Unemployment, part 11

Perhaps this blog post could also be titled "Best."

I decided to get a little creative with dinner tonight. This is PB&J pie. (Not "pie" in the sense that something is poured into a breaded crust and baked but more like "Frito pie" in the sense that something is simply poured over something else.) Underneath that mound of grape jelly is a huge mound of crunchy peanut butter. Definitely not the best dinner in the world, but I am thankful for it to be digesting in my belly. I thought I'd take advantage of the subsequent sugar high and write about it. Bah-hahaha!!!

Yes, when I took the StrengthsFinder test, I scored Maximizer and Adaptability. Why do you ask?

"Behold, the eye of the Lord is on those who fear Him, on those who hope in His mercy, to deliver their soul from death, and to keep them alive in famine." (Psalm 33:18-19)

I used to have a friend who invited me to her house a couple of times where her mother had a rather quirky request for me. Her mother would sit me in front of her piano keyboard, place sheet music in front of me, and ask me to play music that I'd never played before.

In musical terms, this is called sightreading. Sightreading is playing a song for the very first time. In general, you don't have the luxury of actually knowing how the melody goes. All you have to go on is the written music in front of you. Sightreading is a very challenging skill to have; music-school students get tested in sightreading all the time. (Sightsinging is singing a song for the very first time, and it's just as challenging, especially if you don't have perfect pitch.) Not everybody is good at sightreading.

For instance, if you were to perform a song that you've practiced over and over and over again, it would probably sound nice and polished, like this:

Deck the halls with boughs of holly

Fa la la la la, la la la la

However, if you were to sightread/sightsing a song, it would probably sound not so nice, like this:

Donk the-- I mean, Deck the halls with bags of-- Um... Is that bows? Oh, boughs. Boughs of holly

Fa la la... Um... Fa la... Uh... Sorry, I'm lost. Fa la la la... Ah, I think I get it now. Fa la la la la, la la la la

Adaptability is one of my strengths, but sightreading is NOT one of my best skills. So, when my former friend's mother would ask me to sightread (I guess she did so just for the heck of it?), I would crash and burn quite thoroughly. Perhaps the Maximizer inside me got rather offended, too. But my friend's mother was quirkily pleased, and she was kindly hospitable.

But when I was a guest in her house, she didn't get to see me at my best. If she had called me a couple of weeks prior and asked me to prepare a piece and play it for her, I would have had some time to practice (especially if she had let me play one of my original songs on my guitar), and she would have heard me at my best. She could have seen excellence in motion. I would have been extremely happy, because I would have been thoroughly myself.

But she seemed to only want me sightreading, stumbling around on her keyboard. I hope I did the best I could with what I had.

"And whatever you do, do it heartily, as to the Lord and not to men..." (Colossians 3:23)

When I was a girl, if I would strain and overwork myself with something, e.g., a school assignment, and if I still couldn't get the hang of it, I would get really stressed out. At that point, my mother would tell me, "Just do the best you can." This would comfort me. Just doing my "best," AFTER nearly killing myself to get the job done, would comfort me.

But in recent years, I've learned that "Just do the best you can," from what I understand, is exactly what God wants me to do in the first place. He wants me to do my best, all the time, period. (Yes, God can definitely strengthen me and work miracles beyond that, but I'm talking about my part here.) I think if anyone ever asks me to do anything beyond my best, e.g., spinning straw into gold, sorry, no can do. You gotta do your best with what you have, and what you have with me is a human being who has one brain, two hands, one backbone, lots of feelings, and plenty of determination to do her best. She can't do anything other than be herself.

This is my last official week of unemployment. But about 6 months ago, before my unemployment was approved, it seemed that my previous employer wasn't happy about paying my unemployment benefits. While I was talking to the person from the unemployment office who was hearing my case, she said that my previous employer told the unemployment office that I was unable to do my job. In reply, I chuckled a little bitterly and said, "I did my best, but I guess my best wasn't good enough."

So, my unemployment has been paid for the past 6 months, and I'm definitely thankful for that. This has been a very difficult yet very challenging yet very wonderful time of emotionally detoxing, unlearning bad habits and relearning good habits, and focusing on finding full-time work. (No worries, PB&J pie will NOT become a new habit.) I definitely couldn't do what I've done in the past 6 months if I were employed. (I know. I tried.)

Tomorrow, I'm scheduled to start a weeklong temp job. Honestly, I'm not looking forward to the actual job itself at all. However, equally honestly, I'm very much looking forward to collecting a non-unemployment paycheck. I'm truly looking forward to doing 40+ hours of honest work for honest pay. I'm looking forward to being needed at my post. I'm looking forward to doing my best, regardless of the job, and I'm looking forward to honoring the people around me. I'm looking forward to hanging out with God at a cubicle again. Maybe I'm also looking forward to redeeming myself a little bit. Tirzah isn't incapable. Tirzah is capable. She does her best with what she has. She has one brain, two hands, one backbone, lots of feelings, and plenty of determination to do her best. And she has her Daddy's entire Kingdom available to help her out. She can't do anything other than be herself, and Daddy's little princess is going to do her best.

Hopefully part 12 will be me writing about a new full-time job. That would totally rock! Bah-hahaha!!!

The practice room

I recently bought this CD at Goodwill for $2. Wow, these Beethoven Sonatas bring back memories. Did you know that the Presto agitato movement of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata was used in the Smurfs cartoon from the 1980s? And did you also know that Billy Joel used the Adagio cantabile movement of Beethoven's Pathétique Sonata for the chorus of his song "This Night" from his 1983 album An Innocent Man? Well, the fact that classical music integrates very nicely into pop culture isn't the only thing that brings back memories.

When I was in college, I took seven semesters of private piano lessons. Simply walking down the hallways of the music buildings was always a wonderful experience for me. I would hear students and teachers playing classical piano pieces during their private lessons. I would hear piano-performance majors practicing their elaborate pieces in the practice rooms. Sometimes I would practice Mendelssohn, Beethoven, Bach, and Brahms, but I also practiced a lot of Scott Joplin and Yanni songs. (I wasn't a music major, so my instructors let me choose most of my songs.) Eh, maybe I stuck out a little bit in the music buildings, but so what? I was in a musical wonderland, and I hope I absorbed some good stuff. Even after I would finish practicing, my mind would still meditate in relaxed wonderment on the music.

