to, but I think both my cats have adapted well. Most of the time, I keep my bathroom door closed, so Choochie knows that in order to eat, she must wait for me to open the door. She isn't one of those crazy viral-video cats who know how to open doors. So, she is completely at my mercy to open the closed door for her. I'm sure you probably know where I'm going with this metaphorical scenario. If not, no worries. I think you will soon.

"I have been young, and now am old; yet I have not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his descendants begging bread." (Psalm 37:25)

Lately, I've been stuck in Psalm 37, in a good way. I haven't done an extreme amount of research on Psalm 37 yet, so I can't say for sure, but I'm thinking verse 25 is saying that King David wrote this psalm when he was an elderly guy. The overall message of the entire psalm seems to be something along the lines of "Meh, chill out. Every person is eventually going to get what's coming to him or her. If you're wicked, you'll get burned to a crisp. If you're meek, you'll inherit the earth and have more peace than you'll know what to do with. So, don't get your panties in a wad. Just chill."

Wow. This psalm was written by King David? King I'm-extremely-emotional-and-don't-know-how-to-express-myself-without-crying-or-killing-somebody-whichever-comes-first David? No disrespect intended. Just trying to understand this psalm. I'm guessing that Psalm 37:25 really was written by an older, wiser, more laidback King David, or King Solomon's dad. Perhaps by this time, King David (whom I really do respect and truly look forward to meeting someday) had seen so much of life that he was like, "Meh, chill out, man. Don't even waste your time freaking out. It ain't worth it, 'cause God has a plan and knows exactly what He's doing. See that pasture, sheep? Just keep eating it and enjoying it. That's how you stay alive during a famine. Baa."

I've heard people in their 20s or early 30s talk about how hard it is to watch all their friends get married while they remain single. And I've heard young-married people talk about how hard it is to watch all their friends have children why they remain childless. To a degree, I understand how difficult this is. In my experience, it hasn't remained that difficult for long. I hope this doesn't sound insensitive, but as you get older and see half your married friends getting divorced, the ache gradually begins to go away, and your singlehood gets easier.

But some of my aches haven't gone away. Some things haven't gotten easier. Some things are still difficult.

What's been hard for me to watch is all my friends getting promoted, while I remain in the wilderness. Or maybe many of my friends get to pursue their dreams, and I get to listen to God tell me to let my dreams die. Or maybe other people get chosen when I don't. That's hard to live through, too. And speaking of hard...

"Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep." (Romans 12:15)

A few years ago when I walked through an excruciatingly hard journey with grief, I learned firsthand how terrible the body of Christ can be with weeping with those who weep. I don't mean to hurt anyone's feelings, but I just mean to say that, no offense, we Christians can sometimes royally suck at empathizing with other human beings. Many of us are excellent at dishing out platitudes, but many of us are also terrible at offering a comforting shoulder when somebody is in pain. And I include myself in this, because I'm definitely not the best weeper/comforter in the world, either.

I also want to learn how to rejoice the right way, too. When somebody is genuinely excited about accomplishing something, I want to offer genuine congratulations.

I'm still unemployed. But when I finally get a job -- even if it's a dinky little part-time, minimum-wage gig that won't put me back into therapy -- I'm going to rejoice my head off. I hope my friends will be able to rejoice with me, too.

Unemployment is a big deal, of course. There are about a dozen factors that scream for you to deal with. There's the financial aspect, of course, which you can gradually learn to master. There's the problem of having 8 hours per day to fill, which you can do with a variety of activities after you've fulfilled your weekly obligation to the state. (I personally have relearned the art of listening to 70s music while playing Spider Solitaire on my computer.) But I think what has bothered me the most is the temptation to think that I'm either doing this whole thing called life wrong, or that I myself AM wrong.

