SEXUAL SIN!!!!!

Due to its subject matter, this post is rated R.

I think maybe this post is kindasorta in a way like a sequel to this post, but not really. I mainly just wanted to get your attention with the title. I know. I'm like that. Perhaps this post could also be titled "Things aren't always what they appear to be." One main reason why I blog is to process things -- get them out of my head and onto a computer screen where I can get a better handle on them. I'm not really hoping to initiate an online discussion with this particular post; I simply would like to share some of my processing with you. Thank you in advance for kindly taking the time to read this.

"That which has been is what will be, that which is done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 1:9)

"Brethren, if a man is overtaken in any trespass, you who are spiritual restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness, considering yourself lest you also be tempted." (Galatians 6:1)

I don't usually keep up with the news unless coerced (which is ironic, because my current job is in journalism), but when I do see glimpses of headlines here and there, I remember them. One trend in the headlines nowadays is Bill Cosby's rape allegations. This is alarming on many levels, of course. I mean, it's Bill Cosby, America's favorite, funniest dad. The very idea of all the rape stuff being true about him is just eww. And the very possibility of any of it truly happening to those women is horrific.

And yet, another major truth is that you can't believe everything you read. I know. I work in journalism. I tweak words here and there all the time. Did you know that Columbus didn't really discover America in 1492? Did you know that America was actually discovered in 1244 by a Mayan warlord named Ichexthaxetl?

See what I did there? I completely made up that last part. You just now Googled it, didn't you? At least, I hope you did. Then you could have verified for yourself that I was just typing whatever the heck I wanted to type. I know. I'm creative.

I grew up in a household where lying was so acceptable that it was instructed. The unspoken rule was that you had to look good at all times, so you had to constantly cover your tracks. The spoken rule was that you had to make everyone else in the household look good at all times, so you weren't allowed to ruffle any outsider's feathers. One bad thing is that I have had to unravel a lot of deception out of my life throughout the years. One good thing is that I learned how to be quite diplomatic. Just ask Ichexthaxetl. He can tell you how great a year 1244 really was. (I'm kidding about that last part.)

And another good thing that came out of it was that I grew up to become a woman who is on a constant quest for truth. I mean, I currently work in journalism. I know. I'm powerful.

During my quest, I have discovered -- from what I have been told and from what I have experienced -- that things aren't always what they appear to be.

So, regarding Bill Cosby -- whose DVDs I own and whose comedy I will always enjoy, regardless -- there is the definite possibility that the media is simply slinging his name through the mud and that every word written against him is completely false. For everybody's sake, I hope that last part is the complete truth.

And regarding sexual sin, I have discovered firsthand that things are definitely not always what they appear to be. In fact, tracks are often covered up for the sake of looking good.

That definitely doesn't mean that we can't be diplomatic, cautious, or sensitive when we talk about sexual sin or sexual issues in general. In this post, I'd like to talk a little bit about my journey, and I'm honestly going to keep it as vague as I possibly can. I'm struggling with and working through some stuff, so it might be premature and unwise to talk openly about it at this point. And, more importantly, I don't want to be graphic and cause anybody to stumble (especially myself). "Oh, Tirzah, I would really like to discuss your struggle in more detail... at my house... with nobody else around... while I drug you and have my way with you." D'oh! I've been reading too many news headlines!

As I was saying, another thing I've learned during my quest/journey is just how freakin' EASY it can be to fall into sexual sin. I'm being 100% honest when I say that. I used to think it was so easy to resist. How wrong I was!

And how mistreated I was.

Revisiting my much-blogged topic of spiritual abuse, I 100% honestly would like to beat the crap out of my past mentor who totally shamed me when I confessed a sexual sin to her. (In retrospect, I understand now that I wasn't even sinning.) She immediately gave me the third degree and demanded to know what I had been doing leading up to it. We were at the altar at church. I cried in her lap.

Now that I am OUT of a spiritually abusive environment and surrounded by people who have a better handle on grace, I am learning that what happened at that spiritually abusive church altar on my mentor's lap was NOT supposed to be normal. (Hence my wanting to beat the crap out of her now. I know. I need to work on my forgiveness skills.)

So, all that to say... I can't believe everything I read about Bill Cosby.

I know firsthand what it feels like to cover up one's tracks. I know firsthand what it's like to be a victim. I know firsthand what it feels like to be preyed upon by a married man. I know firsthand what it's like for his wife to smile at you at church because she has no idea what's going on. I know firsthand what it's like for everybody to trust her husband except me. I know firsthand what it's like to reach out to somebody for help and to have that somebody do the equivalent of nothing. I know firsthand that sexual sin seems to blossom and grow the fastest when there is total isolation and no accountability.

And I also know what it's like to be wrongfully accused. The usual perpetrator is somebody named the devil. He's pretty much the universal expert on evil, and he hates my guts. (That last part was 100% true.)

To my knowledge, the only Person who ever walked this earth and lived a 100% sinless life was Jesus. That alone, coupled with the fact that He graciously hasn't zapped me off the face of the earth, is enough to make me want to cling to Him for life. I need to learn from Him. I need to abide in Him. I need to find out what makes Him tick. I want to know how He stayed so pure, all the while being tempted just like the rest of us are. He found the way out of it. And now He IS the way out of it.