Music is a type of art, so it can be a physical expression of very abstract concepts, and it is often created spontaneously. And yet, music is also a discipline in which practice is extremely important. (I don't think a good artist would want to be sloppy with his or her brushstrokes.) My piano instructors were always very gracious with me, but I remember during at least one lesson, my instructor asked me if I had practiced. Um... no, not really. She could tell that I had neglected my practicing. (Sloppy brushstrokes.) You can't just show up at an event that you're supposed to be prepared for and wing it.

When you practice, you can answer your own questions. You wonder how a certain part of the piece goes, and then you break it apart, play it slowly, and figure it out. You're kinda supposed to make mistakes when you practice. You iron out the wrinkled spots. After a while, you can hear the chords, and you understand why certain notes were chosen, and you realize that the composer was a genius. The piece you're preparing comes together for you, and hearing it click in your brain for the first time is a fantastic rush. "Oh, now I get it!" Then your fingers get stronger, and you close your eyes and hear the mysterious sounds that your instrument is creating, and you play it so often that you memorize it, and then you can show off what you've learned when you go home for the holidays. When you practice something, in a way, it becomes a part of you. You can put it on hold for a while, and then when you come back to it later, you still remember the tune. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you wonder if perhaps you were born to play that song.

Music isn't the only realm in which practice is important. I think God knows that.

"So it was, as soon as he came near the camp, that he saw the calf and the dancing. So Moses' anger became hot, and he cast the tablets out of his hands and broke them at the foot of the mountain. Then he took the calf which they had made, burned it in the fire, and ground it to powder; and he scattered it on the water and made the children of Israel drink it." (Exodus 32:19-20)

"And Moses said: 'By this you shall know that the Lord has sent me to do all these works, for I have not done them of my own will. If these men die naturally like all men, or if they are visited by the common fate of all men, then the Lord has not sent me. But if the Lord creates a new thing, and the earth opens its mouth and swallows them up with all that belongs to them, and they go down alive into the pit, then you will understand that these men have rejected the Lord.' Now it came to pass, as he finished speaking all these words, that the ground split apart under them, and the earth opened its mouth and swallowed them up, with their households and all the men with Korah, with all their goods. So they and all those with them went down alive into the pit; the earth closed over them, and they perished from among the assembly." (Numbers 16:28-33)

"And the Lord spoke to Moses, saying: 'Speak to the children of Israel, and get from them a rod from each father's house, all their leaders according to their fathers' houses -- twelve rods. Write each man's name on his rod. And you shall write Aaron's name on the rod of Levi. For there shall be one rod for the head of each father's house. Then you shall place them in the tabernacle of meeting before the Testimony, where I meet with you. And it shall be that the rod of the man whom I choose will blossom; thus I will rid Myself of the complaints of the children of Israel, which they make against you.' ... Now it came to pass on the next day that Moses went into the tabernacle of witness, and behold the rod of Aaron, of the house of Levi, had sprouted and put forth buds, had produced blossoms and yielded ripe almonds." (Numbers 17:1-5, 8)

"Then the Lord spoke to Moses, saying, 'Take the rod; you and your brother Aaron gather the congregation together. Speak to the rock before their eyes, and it will yield its water; thus you shall bring water for them out of the rock, and give drink to the congregation and their animals.' ... Then Moses lifted his hand and struck the rock twice with his rod; and water came out abundantly, and the congregation and their animals drank. Then the Lord spoke to Moses and Aaron, 'Because you did not believe Me, to hallow Me in the eyes of the children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this assembly into the land which I have given them.' " (Numbers 20:7-8, 11-12)

"Then Jesus was led up by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil. And when He had fasted forty days and forty nights, afterward He was hungry. Now when the tempter came to Him, he said, 'If You are the Son of God, command that these stones become bread.' But He answered and said, 'It is written, "Man shall not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God." ' " (Matthew 4:1-4)

I think in a way, the wilderness in the Bible was a place for people to practice. The wilderness was a place to practice loving God, obeying God, and following God. The wilderness was a place to practice enduring temptation, staying humble, and submitting to God's authority.

Not that Jesus was flawed and needed to practice (because He is the most unflawed, most capable, most perfect Person in the universe). But maybe enduring the Pharisees' accusations was nothing compared to combatting the devil's lies on an empty stomach.

Perhaps in their wilderness, the Israelites (at least, the ones who weren't zapped off the face of the earth) learned some extremely important lessons, too. Ah, so God isn't cool with us worshiping a golden calf instead of Him. Got it. Ah, so Moses and Aaron really are God's chosen leaders for us. Understood. Ah, so even Moses will be disciplined for disobeying God's instructions. So... all of us need to obey God, because He's more powerful than we are, and He's in charge. Oh, now I get it!

While the Israelites were enslaved in Egypt, they were miserable. (Except for getting to eat all that really yummy Egyptian food, that is.) I'm guessing their slavedrivers didn't get to see God's people walking in love, peace, and joy because, well... they were miserable slaves who were crying out to God in their agony. But after Pharaoh let God's people go, the Egyptians didn't get to see the Israelites undergo transformation.

As other church leaders have taught us, the wilderness was a relatively private place for God to bring His people out into the middle of nowhere and teach them how to worship Him, how to love Him, how to belong to Him. I guess it was sort of like a honeymoon. After the official "I now pronounce you husband and wife" ceremony, the couple goes away privately where, well, they learn how to become one. Yes, they're married, and they're in love, but perhaps they'll have their first fight during their honeymoon. Perhaps there will be some confusion with the hotel accommodations or the restaurant reservations, and all sorts of shenanigans will occur. Perhaps their rental car will run out of gas and they'll need to hitchhike home. Perhaps all sorts of crazy things will happen with their circumstances, but the bride and her groom will get to know each other in a way that they've never known each other before. The honeymoon trials could make or break their entire marriage. (I've never been married, so I'm using my imagination.) And nobody gets to see what happens between the bride and her groom unless they write a biography or a sitcom about their honeymoon. This honeymoon, this "wilderness," so to speak, is a place to work this type of stuff out privately.

I think this happens with anyone who has a "wilderness" experience with God. (Especially if you're in the wilderness for a particularly long time... or especially if you're enduring several wildernesses all at once.) Ah, so if I cry out to God and beg Him to help me with something, He will. Got it. Ah, so if I disobey Him, He could discipline me. Understood. Ah, so if I pay my tithe, even when I don't know how I'm going to pay my bills, He'll rebuke the devourer. So... not only will He keep the devil away from my bank account, but He'll also prevent the devil from devouring my peace and my joy, because God is serious about opening the windows of heaven and pouring down a really huge, incomprehensible blessing on me, and He's more powerful than I am, and He's in charge, and He's serious about me not robbing Him. Oh, now I get it!