One recent morning, I was lying in bed talking to God. I don't remember the exact words of our conversation, but I was basically like, "Did I do something wrong? Have I not found a job yet because I screwed up really bad somewhere?" And God was basically like, "You're asking the wrong question. What you should be asking is, 'Is there anything wrong with waiting?' "

Aha, of course. God has been wanting me to wait. So, I went on an exciting rabbit trail in my brain about how waiting really isn't a bad thing at all. Perhaps this whole time, God has been like, "Meh, chill out. If it had been time for you to get a new job yet, you would have gotten it already. Just chill, sheep. Baa."

 

And I think about my little cat Choochie, who is completely at my mercy. She can't proceed with her next scheduled meal until I open the door for her. It will stay closed until I decide to open it. Yes, of course she has every right to ask me to open the door for her. She's my baby, and I want to bless her with the best food she can eat. I want her to be alive and healthy. I want her to keep prospering.

But her demands aren't always reasonable. Seriously, 2 p.m. is WAY too early to eat dinner. Unless there are extenuating circumstances, I refuse to feed either of my cats dinner before 4 p.m. When I was commuting, they didn't eat dinner until around 6:30 or 7 like normal creatures. I repeat -- 2 p.m. is WAY too early. Come on, little kitten, just chill for a little while longer.

I wonder if perhaps God thinks thoughts like this about me that are very similar. "Um, little girl, I know you're ready to start working again, but it isn't time yet. Just chill a little bit longer. I'm preparing a new gig for you that's going to blow your mind with awesomeness. But it isn't time yet. It's WAY too early to walk through this new door. So, I'm going to keep it closed. You can protest if you want, but is it really going to do you any good? You said you trusted Me. So, just chill, sheep. See that pasture right in front of you? Chow down and enjoy. It's not time to walk through any new doors yet. Don't freak out if you see other people living out their dreams while you sit on your couch and blog yet again about your cats. I've got My eye on you, I'm taking care of you, and I know exactly what I'm doing. Now go satisfy that adorable little rumbling in your adorable little sheep-tummy. Baa."

I think I have an idea of what's behind the closed door. It's another pasture. But maybe it doesn't have any tall grass growing in it yet. Maybe God planted all the seeds and has been waiting for them to grow. Maybe He doesn't want me to roam around in a pasture full of dirt and mud and seedlings. Maybe He knows that if I do, I might starve to death.

I think it's safe to say that Meh, I should just chill out. The Shepherd knows what He's doing.

(Baa.)

Bye-bye, honeymoon

I'm going to be a bit harsh in this post. I'll explain why later, but I thought I'd warn you now. Thanks in advance for reading and understanding.

This is a picture of my copy of The Living Bible, which was given to me back in the 80s when I was a little girl. As you can see, it's a black softcover book with a homemade leather Bible cover. My grandfather sewed the Bible cover himself and fitted my copy of The Living Bible into it. Recently, when I couldn't find The Living Bible online, I decided to read from my hardcopy, and I thought it would be nice to read it without the homemade Bible cover. But the cover wouldn't come off. It's stuck. I think the beautiful black softcover fused with the cheap leather. Upon further investigation, I noticed that this homemade leather Bible cover was made rather crappily.

I don't want to disrespect any of my elders, especially deceased ones. But I'm just trying to be honest. If you follow my blog, you know that I didn't like my grandfather, which is a major reason why I didn't attend his funeral. (Sorry, but I don't like it when people perpetually misspell my name, make fun of me, and heavily favor other siblings/cousins instead of me. I think all those actions are a huge, flashing neon sign that says, "I don't love you.")

Fortunately, I just now discovered that The Living Bible is accessible online, so I don't have to deal with my forever-covered-with-crappy-leather copy if I don't want to. But discovering the crappy craftsmanship of its cover helped me realize yet again how little my grandfather cared about me... and how much Christians can get taken advantage of sometimes.

Of course, that last part is just an educated guess, but as a Christian, I can understand how easily people can take advantage of us, even other Christians.

