The dart gun

A few different things have been floating around my head lately, and I'll do my best to process them here. I don't have a photo for this post because I'm writing about something that doesn't exist for me anymore. It's gone.

When I was a little girl, I was rather tomboyish, and my birth mother was in denial about it. Sorry, but I just wasn't girly fru-fru like she was, no matter how much makeup, hair color, or pretty dresses she would throw at me. My style was, is, and always will be different than hers. Reader, perhaps you remember reading previously about the action figures I played with when I was a little girl, especially my He-Man toys. God works all things together for good for those who love Him and for those who are called according to His purpose, right? (Romans 8:28) Well, one good thing that came out of my action figures was definitely getting to sell them years later on eBay.

But there was one toy that I didn't get to keep long enough to sell on eBay. In fact, I didn't get to keep it very long at all.

When I was about 7 or 8 years old, I owned a dart gun. It was the coolest toy in the world. I remember the suction cups stuck very nicely to my closet door. But I only owned this dart gun for a few hours. If memory serves, my dart gun was purchased on a Friday evening. The following Saturday morning, I was playing with my younger sister and her Monchhichi doll. The fleeing doll was my target, so I aimed my dart gun at it and fired. Unfortunately, I missed and accidentally hit my sister, who promptly began to cry. I'm sure any oldest-sibling readers understand that this crying noise spells instant doom. My birth father entered the room, confiscated my dart gun, and threw it away. That was the last I saw of it. The coolest toy in the world was gone forever.

I don't remember anyone confiscating my sister's plastic baseball bat, which she once used to maniacally chase me around the house (getting swatted with that thing really smarted), but that's another story.

"Do not be deceived, my beloved brethren. Every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, and comes down from the Father of lights, with whom there is no variation or shadow of turning. Of His own will He brought us forth by the word of truth, that we might be a kind of firstfruits of His creatures." (James 1:16-18)

"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)

For me, this particular season of being unemployed has been more about simply looking for a new job. (Or about dodging unsolicited advice and/or guilt trips.) One theme in my life during this season has been "Out with the old, in with the new." This has definitely included material possessions, but I think it also includes beliefs. In addition to having to trust God with my finances and my job situation, I've needed to learn (or perhaps relearn) what He's really like as a Father.

I don't remember exactly what I was thinking about or concerned about one recent day -- perhaps it was money, or perhaps it was wondering if I'd done anything really bad to screw up my chances of ever finding work again. But God reminded me about my dart gun, the coolest toy in the world that I only owned for a few hours.

The way my dart gun was taken away from me was a no-grace situation. I made one tiny little mistake (I'm sorry that I accidentally hurt my sister; if I had been given another chance, I hope I would have learned from my mistake and been more careful in the future), and suddenly something that I treasured was gone forever. I don't even remember being given anything to replace it. I just remember being shamed.

Perhaps you could also say that the way in which my previous job was taken away from me was a no-grace situation. I made one tiny little mistake (honestly, I wasn't the only one; I was merely one of several who were in the same boat), and suddenly my paycheck was gone. The boss who had once praised me for improving my work performance was now suddenly escorting me out the front door and blocking it so that I couldn't return. I suppose in a way, I felt shamed. (But in this particular situation, I was also set free.)

I think I'm finally learning that God isn't a no-grace God. Sure, if we make one little mistake, we're toast for all eternity. But that's true for everybody. The way to fix it is by giving your life to Jesus, who in a nutshell, is the ultimate Scapegoat for all of humanity. Any kind of shame or punishment that would have been inflicted on us was inflicted on Jesus. Thanks to Him, I don't have to worry about losing my life over one little mistake. Thanks to Him, I can get another chance... over and over and over again... as many chances as I need.