Ah, so God really does care about my life more than I do. Got it. Ah, so God really does have good plans for my life, and He really does plan to prosper me and not harm me, and He really does plan to give me a future and a hope. Understood. Ah, so He really does want me to talk to Him and not just ask Him for stuff. So... He really did choose me, He really does want me, He really does love me, He really does cherish me, and He really does want to have a relationship with me, because He's my Father, He's my Friend, He's the Lover of my soul, He's my Counselor, He's my Helper, and He's my Savior. There isn't anyone else above Him. He's it for me. And He's mine, all mine. And I'm 100% completely His forever. Oh, now I get it!

I think the wilderness is like a giant practice room where you get to learn how to play your song, and you get to learn how to play it right. It's a private place where people may walk past your room and hear you make some mistakes, they may hear you discover new things, or they may hear you make the most beautiful music you've ever made in your life. Later on, during the actual jury, recital, or performance, even more people can hear you play the song that you've been practicing so hard to play. They may not hear all the mistakes you made in your practice room, they may not see all the tears you shed when you got really frustrated with your song and wondered if you were ever going to learn it, and they may not understand how many hours you sacrificed, how many aches and calluses your fingers and your joints endured while you were practicing. But they'll get to enjoy the finished product, and you'll get to enjoy the immense satisfaction of being yourself.

People may not see or hear all the heartache that you privately endured in the wilderness. They may not understand all those times when the buzzards circled around you and waited for you to die, all those times when you wondered if you really were a goner, or all those times when you wondered if you really mattered while you were out there in the wilderness all alone with a new Husband who you thought maybe wanted to kill you. And they probably won't know about all those intimate times that you shared with your Bridegroom, when you two bonded together in a new way, when you finally began to understand how much He really cared about you. But they'll get to see the finished product, and hopefully they'll be blessed by it, and even more hopefully they'll glorify Him for it.

Dreams can die in the practice room. But dreams are also born there. Dreams are fed, nurtured, and cared for there. Dreams grow wings there, are strengthened there, and become beautiful there. Dreams begin to fly there.

(Roll over, Beethoven. Dig these rhythm and blues.)

It happens

I won't include a photo with this post. You're welcome.

This evening when I got home, I accidentally stepped in a large pile of dog poop. Of course, I had to document this incident immediately as an analogy for emotional healing. You know me.

"He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake." (Psalm 23:3)

Tonight I got home somewhat late, so I had to park farther away from my apartment than I usually do. I started walking, and then I saw another vehicle enter the parking lot. I instinctively stepped onto the nearby curb and grass for safety's sake. Unfortunately, the area isn't well lit, so by the time I felt my shoe squish deeply into a pile of non-grass, it was too late. I wiped my shoe as best I could on the sidewalk. While I continued walking toward my apartment, I could smell the dog poop on me.

When I got home, I immediately removed my shoes and headed for the bathroom. The dog poop was on one of my shoes and on the bottom of my jeans. The cleanup was meticulous and MacGyverish, and it involved whatever I could find in my bathroom to help remove the undesirable substance from my possessions.

Dog poop is a rather minor thing, so I was surprised at how angry I quickly became. I considered calling the apartment office and reporting the incident so that they could reinforce the poop fines at their property. I thought about composing a status update on Facebook to invite the poopetrator to come visit my home right after my large cat had made a deposit in the litterbox, step in it, and soil his/her only pair of tennis shoes and blue jeans, just to see how I felt. I mean, I'm a cat person. I own self-cleaning animals on purpose. I don't want to deal with dog poop, especially from a total stranger. I was very disgusted and inconvenienced, to say the least. The dog didn't offend me. Dogs poop. They can't help it. It's the owner who didn't clean up after the pooch that offended me. So, of course, I had to forgive the mystery poopetrator for this incident. Then I could move on with my life.

Just when I had finished cleaning my shoe, I noticed that there was dog poop on my other shoe, too. You gotta be kidding me.

So, as a result of somebody's carelessness/irresponsibility, and as a result of my not staying off the grass, I lost about an hour and a half of my life.

But it wasn't a total loss. As a result of this entire incident, I realized that I need to buy new shoes -- not because the poop defiled them but because I took a closer look at them and saw that they've been wearing out, anyway. I also realized that the grass is no longer a safe place to walk at night. (It used to be, but I've lived here for almost two years, and I think I have all-new neighbors now. I think they're dog people.) And I wouldn't be surprised if someday down the road, somebody will approach me and say something to the effect of, "Hey, I heard you once stepped in a really huge pile of crap and got it on your only pair of jeans and your only pair of tennis shoes. How did you clean all that crap out? I recently stepped in a nasty pile of crap myself, and I could really use some advice."

Tonight before the poop incident occurred, a friend offered to take me clothes-shopping. I think I'll take her up on that.

"Therefore, my beloved, as you have always obeyed, not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling; for it is God who works in you both to will and to do for His good pleasure." (Philippians 2:12-13)

So, accidentally stepping in a large pile of dog poop reminds me of some stuff.

Sometimes when you're just walking along, living life, minding your own business, you'll accidentally step in somebody else's mess. Perhaps it's late, and it's dark, and you didn't see the incident coming. But suddenly you've been defiled, and now you have to deal with the cleanup.

While you're cleaning up the mess, a zillion thoughts zip through your head. How could another human being be so careless as to leave this stuff lying around for you to defile yourself with? Don't they know that you only have one life to live, one soul, one heart, and you don't want it nasty? Don't other people realize that you go to great lengths to keep yourself clean, and you can't afford any kind of unexpected messes?

You're disgusted with the fact that you've brought this mess into your home. You're terrified at the thought of any kind of foreign substances harming your loved ones. (Parasites and germs from a dog can't harm my cats, can they?) So, you clean up the mess as thoroughly as you can, not only for your sake but also for your family's sake.

I think in this analogy, the "mess" can be a variety of different things: generational iniquities, abuse, excessive criticism, word toxicity, etc. It's a large pile of poop that somebody leaves lying around, and it's waiting for you to step in it and defile yourself with it.

It could ruin your life if you don't deal with it. What if you were to just leave the mess intact and ignore it completely? You'd have little piles of messes all over your floor. Your family would innocently find it and probably be very repulsed by it. You couldn't invite anybody over; or if you did, they probably wouldn't want to linger in your home. "Um, aren't you going to clean this up?" they'd ask in disgust. "Clean what up?" you'd ask in denial with a classic Pharisee smile.