In my grandfather's case, he lived with us for free while he was retired. He had a room all to himself, but for weeks at a time, he would be away traveling throughout the state. He would sometimes preach at little churches, and he would sell Bibles and Bible products. His homemade leather Bible covers were one of his products. I honestly hope that he did a much better job making his customers' Bible covers than he did mine.

Hopefully, he was simply being resourceful, and I think perhaps I inherited his resourcefulness. I can be proud of that, in a good way. But I can't be proud of the crappy job he did with my Bible cover.

"You shall not covet your neighbor's house; you shall not covet your neighbor's wife, nor his male servant, nor his female servant, nor his ox, nor his donkey, nor anything that is your neighbor's." (Exodus 20:17)

About 6 months ago, I blogged about the terrible time I was having mentally/emotionally. I think what I was basically trying to say was that when a Christian reaches out for help in the body of Christ, all the Christians involved sort of go through this warm-fuzzy, ooey-gooey community honeymoon. Just add a few prayers to the Christian-in-crisis' problem, and the problem will magically disappear.

So, I got the help I needed. I am no longer in psychotherapy. But I think it's safe to say that the honeymoon is over. Yeah, that's right. This Christian psychoblogger has her head on straight, and now she'd like to kill some sacred cows. (I know. What else is new, right? Moo.)

I've noticed that the quickest way to get the attention of anybody in the body of Christ is to utter two magic words: "Please pray." Yes, that will get a Christian's attention in no-time flat. Unfortunately, I've noticed that other terribly important phrases such as "I want to kill myself" or "I'm lonely and depressed" or "Somebody has cancer" or "Mommy, a man is violating me" or "I was tempted to go to a topless bar today" barely get people's attention at all. But "please pray" will make my phone flash with so many texts, it'll be like Christmas in July. "Please hang out with me" might get ignored. "Please pray for me" will get an immediate reply.

Prayer is essential. Prayer is something that I need, something that everybody needs, something that God wants to listen to and respond to. Prayer is a way to unlock God's power in a person's life, in any situation. Prayer is something that paves a way for God to rend the heavens, come down, and unleash powerful parts of Himself that we may have only dreamed of. The Bible says to pray without ceasing. I've heard it said that this means that a Christian should breathe prayer. However, I don't think this necessarily means that a Christian should breathe prayer requests.

Perhaps you've heard the phrase "We covet your prayers." I used to think that the word "covet" was being misused in this phrase. From what I understand, the word "covet" is basically a fancy word that means "to want." Why not just say, "We want your prayers" or "Please pray for us"? The word "covet" is used in an awfully terrible context in Exodus 20:17.

But the more I've thought about it, the more I've realized that perhaps the word "covet" IS rightfully used in the phrase "We covet your prayers." Perhaps in the same way that you'd say, "Hey, man, I don't think you should be married to your hot wife; I think she should be mine; I want her for myself; I covet her" is the same way that the phrase "We covet your prayers" is used sometimes.

Prayer can definitely be used for manipulation. You can turn just about anything into a prayer request, and it will get a Christian's immediate attention. Perhaps the phrase "We covet your prayers" sometimes means, "Hey, man, I don't think you should be able to pick and choose what you pray for; I want you to drop what you're doing, drop to your knees, and pray for me right now; I want to hog your prayer time; I want it all to myself; I covet it."

I think this is one way that Christians can be taken advantage of. I think maybe in the same way that my traveling-salesman grandfather took advantage of the Bible-product market at the churches he visited, some people can take advantage of Christians' hair-trigger tendency to pray immediately when asked.

And it's a tendency that all of us Christians should definitely have. But I'm just offering a word of warning that it's a tendency that can be exploited.

Of course, I'm not an ordained minister, so I don't have any credentials that should require you to listen to me. But I know what it's like to be exploited, I know what it's like to be taken advantage of, I know what it's like to be manipulated, and I know what it's like to get hurt. I know what it's like to feel used for my prayers.

And I know what it's like to have very little to show for my pain other than a forever-covered-with-crappy-leather book. Why was I trying to cover up my Bible, anyway?