Of course, any mistake has consequences attached to it. Every human being is responsible for enduring and taking care of the consequences of each mistake that he or she makes. But I'm not talking about that. What I'm talking about is the fact that all humans make mistakes. (Except Jesus, but that's another story.) And yet, love can pretty much snuff out all kinds of mistakes, right? (1 Peter 4:8)

"He who finds his life will lose it, and he who loses his life for My sake will find it." (Matthew 10:39)

Sometimes my "aha" moments come at very random times. For example, last night while I was cleaning out the litterbox, I suddenly told God, "I gave up He-Man, but You gave me Heman." I think maybe God was waiting for my very random "aha" moment at the litterbox, because He immediately replied with a smile, "Not bad, huh?"

I've blogged about Heman previously. He was one of the psalmists in the Bible and one of the praise/worship leaders around the time that King David established worship to God in Israel. Heman's name is Hebrew, so it probably isn't pronounced like "He-Man," but I'm a Texan, so I hope it isn't disrespectful of me to pronounce Heman the psalmist's name as "He-Man." (My name is Hebrew, too, but almost everybody here in Texas calls me "Teer-zuh." The Texan pronunciation rolls off the tongue so easily. Why fight it?)

Heman is all over 1 and 2 Chronicles. It seems that almost every time the Bible talks about how a king finally came to his senses and started worshiping God the right way, and insisting that his people do the same, it talks about the priests and the Levites. The musicians, the praise/worship leaders, are all part of this worshiping-God-with-sacrifices family of ministers. This fascinates the heck out of me. For years, I was shown that church music wasn't that big a deal and that everyone should know how to make it. But music seems to be very important to God if He took the time to make sure that the musicians were established and ordered, to make sure that it was all written about multiple times in the Bible, and to make sure that many of their songs were recorded in the Bible. God likes it when we use music to sing to Him, right? (Psalm 33:1-3)

Considering Heman's history and his songwriting, I'm assuming that he had a rather hard life. Perhaps that is why God made sure that he was one of the praise/worship musicians in the first place. Sure, if you've got a guitar strapped around your shoulder and a mic in front of your face, that probably means that your musical skills are good enough to broadcast to a room full of people. But it probably also means that you have something important to say. More than likely, it means that you're basically saying, "God is worthy to be praised, He's worthy to be worshiped, and He's a good Father who never, ever changes, regardless of what life throws my way."

Heman's dark Psalm 88, his possibly terrible childhood, and the fact that he was entrusted to help lead Israel musically in praise/worship -- well, all of that encourages me. And I'm discovering that Heman wasn't the only composer who had dark things to write about.

Yesterday, I was randomly reading about composer Stephen Sondheim. He is a majorly successful Broadway-musical songwriter. He wrote such musicals as A Little Night Music and Sweeney Todd. Sure, some of his work might be a bit dark, but I'm guessing his history might have something to do with that. According to Wikipedia, he grew up in a broken home with an abusive mother. When she died, he skipped the funeral. But when he was young, he found a very important mentor: Oscar Hammerstein II. Can you guess how Stephen Sondheim overcame his early obstacles and became a very successful composer?

I learned a long time ago that creativity is one gift that God has given us to help us process the hard things in our lives. Perhaps when I read the psalms in the Bible (especially Psalm 88), I can see these processes at work.

It helps me to see that songwriters are human. It helps me to see that everybody makes mistakes. It helps me to see that if I make one little mistake, God won't take away the coolest toy in the world forever.

Because He's not like that.

Jesus isn't some holier-than-thou Pharisee who demands perfection out of me without getting to know me, protecting me, or caring about my well-being. He's fully God, and He's fully Man, so He experienced firsthand what it was like to be rejected, left out, and shamed. (And He still gets mightily dissed by all of humanity.) He's my Friend who encourages me every step of the way that He's with me and that I can make it.

No, I don't have my He-Man toys anymore, but I have Heman to read about and study about in the Bible. No, I don't have my white kitten Puff anymore (who ran away when I was 4), but I have Choochie my black-white-gray little cat (who is still mine after 14 years). No, I don't have earthly parents anymore, but I have a Father of lights who continually gives me good gifts and perfect gifts and who keeps me alive during unemployment famines. I think He likes me. Which is awesome, because I like Him back.

No, I don't have my dart gun anymore, but I have songwriting skills that are still developing. And I hope someday to hit the bull's-eye.