Regarding the literal dog poop, of course, it could have been worse. Instead of merely stepping in poop, I could have tripped and smushed my face into it. I could have been viciously attacked by the dog in question. I could have been mocked by passersby. I could have been wrongfully accused by the dog-poop police and fined. My imagination is completely going nuts now. Don't worry; be poopy. Poop goes the weasel. Have poop, will travel.

Metaphorically speaking, I can't clean up poop all by myself. God needs to thoroughly clean all the nooks and crannies, and His disinfectant is more powerful than anything they sell in stores. He won't lecture me about all the stuff I should have done so as to avoid my mess. But I'll know next time that I'll need to lean on Him while I'm walking so that I won't make the same mistake twice.

He bought me new shoes, new clothes, a new heart, a new being, a new everything. It's all brand new, and I didn't have to do anything to earn it. (I couldn't, anyway.) And none of my new stuff stinks. None of it is defiled. It is new, fresh, and pure.

Have I mentioned lately that I'm a cat person?

Was, is, will be

The disclaimer for this post is that I'm not an ordained minister. (Although I would very much like to be someday.) I'm just a chick who has fun reading the Bible. (Sometimes too much fun.) See my "office?"

Over the years, I've learned that we musically inclined right-brained people have a tendency to take a step back and see the big picture, almost in a way that can be oversimplified. I mean, we have to. How else can we close our eyes, see something as vague as "emotion," and describe it for somebody else musically? I kinda think that's how God designed us. So, please indulge me, reader, while I provide/describe background music during this post.

[Queen's "Liar" playing]

I think I finally understand the Book of Job. Yes, it's a very complex masterpiece, and it's very profound truth (that is, which part of it is truth? the part where God speaks, or the part where Job's pipsqueak friends speak? or all of it?). So, there's really no way to oversimplify it -- even for us musically inclined right-brained people -- in a way that does it justice. But after reading it a couple of times and hearing lots of sermons/teachings about it, I think I finally "get" it. Perhaps it's because I have the perspective of a reader, as opposed to the perspective of a man who's covered in boils, gets lectured by his really bad friends, is severely misunderstood by his wife, and is dealing with the devastating loss of his family and his wealth as best he can.

In Job chapters 1 and 2, Satan shows up, and God asks him, "Hey, have you checked out My guy Job? He's awesome." And Satan is like, "Pffffft. If You take away all the good stuff You've given him, he'll be just as horrible to You as I am." So, God gives Satan permission to attack the heck out of Job.

[Queen's "Bohemian Rhapsody" playing; begin clip at 2:22]

Then in chapter 3, Job expresses his grief very deeply and very melodramatically, basically saying he wishes he'd never been born. Then in chapter 4, his friend chimes in with some spiritually abusive stuff: "Oh, well, you're just reaping calamity because you've sown sin."

And I'm reading it like, "No, the whole reason all this is happening to him is because Satan showed up, and God gave him permission to attack him."

Fast-forward to chapter 38, and God unleashes a lecture at Job that's 4 chapters long. And I really like how He matches Job's longwinded poetic tone, too. (I mean that respectfully.) God's like, "Oh, so you think you know everything, huh? OK, hotshot. Where were you when the earth was created? You wish you were never born, huh? Well, do you know when the deer are supposed to give birth? Have you seen the storehouses of snow and hail? Come on, hotshot, you supposedly know everything. Let's see who's the tough guy now!"

I'm sure Job was immensely, terrifyingly humbled in a way that no human being hopefully ever has to endure again. But I think it can be much easier to get a handle on the perspective centuries later than to see what's really happening when it's really happening.

[The Police's "Every Step You Take" playing]

"Then Moses said to God, 'Indeed, when I come to the children of Israel and say to them, "The God of your fathers has sent me to you," and they say to me, "What is His name?" what shall I say to them?' And God said to Moses, 'I AM WHO I AM.' And He said, 'Thus you shall say to the children of Israel, "I AM has sent me to you." ' " (Exodus 3:13-14)

"The four living creatures, each having six wings, were full of eyes around and within. And they do not rest day or night, saying: 'Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come!' " (Revelation 4:8)

Lately I've been reminded about how God is I AM. In other words, He was, He is, and He will be. In my past? He was there. In my present? He's there. In my future? He's already there. He is. He is I AM. He just is.

When life explodes in my face, it's helped me to remember that God saw what happened in the past, He knows what's happening now, and He knows what's going to happen in the future. I may not necessarily be a major screw-up. I may just be getting set up for the next move. Or maybe I'll just have something cool to put on my résumé later.

[The Police's "Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic" playing]

I can relate a little bit to Job (as everybody probably can). The stuff hits the fan and splatters on your face. Then people who are supposed to support you come along and tear you down. "See? I told you so. I knew something like this would happen to you."

And God is looking down from heaven, probably smacking His forehead with His hand, probably groaning in frustration, probably holding Himself back so that He won't zap some people off the face of the earth before their time. "Oh, so you think this is her fault, do you?" He whispers under His breath too quietly for anyone to hear. "Do you have any idea how many people she'll be qualified to help after I bring her through this mess? You have no idea what I'm working in her right now. Just watch. When she comes to her senses, she'll hit the Unfriend button quicker than you can say I told you so."

And then I start condemning myself, and God is like, "Hey, little girl, you have no idea how beautiful the picture is becoming. There is nothing wrong with the brushstrokes. There is nothing wrong with the color. It's coming together really well. Stop sneezing all over it."

[Billy Joel's "A Matter of Trust" playing]

During my 38 years on this earth, of course I've encountered my share of trials, just like anybody else has. And I think I've also had more than my share of really bad advice. (If you're reading this and wondering if it came from you, it probably didn't. I'm thinking about really terrible stuff I heard in the 1990s and early 2000s.) But I guess I shouldn't be too hard on the well-intentioned advice-givers. They were probably just trying to help, and they probably only had tangible information to go on. They didn't have the type of perspective that God, I AM WHO I AM, had and will always have.

Hmm. I'm thinking out loud now, but perhaps that's why He's the best Counselor in the entire universe. He knows exactly what needs to happen because He's already seen the entire continuum. He already knows the big picture. But I don't think it's oversimplified for Him. For Him, it's an extraordinarily complex picture that has an infinite amount of details, plans, fixes, redos, versions, variations, and facets that overlap one another in a beautiful way.