Not everyone who looks like a sheep, sounds like a sheep, or smells like a sheep is really a sheep. Sometimes wolves like to dress up as sheep. I think maybe the key is following the Shepherd around, listening to Him, and asking Him which sheep are real. Sure, He wants us to love sheep, wolves, and cows alike. But sometimes it's important to just know who's who and what's what.

(Moo?)

No news

This is a picture of my empty mailbox. (Technically, it was empty because it wasn't time for the postal carrier to deliver my mail yet. Hey, I wanted a photo for this post.) Sure, it's lonely. Yes, it's ugly. And yet, it's beautiful.

"Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land, and feed on His faithfulness." (Psalm 37:3)

When I was in college about 20 years ago, many of us students would check our mailboxes between classes. On at least one occasion, I would overhear a student remark about his empty mailbox, "Nobody loves me." I'm sure this remark was mostly in good humor. But that was back in the days before texting or Facebook existed, long before smartphones were ubiquitous, and even before most people used email. So, getting a letter in the mail with news from home was a big deal.

In recent years, as loneliness has caught up to me, God has definitely been creative (as He always is) about cheering me up before I have any opportunities of crawling back into any pits again. I remember at my previous address, when I would get exasperated at the sight of an empty mailbox, God would tell me, "No news is good news."

Of course, it's an old adage. From what I can tell, it isn't anywhere in the Bible, unless you want to apply Psalm 37:3 to it. Well, OK, I'll apply it. One aspect of dwelling in the land is living with the day-to-day monotony of dwelling in the land. But I think "No news is good news" is some darn good wisdom. God is definitely right.

In this current season of unemployment, honestly, checking the mail is always the most exciting highlight of my day. Seeing an empty mailbox can be deflating, unless I remember that "No news is good news." In this particular season, I've been extremely blessed to be able to pay my bills on time and/or early.

But in my past, I wasn't always this fortunate. Years ago, checking the mail wasn't always a fun activity. Since I was behind in my bills, I would often get 2nd notices in the mail. I would get scary-looking overdue bills in the mail. I would get tempting "borrow money from us" offers in the mail, some of which I would apply for and get denied for. On top of all that, I would get phone calls from creditors who didn't like waiting for me to pay them. At the time, I had a landline, so I would also get telemarketing calls. If I remember correctly, I had a funny greeting on my answering machine that said something like, "Hey, friends and family, leave me a message, and I'll call you back. But if you're a telemarketer, uh, no hablo inglés." Beep. One creditor listened carefully to my greeting and articulated in her message, "This is not a telemarketing call. Please give us a call back so that we can discuss your account." That was operator-speak for "You owe us money; pay up." Back then, I had a very casual attitude toward debt, and God told me so.

But things are different now, and I think I'm finally starting to appreciate the peace and stillness that comes with it.

No news is good news. That means that if I don't hear from a bill collector, my account is current, and my creditor is happy.

No news is good news. That means that if I don't hear from a friend in a long while, she might not be mad at me. She might just be busy.

No news is good news. That means that if I don't hear from any of the companies that I mailed my unsolicited resume to, they may not have shredded it right away. Hopefully they filed it away for future opportunities like I asked them to.

No news is good news. That means that if I don't hear from my veterinarian, my cat's test results didn't reveal anything scary.

In yesterday's post, I talked about how beautiful boredom can be. Heck yes, it can be beautiful. Regarding my cat, I kinda miss boredom. A couple of years ago, when I took Macho to the vet for his annual shots, the vet looked at his chart and said, "Ahhh, boring," because he couldn't find anything wrong with my cat.

I miss those days. Now he has a bladder stone that will cost $2800 to surgically remove. Yes, of course God could definitely miraculously remove it Himself (which I'm praying He'll do). But I kinda miss the beautiful boredom of perfect feline health.