You see, God is the ultimate Artist. He's the One who constantly doodles, paints, and polishes behind the scenes. He's constantly making something that will reflect His beauty, glorify Himself, and bless me.

When life explodes in my face, am I the hotshot know-it-all who's able to figure it all out? Goodness, no. God is I AM, the One who was there, who is there, and who will be there.

And I'm glad He's on my side.

See my Bible-study buddy?

Unemployment, part 10

I think this post could also be titled "The waiting room." This post might also need to be rated PG-13.

You can notice a lot of cool things when God hits the brakes and slows life down for you. This evening during my field trip to the Dumpster and the mailbox, I noticed some caterpillars on the ground. I honestly don't like to be outdoors, but I always like to meet new critters. Aww. This particular one concerned me, though. It was hanging out between the cracks in the sidewalk. Sure, there are probably some dead leaves in there that it could eat. But that's no place to build a cocoon. Hey, little caterpillar, do you have any idea how many people will show up at your crack-home and walk their dogs, throw away their cigarette butts, and point their camera at you? That crack has some nice temporary shade, but I wouldn't make that my permanent address if I were you.

Speaking of brakes, while I was getting my car repaired last week, one of the TV sets at the dealership lobby was broadcasting soap operas. The TV was muted with the closed captions rolling, which brought back nice memories from one of my previous jobs, so I thought I'd check it out. Oh, my gosh. The soap opera I remember watching for my previous job seemed kinda cool at the time. But reading the dialogue at the dealership lobby helped me realize how majorly superficial these programs really are. Who writes this stuff? Some high-schooler? Typing with her feet? It's like fictionalized gossip. It's all about shiny he-said, she-said junk that doesn't matter. And it never ends. Because it's a soap opera. Stay-at-home moms are hooked while they fold laundry. Innocent bystanders are trapped at dealership lobbies while their cars are getting fixed.

Then God showed me that soap operas... well, they're nothing new to Him. Perhaps reading the following verses with a daytime-TV synthesizer playing softly in the background will help set the mood. And maybe imagining a close-up camera shot on the speaker towards the end of each scene would be a nice touch, too.

"Now Reuben went in the days of wheat harvest and found mandrakes in the field, and brought them to his mother Leah. Then Rachel said to Leah, 'Please give me some of your son's mandrakes.' But she said to her, 'Is it a small matter that you have taken away my husband? Would you take away my son's mandrakes also?' And Rachel said, 'Therefore he will lie with you tonight for your son's mandrakes.' " (Genesis 30:14-15)

"Then it happened one evening that David arose from his bed and walked on the roof of the king's house. And from the roof he saw a woman bathing, and the woman was very beautiful to behold. So David sent and inquired about the woman. And someone said, 'Is this not Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?' Then David sent messengers, and took her; and she came to him, and he lay with her, for she was cleansed from her impurity; and she returned to her house. And the woman conceived; so she sent and told David, and said, 'I am with child.' " (2 Samuel 11:2-5)

"So Ahab went into his house sullen and displeased because of the word which Naboth the Jezreelite had spoken to him; for he had said, 'I will not give you the inheritance of my fathers.' And he lay down on his bed, and turned away his face, and would eat no food. But Jezebel his wife came to him, and said to him, 'Why is your spirit so sullen that you eat no food?' He said to her, 'Because I spoke to Naboth the Jezreelite, and said to him, "Give me your vineyard for money; or else, if it pleases you, I will give you another vineyard for it." And he answered, "I will not give you my vineyard." ' Then Jezebel his wife said to him, 'You now exercise authority over Israel! Arise, eat food, and let your heart be cheerful; I will give you the vineyard of Naboth the Jezreelite.' " (1 Kings 21:4-7)

Yep, I'm pretty sure we human beings have been living soap operas, in a sense, ever since God first created us.

Speaking of waiting rooms, we human beings (if we're not careful) can get into a lot of trouble when we have to wait for something. In Exodus 32, after the Israelites were miraculously delivered from Egypt, they got tired of waiting for Moses to come down from the mountain, so they told Aaron to make them some gods. Um, I'm really not sure if Aaron just lacked a backbone or just didn't have the cool relationship with God that his brother Moses did, but he agreed and made... a golden calf. Really? And then he blamed the Israelites for the whole thing?

I probably shouldn't be too hard on Aaron. My heart has had a similar bent toward idolatry. "Yay, I love God! Now let me worship at the feet of my mentor!" I wonder if Father God looked down from heaven, poked Jesus in the ribs, and was like, "What?! After all We've done for her? She worships something that We made?" Maybe Jesus buried His head in His nail-pierced hands and groaned in frustration. And maybe the Holy Spirit just cried. Like, every time it happened. Because it was just like a soap opera. Oh, my gosh.

But crazy things like that can happen when you're forced to wait. Your heart gets squeezed, and you're unpleasantly surprised at the type of junk that gets squeezed out. I've been taught this, and now I think I've been experiencing it myself: The wilderness is a safe place for all that junk to get squeezed out and left behind forever.

"And you shall remember that the Lord your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not. So He humbled you, allowed you to hunger, and fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord." (Deuteronomy 8:2-3)

I've been unemployed for five months now. I wasn't expecting to be unemployed this long. But this crazy season is consistent with some things that God spoke to me at the beginning of the year, about this year. He said that this would be a tight year -- and it has been financially and emotionally. He said that this year would be fun and flexible -- and it has been, as I've relearned how to have fun and what I enjoy doing for fun, and heh heh, I've really had to be extremely flexible for sure.

I've learned some other cool things, too:

1) "Don't regret living your life." This is something that God has continually spoken to me during the past few months. If I'll think about my bills that are piling up, and I'll rewind in my brain to certain things that I spent money on and think that I probably shouldn't have -- like psychotherapy, TV dinners, and a couch -- God will show me that there's nothing wrong with spending money for stuff I need at the time that I need to buy it. I think that's basically the concept of manna: It's there when you need it. That's your provision at the time that you need to be provided for. If you don't use it when you're supposed to, it'll spoil.

2) A 40-ounce jar of peanut butter can go a long way. I won't go into details as to how I know that. But I will say that the Market Pantry brand, Extra Crunchy variety, available at Tar-jay, is my new favorite. French roasted!

3) I am not a loser. I don't care if really cool companies haven't hired me yet. (Yes, of course I care, but please hear my pep talk.) By the grace of God, I have two healthy cats who are still alive, a 38-year-old body that is still in good working order, a roof over my head, and a car in the parking lot. I'm good to go.

4) I'm OK with me. I don't care if people aren't knocking on my door and foaming at the mouth to hang out with me. (Yes, of course I care, but I'm in the middle of a pep talk here.) I have a brain in my head, books on my shelf, and DVDs in my living room to keep me entertained. Whether or not other people want me around, I want to stick around. I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying right here on planet earth until it's my time to croak or until Jesus comes back to whisk me away with Him forever.

5) My independence is God's gift to me. I'm OK with the possibility of never getting married. Whoa. Did you hear what I just typed? (That doesn't mean that I don't have swoon-worthy crushes. They keep coming, and they don't go away. Honestly, it's kind of annoying.) I'm not saying that I've taken a vow of celibacy. I'm saying that God has shown me that I'm not a helpless little damsel in distress. I can do stuff. With His help, I can do stuff. I'm 38 years old. No male has returned my feelings for him in 20 years. I don't have to wait around for Prince Charming to sweep me off my feet in order for me to start living my life. In fact, I don't have time to wait for Prince Charming to grow a backbone and carry me off into the sunset. There's too much life to live. I have veins flowing through my strong arms now. I'm alive now. If Prince Charming falls from the sky and into my lap, then we can discuss a new future together. But he'll have to catch me first. I'm an alive, capable human being NOW.

Sure, unemployment is a very scary season. You're going fine, and then suddenly bam, you're behind on your bills and praying that your creditors will give you favor. Your relatives offer to send you money, along with a lot of unsolicited advice, and you have to take it even though they talk to you like you're 12 years old and have never done this unemployment thing before. You have a good cry to God almost every morning, and sometimes potential employers call you right in the middle of you praying for a job. You check your email about a dozen times a day because you're hoping that somebody, anybody, will finally offer you something that you're qualified to do. And you rewind in your brain and realize that you've been doing this for five months now, and you realize that the One who promised to keep you alive during a famine, Psalm 33:19-style, has done just that.

Of course, when I say "you," I mean "me."

I met another caterpillar today. This particular one delighted me. Instead of making its home in a crack like the one I showed you earlier in this post, this caterpillar was exploring its world. I think she traveled at least 20 feet in the short time that I interacted with her this evening. Here she is on a big tree's root. She kept poking her head up in the air. I wonder if she was trying to say hello or if she was trying to sniff me. Or maybe she has caterpillar superpowers that I don't know about. (They don't have little Uzis built into their heads, do they?) But she sure was active, and she sure was fun to watch. I hope she finds a safe place to develop her cocoon.

The cool thing about caterpillars, of course, is that they won't be caterpillars forever. After they hang out in their cocoons and wait for a while, they become beautiful butterflies.

While I'm waiting here in my unemployment cocoon, so to speak, I hope I don't do anything stupid, especially anything that could easily be written into a soap opera script. Or if I do (or if I already have), I hope God will cover it in His grace. Psalm 27:5 promises that God can hide me here during this troubling time. I sure hope I can claim that. And I know I'll definitely look back on this season with fondness.

Speaking of caterpillars, I'm glad my cats didn't meet them. Those caterpillars would be goners for sure. Oh, my gosh.

Bleephole moms, good dads

This post will be somewhat similar to my previous post in that I'm going to process some things. Here's my main point: If somebody is consistently showing me that they're a bleephole (that they truly couldn't care less about me), I should probably pay attention and respond accordingly. I think if a bleephole isn't willing to change (or start caring about me), it's probably best if I just walk away. I understand that now.

"She is like the merchant ships, she brings her food from afar. She also rises while it is yet night, and provides food for her household, and a portion for her maidservants." (Proverbs 31:14-15)

"These six things the Lord hates, yes, seven are an abomination to Him: a proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood..." (Proverbs 6:16-17)

My birth mother was a bleephole who continually instructed me to lie and who was, I think, as pretty far from being a Proverbs 31 woman as you can get. I especially saw this after I moved back into her home when I was an adult. Since she was retired, she didn't have to be anywhere during the day, so she would stay up very late at night and not get up until very late the next morning. One morning, the phone rang. I answered, and the call was for my birth mother. If memory serves correctly, I told the caller that my mother wouldn't wake up until 10:30 or 11. When I informed my mother about this later, she was like, "Why did you tell her that??" Um, probably because it was the truth. If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.

Speaking of the kitchen, one morning I decided to cook myself an egg. I think maybe this was around 8 or 9:00ish. Unfortunately, I probably wasn't quiet enough, because my birth mother suddenly emerged groggily from her room, told me she would cook the egg for me, and completely took over the stovetop. I don't think I tried to cook anything else in her kitchen ever again.

I got the message that day about my mother's kitchen being off limits for me. Unfortunately, I haven't always gotten people's messages that quickly. And I've attracted more bleephole mother figures.

"Love suffers long and is kind; love does not envy; love does not parade itself, is not puffed up; does not behave rudely, does not seek its own, is not provoked, thinks no evil..." (1 Corinthians 13:4-5)

A few years ago, I was in a very short-lived mentor relationship with a friend who was old enough to be my mother, and she often reminded me that I wasn't anywhere near her age. Around that time, I was barely beginning an extended time of inner healing, so God was stirring up a lot of things inside me. Some of it was old, and some of it was very new. My bleephole mentor pointed out and brought out a lot of things inside me that needed healing, specifically a Jezebel spirit, codependence, and rejection. The fact that my friendship with her was a catalyst for a lot of this healing was definitely God being merciful. Unfortunately, the way that she interacted with me wasn't always a God thing.

In an attempt to distance herself from me, she set some boundaries with me, but I didn't understand them. I think some of this was her vagueness, and some of this was my hardheadedness. Unfortunately, she didn't deal with me graciously or kindly when I accidentally violated her boundaries. For example, when her birthday rolled around, I couldn't write on her Facebook wall because she had blocked me from it. I couldn't send her a private message because she had forbidden me from doing so. So, since I had her physical address, I decided to mail her a birthday card.

A few days later, I approached her at a social gathering. I had been in the process of filling out an application, and I was going to use her as a reference, so I needed her phone number. So, I asked her for it. Suddenly, in front of everybody, she exclaimed, "I DON'T WANT YOU TO HAVE MY PHONE NUMBER!" Then she pulled me aside and added, "I got your birthday card in the mail. Freaked me out!" Then she rebuked me by verbally barfing the issues she had with me in our friendship, clarifying that we had gotten too close too fast. I felt terrible about what I had done to her. And I was thoroughly embarrassed and mortified because I had wronged her.