No news is good news. That means that if I don't hear Macho howling in pain or see him struggling to use the litterbox, his surgery can wait, and he's doing OK for the time being.

"Come, behold the works of the Lord, who has made desolations in the earth. He makes wars cease to the end of the earth; He breaks the bow and cuts the spear in two; He burns the chariot in the fire. Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth! The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge. Selah." (Psalm 46:8-11)

After I got out of the psych hospital nearly 14 years ago, I got stuck in Psalm 46 for a very long time, and I stayed in it for about 10 years. I don't think that's an accident. When you grow up in a house that doesn't sweat the small stuff, where everything is a big deal, and where a new crisis arises every day, if not every hour, being still and knowing that God is God can be a very hard thing to do.

But it's worth learning how to do, and I think I'm still learning it.

In a way, I think I'm reminded of it every time I check the mail and see an empty mailbox. No news is good news.

I mean, doesn't he look fine to you? I think he looks fine.

  

Beautifully ordered boredom

I might be a bit redundant in this post. That is, I might repeat stuff I've already said before. That is, I might talk about things that I've already mentioned in previous posts. That is... Sorry. Am I boring you?

"Trust in the Lord and do good. Dwell in the land and feed on His faithfulness." (Psalm 37:3 typed out from memory, hopefully accurately, from the NKJV)

I think there are multiple ways that a person can apply Psalm 37:3 to his or her life, depending on what kind of life he or she lives. For instance...

1) If you're a sheep that lives in a pasture, especially if all you have to do all day is eat the grass that grows in the pasture, eat it, man, and enjoy it, and know that the Shepherd who planted the grass there will continue to help it grow, and know that He's going to continue to keep planting more grass there for you to eat, and know that He's going to keep taking care of the pasture, and know that He's going to keep taking care of you, because you're His sheep. Just chill, keep showing up, and keep enjoying.

2) If you're a celebrity who's constantly dodging the paparazzi, don't do anything stupid. Just keep showing up and doing your celebrity thang, even if it means disguising yourself to go to the grocery store. Sure, maybe your pictures will be strewn all over the internet or magazine stands, just because of who you are, but what's wrong with that? Keep trusting that your Shepherd put you in an important pasture where billions of eyes are on you, keep enjoying the process, keep smiling if you see cameras in your face, and keep doing good things. Just chill, keep being yourself, and keep enjoying.

3) If you're a regular chick who dwells on a regular street in a regular neighborhood and works a regular job and goes to a regular church and has a regular 401K and doesn't really feel all that special, but you don't really mind living a regular life, ain't nothin' wrong with that. Just keep hanging out in the regular pasture that your Shepherd designed for you, keep chowing down on the regular, metaphorical grass that He keeps tending for you, and enjoy the fact that there's regular grass there all the time and that someday you'll exchange your regular earthly life for a regular heavenly life that will blow your regular mind. Just chill, keep digging your regularness, and keep enjoying.

Maybe all of the above doesn't seem all that exciting to you, but in context, Psalm 37:3 comes right before Psalm 37:4, that famous verse that says to delight yourself in the Lord and He will give you the desires of your heart.

Maybe the desire of my heart is just the peaceful pasture that Psalm 37:3 talks about. Maybe a chick like me just needs some peace. Maybe a chick like me just needs a boring pasture of grass to munch on like a good little sheep. Maybe a chick like me thinks boredom is beautiful. Maybe if you knew the life I used to live, you'd understand why God's faithfulness -- the pasture that He builds for His sheep to feast upon, the day-to-day monotony that only demands a warm body, the boring-looking yet oh-so-nutritious grass -- is beautiful.

Maybe boredom is something that God doesn't mind. Maybe our finite-human concept of boredom is infinitely different than His. Maybe boredom is even His goal, at least for a life-season.