It took me a while to realize that she had wronged me, too. It took me a very long time to heal from the way this bleephole mentor had hurt me. And it took me even longer to realize that she probably didn't love me in the first place. Um, excuse me, rude lady, for mailing you a birthday card. If I had known that you would publicly humiliate me for it, I probably wouldn't have.

Walking away from a relationship with a bleephole is probably one of the most healing things I've ever done. It's taken me years to realize that not everybody is a bleephole. Not everybody hates my guts. Not everybody treats me like I belong in a trash can.

Sometimes it's the non-bleepholes -- the ones who truly care about you and treat you like a valuable human being -- who are so stubborn about loving you that they will never walk away from you.

"Or what man is there among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent? If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give good things to those who ask Him!" (Matthew 7:9-11)

Many years ago, a friend of mine told me about a movie that he was excited about: Life is Beautiful. He explained that it was an Italian movie with English subtitles about a crazy guy who made up this game with his kid when they were stuck in a concentration camp during World War II. My friend told me that this movie reminded him of the way that God interacts with us.

I think it may have been around 1998 when my friend saw Life is Beautiful in the theater. By the time it was dubbed into English and put on video, it was around 1999 or 2000, and I saw it and fell in love with it. (Now I have it on DVD, and it's one of my favorites, whether in dubbed English or straight Italian.) The first half of the movie is hilariously funny, almost a farce. The second half of the movie is extremely sad, definitely a tear-jerker. I usually break down during the last scene.

My friend was right. The way the crazy-funny guy in the movie interacts with his child is very similar to the way God interacts with me, His child.

In the beginning of the movie, the man always had a quirky way of looking at things, and he was particularly obsessed about meeting a particular lady and manipulating his circumstances so that he could spend time with her. After he married the lady and they had a son together, the little boy had questions about the Nazi occupation of Italy; he asked why one shop had a sign posted that said, "No Jews or dogs allowed." The father replied that some people just don't like certain types of people. He was like, "I don't like Visigoths. Is there anything that you don't like?" And the little boy was like, "Spiders." So, the dad was like, "OK, then we'll put up a sign in our shop that says, 'No Visigoths or spiders allowed.' " That was an example of the way that the man interacted with his little boy. He painted the world a certain color so that his son wouldn't freak out.

The man's way of handling things was consistent throughout the movie, regardless of his circumstances. God is consistent, too.

God is my Anchor who I depend on to make sure I don't fall off the boat during this really crazy tempest called life. Several years ago when my bleephole mentor publicly called me on some really serious sins, God comforted me afterwards by saying, "It's still just you and Me." Now that I'm in the middle of an unemployment desert where I'm hoping the sun won't bake me to a crisp, He still tells me, "It's still just you and Me." If I obsess over my checkbook and crunch numbers in my head to try and figure out where I went horribly wrong and where I could have not spent money years ago, God is immediately like, "You'd still have to trust Me." Whether I'm totally broke or whether I'm rolling in money, it's still just me and God. Whether I'm in a room full of close friends or whether I'm stuck inside my lonely apartment for the fourth day in a row, it's still just me and God. Whether I'm leading worship in a room full of dozens of people or whether I'm singing to Him by myself while I'm driving in my car, it's still just me and God.

He's my Friend, and He's consistently proven Himself to be there for me anytime I need Him, and He's consistently proven that He loves me and cares about me, and He's consistently shown grace, kindness, and gentleness to me, and even if He hadn't proven or shown anything to me, it still wouldn't change who He is. He's just like that. He isn't anything like a bleephole. He doesn't even operate in the same Kingdom as the die-hard bleepholes do.

Of course, that's not to say that bleepholes can't repent, and that's not to say that I shouldn't forgive them. (I myself used to be a bleephole supreme, and I still can be if I'm not careful.) I've discovered that the forgiveness process for a consistent, unrepentant bleephole can be a pretty long one, but it's definitely worth it.

(I think if I learn more about what God is like through movies than through actual people, that's pretty bad.)

God is definitely the best Parent in existence, and He can definitely make up for and heal any way that any other parent has wronged me. It's definitely one of His specialties. I think I understand that now more than ever.

Bleepholes

The title of this post is censored, of course, and I will use the censored version of this word throughout this post. (The actual word rhymes with massholes.) I'm going to use this post to solidify something in writing that I've been processing in my head for a while. It might get pretty emo, but I hope to be as civil as possible (hence my self-censoring). I may also repeat some things that I've mentioned in previous posts, but I'll try to repackage it here and keep it interesting. If this is the type of thing that you'd rather not read, I understand, and I look forward to seeing you next time. Otherwise, thanks in advance for reading.

I've noticed that almost every time a pastor explains during a sermon how to get saved, I go through a mini faith crisis. This past weekend, my pastor shared part of his testimony (e.g., his story of how he became a Christian), and I'm glad he did. It's an awesome story. In his case, he prayed a salvation prayer when he was a little boy, but he really didn't get saved until he was an adult. I think one reason why he's very deliberate about sharing his testimony in church is just in case there are many other people like him who think they're saved, they prayed a prayer when they were kids and now they go to church a lot, but they're really not saved. His sermons are wonderful opportunities for people to get right with God, even though they thought they already were.

I usually double-check, triple-check, quadruple-check, infinity-check with God. I ask Jesus to be my Lord, to take control, to save me, etc., and He snickers because I already have. I hound Him until He assures me yet again that I really did get saved when I did. Then I'm at peace again. I think during each mini faith crisis, He strips away more and more junk from inside and helps me see things a bit more clearly. Each time, He tells me to not doubt my salvation anymore. Each time, it gets easier. I hope to not go through this again, but if I do, I know He won't slap me away.

I heard one pastor give a great analogy to this. Doubting your salvation can be like looking down at your wedding ring and asking your spouse, who you've been married to for years, "Honey, did we get married?" In that instance, one thing that would probably chase the doubt away would be all the witnesses who showed up at your ceremony and cheered you on.

I think that's a huge part of my problem. I didn't have witnesses during my ceremony. I had bleepholes who didn't show up when they were supposed to.

I grew up in a hyper-religious Pharisaical pastor's household. We attended a Baptist church every week, so I heard the plan of salvation numerous times. It finally clicked for me one evening when an evangelist explained a matter of life or death. I don't remember his exact words (they may have been in Spanish), but he said that anyone who isn't saved, anyone who doesn't give his or her life to Jesus, will go to hell.

I was 8 years old when I marched up to the altar one evening in response to this evangelist's message. I knelt at the altar and closed my eyes. Then my birth father (who was the pastor) approached me. He asked, "Where is Jesus now?" Perhaps it was because of my religious background, or perhaps it was because I was taught that lying was OK, or perhaps it was the fact that I was a snot-nosed little 8-year-old bleephole. I'm not sure exactly which reason drove me to reply this, but I replied falsely, "In my heart."

I didn't pray anything. I didn't believe anything. I didn't submit anything. I didn't yield anything. Nothing happened except that I knelt, I pointed to my heart, and I knew exactly how I was supposed to respond. I was still lost.

But I was presented to the church as somebody who had gotten saved.

I think it may have been at this point that I kept hearing this really annoying nudge telling me that everyone needed to get saved except me. (I'm pretty sure this was a demonic nudge.)

The next morning, my birth mother explained that now I needed to get baptized and that I could partake in the Lord's Supper. Um... excuse me? Baptized? I didn't know how to swim, and I was deathly afraid of water.

So, during the next two years, my birth parents mounted a fierce baptism campaign. Every time there was an altar call at church, I would avoid it. During one service in August, the pastor (my birth father) told all the children who would be starting school again to come to the altar for prayer. Of course, my baptismphobia kept me glued to my seat until the pastor called me by name on the microphone and told me to come to the altar.

When I was 10 years old, my birth parents pressured me to finally make a decision to get baptized. So, I they escorted me to the altar. Soon after that, a children's counselor from my church made an appointment to meet with me at my house on a Thursday night.

That Thursday night, I knew she would be coming, and I knew I wasn't saved. Meanwhile, my birth mother was at work, and my birth father was looking after us. I think perhaps my younger sibling was occupied somewhere at home.

So, if memory serves correctly, I curled up in my favorite chair in front of the TV where a rerun of One Day at a Time was being broadcast. Being the multitasker that I am, while I was watching TV and waiting for the church counselor to arrive, I prayed the salvation prayer that I knew I was supposed to pray. (The demonic nudge finally stopped.)

The counselor arrived around 7 p.m. that night and asked me when I got saved. I was like, "Just a few minutes ago," to the surprise of my birth father, who thought I got saved two years previously. Then he baptized me the following Saturday.

I think a couple of huge things in my life indicated that I really did get saved in that chair when I was 10 years old. 1) When I was in the 4th grade, I used to cheat on tests and cover my tracks. But when I was in the 5th grade, after I got saved, I stopped cheating, and I aimed to be as honest as possible. 2) I'm pretty sure the devil began to target me for attack even when I was a little girl, even with depression that early. When I was in the 5th grade, I remember sitting around one day and saying aloud, "I'm not good for anything except feeling sorry for myself." I'm sure God heard me yammering that nonsense, because the next day, my class spontaneously had a spelling bee, and I won with the word s-u-c-c-e-s-s.

Then after I went off to college at age 18, I got baptized in the Holy Spirit and I started learning how to worship with music and how to hear God's voice, and the changes in my life were so dramatic that it was as if I had gotten saved all over again. (I told my birth parents that I had "rededicated my life" because it's kindasorta what had happened and also because I didn't want them to freak out.)

Then after I disowned/disinherited myself from my birth parents 3 years ago, my obedience opened the floodgates to even more dramatic changes in my life which made it seem as if I had gotten saved all over yet again. (Keith Green had similar mega-dramatic life moments. Is this just a hyper-sensitive artsy-fartsy thing?)

So, after this weekend's sermon when I was working through the inevitable "Am I really saved?" storm, which happened to be tonight, Jesus nailed down for me yet again that He met me for the first time when I was 10 years old, while I was curled up in that chair on a Thursday night. On August 14, 1986, I decided that I needed to be honest, and Jesus was like, "It's about time."

I still own that chair. I shared a photo of it a few paragraphs up. It's an incredibly old, surprisingly still-in-one-piece chair where my cats nap in my living room, so there isn't anything special about that chair. Except that it's the place that I happened to be sitting where I finally told Jesus OK.

"And you will seek Me and find Me, when you search for Me with all your heart." (Jeremiah 29:13)

"Then, six days before the Passover, Jesus came to Bethany, where Lazarus was who had been dead, whom He had raised from the dead. There they made Him a supper; and Martha served, but Lazarus was one of those who sat at the table with Him. Then Mary took a pound of very costly oil of spikenard, anointed the feet of Jesus, and wiped His feet with her hair. And the house was filled with the fragrance of the oil. But one of His disciples, Judas Iscariot, Simon's son, who would betray Him, said, 'Why was this fragrant oil not sold for three hundred denarii and given to the poor?' This he said, not that he cared for the poor, but because he was a thief, and had the money box; and he used to take what was put in it." (John 12:1-6)

Sigh. It's hard to find Jesus when you're surrounded by bleepholes who are blocking your efforts and who don't understand what you're trying to do.

As my birth parents, who also happened to be the pastors, these people had an extremely important responsibility to shepherd me into Jesus' arms for the first time. At the very least, they could have double-checked, triple-checked, quadruple-checked, infinity-checked with me to make sure I knew what I was doing -- so that I wouldn't have to do it myself decades later. They spent their lives sharing the gospel with people, but they completely missed many chances to share the gospel (and I don't just mean read a tract) with their child and make sure she understood the importance of its message. Instead, they were bleepholes, and I got saved in spite of them.

I was a neglected, uncherished little girl who got saved in the same way that she lived most of her life: alone, unassisted, taken for granted. So, the Lion of Judah snuck in that way and snatched me away into His arms forever. Yeah, He knew what He was doing. He always does.

I guess I can't be too hard on my birth parents. I'm honestly not convinced that my birth mother is saved. And my birth father is in such tremendous bondage to religion that it's a miracle he's still breathing. So, they truly didn't know what they were doing, and I forgive them.

Lately while I've been looking for a job, I've applied at a couple of churches/ministries. (Their application processes are very vigorous, I might add.) When they get to the "How did you get saved?" portion of the application, I briefly explain that I got saved when I was 10 years old while I was watching a TV sitcom. If anyone asks me how I know I'm saved, I reply something to the effect of, "Because I know Him. He's my Friend."

Yeah, that's right. Lonely Little Bleephole Rescued By Lion. Film at 11.