"But concerning brotherly love you have no need that I should write to you, for you yourselves are taught by God to love one another; and indeed you do so toward all the brethren who are in all Macedonia. But we urge you, brethren, that you increase more and more; that you also aspire to lead a quiet life, to mind your own business, and to work with your own hands, as we commanded you, that you may walk properly toward those who are outside, and that you may lack nothing." (1 Thessalonians 4:9-12)

I can barely begin to tell you how liberating it is to know that minding my own business is in the Bible. My gosh, that's some freedom right there. I'm kinda bummed that I didn't discover it there until I got to college.

I mean, who needs drama? If a green pasture full of grass is all that I have in front of me to consume, then that's what I have to sink my teeth into. There's no need for me to leave my safe pasture and nose around in another sheep's pasture. What if I'm allergic to their grass? What if they have a problem with me eating their grass? What if I end up starting a sheep-fight? What if a nearby wolf decides to do some lamb-napping while we're wasting our time fighting? What if I don't know how to handle my own boredom, and I end up rolling and smoking my sheep-neighbor's grass, and the sheep-police come and haul me away to sheep-jail? What if my Shepherd's feelings get hurt if I decide that my very own pasture that He grew for me isn't worth my time?

Dang, my imagination went all over the place in the last paragraph. See? Sometimes creative juices just need a little peace and quiet.

Speaking of peace and quiet, God spoke the deepest stuff of the day right before I began my quiet time. I don't remember His exact words, but my brain was thinking about the stuff that I'm organizing in my apartment, and I was thinking about the crazy time I had packing before I moved here a year and a half ago. God showed me that discarding my unwanted items and shredding my old documents was more important than packing them up. Sorting through my junk (so that I could get rid of it before the move) was important. God was basically like, "Even if you had all those powers that wizards have in movies, and you could snap your fingers and instantly pack everything into boxes, you'd still miss out on all the sorting. When you sort through things, you find out what's there."

Dang, He's deep.

Yes, the God of the universe is really into order. It's boring, and it's beautiful. For instance, while I was shredding old letters...

1) I found one letter dated 1995 from an old friend. This friend wrote, "So, Selena died. Too bad. Oh, well." Um... WHAT?! The envelope, please. And the award for the most insensitive comment about a deceased artist goes to...

2) I'm related to some very nice people, but they definitely aren't perfect, and the way that I interacted with them helps me understand my issues a little bit better. For example, in the past, I had a bad habit of interrupting people while they were in the middle of telling me their stories. They would say something, and I would insert myself with "Oh, that reminds me of my life. Blah, blah, blah..." This type of conversation technique doesn't always build intimacy. (I think my therapist could back me up on that.) I found one relative's letters that had this fairly consistent pattern of "Thanks for your letter. Your life reminds me of my life when I was a girl. Blah, blah, blah..." As I read through this correspondence again, I was like, Ah. That's where I got it from.

3) From time to time, people give me grief for permanently detaching myself from my family, as if they were infallible creatures who deserved to be worshiped on a pedestal. But certain members of my "family" didn't even know how to spell my name correctly. It's T-I-R-Z-A-H. I completely understand how difficult it can be to learn how to spell it, honest. But if you're related to me? If you've known me for a couple of decades? My gosh. Would it kill you to memorize the order of a few letters? Family is supposed to at least know how to spell my name. (Too bad I just graduated from therapy. I think I just found some more stuff to haul into my sessions.) You know who else doesn't know how to spell my name? Strangers.

So, in my current infatuation with order, boredom, and minding my own business, I'm discovering the beauty of sorting. I think I just heard my soul sigh like a lovesick teenager.

I feel like talking about my cat now, but I think I might save my thoughts for my next post. Are you as excited as I am?!

So, if I'm a sheep who lives in a grass-populated pasture, all I really need to do is live here, feed on my Shepherd's faithfulness, trust Him, and do good. Will I see fireworks? Maybe. Will I get indigestion? Probably not; that is, not if I eat only the stuff my Shepherd grows for me, and if I eat only the amount I'm supposed to eat. Will I be bored out of my sheep-skull? Gosh, I sure hope so!