So, that's the stuff that's zooming through my head this rainy autumn evening with no eyes except God's and my cats' to watch me writing this.

Ichexthaxetl says Hi. (I'm kidding about that last part.)

See my fist?

Through the years, I've heard several worship pastors talk about how we shouldn't come to God in anger with a clenched fist but in surrender with an open palm. And, of course, that's true. But can I be honest with you?

If I'm angry at God (and I have been in the past), I'm not going to shake my clenched fist at Him. I'm going to wave my middle finger at Him, and I'm probably going to cuss like a truckdriver at Him. I'm pretty sure I've done that to Him on multiple occasions. (I say "pretty sure" because grieving is such a vague process, and my memories of grieving are probably a bit cloudy.) So, if I worship God by raising a clenched fist at Him, it probably isn't because I'm angry at Him.

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

"Be angry, and do not sin. Meditate within your heart on your bed, and be still. Selah. Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and put your trust in the Lord." (Psalm 4:4-5)

"Deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls; all Your waves and billows have gone over me." (Psalm 42:7)

I'm a deep well. Sometimes that's a good thing, and sometimes that can be a major problem. I think I'm like a former classmate at missionary school. I remember the head of the school told us about my classmate, "I've usually just seen him sitting at the back of the room like he's about to fall asleep, and then he just came alive when he started to lead worship." So, my classmate ended up leading worship a lot that year.

That's what a lot of us are like. Outwardly, we may not look like we're enjoying ourselves. We may appear enormously standoffish. We are probably very socially awkward. But if you zoom into our brain activity, you might be overwhelmed... probably in a good way or probably in a disgustingly bad way. Those of us who are deep wells store a lot -- A LOT -- on the inside. And sometimes it all comes tumbling out during the most inappropriate times.

So, speaking for myself, I'm currently (re)learning how to walk in self-control. And I'm (re)learning how to submit to authority. I'm fighting a lot of private battles. (Trust me, they need to remain private.) And I'm extremely thankful to be able to unleash everything I've been storing in my deep well at Somebody who never seems to be jarred, disgusted, or surprised at the things I puke at Him.

I'm learning that when Psalm 4 says to meditate on your bed, sure, sometimes that means a literal bed. There have been many nights when a battle has been raging inside my head, I've been pouring out my heart to God in all sorts of ways, and then the next morning, everything is calm, and what seemed extremely important the night before suddenly seems trite and silly. (See Psalm 30:5.)

But I'm also learning that the "bed" mentioned in Psalm 4 also means "intimacy." If there's something raging inside my heart, I don't have to let it control me. I can work it out -- morning, afternoon, evening, on my bed, in my car, in my bathroom, in my kitchen, in my office -- with God, who wants to be my Father, my Friend, my Counselor, my Healer, my Straightener, my Surgeon, my Safe Place. One recent evening, I participated in a special event, but the morning and afternoon before, I was working through offenses that were blazing through my head. Then during the actual event, I was fine. I got home afterwards and marveled to God at how well that went. He was like, "Would you have rather worked through it during the day, or would you have rather it all come out tonight?" The former, please. Thank You.

Almost 14 years ago when I started to get free from depression, God taught me that I needed to keep the flow going by pouring out my heart to Him. (See Psalm 62:8.) Now He's teaching me that He wants my passion. He wants all of it.

So, when I'm in a corporate worship setting at church and there are other people singing around me, I'm trying to find the balance between not distracting everybody with my loudness and just letting God have it, because He wants it, and He keeps pulling it out of me. Sometimes when I'm leading worship, He tells me something to the effect of, "If you don't put your all into it, it doesn't count." What do you say when the God of the universe tells you something like that? Yes, Lord. You want me to pretend I'm all alone in my living room with nobody to hold me back? You got it.

So, that's why I worship God sometimes with a clenched fist. I hope I'm not being disrespectful when I do so. I'm not expressing anger. I'm expressing triumph. I'm worshiping Him with all my strength, which, as a human being, I tend to express with my fists. And my clenched fist usually softens into an open palm. And sometimes it turns into a pointing index finger. It really just depends on what I'm singing, because I really do like for my body to express the words I'm singing. I think usually if I'm singing to "You," I'll point at God. If I'm singing about blessing my Friend who continually rescues me, I'll raise my open palm at God in surrender and in blessing. If I'm talking about conquering sin, death, and the grave, I'll raise my clenched fist, because that's my way of saying, "I won, enemy, and you lost."

But that's just me. I also like to worship with crazy eyes... especially if I'm singing a certain Chris Tomlin song about a certain God of Angel Armies. Or maybe I really am just crazy...

Whatever I am, I think God just wants me. However I tend to express myself, I think God just wants it. He hasn't zapped me off the face of the earth for being honest with Him (believe me, He's had zillions of chances to do so). Actually, I think it hurts Him when I hold myself back from Him. I think perhaps Adam and Eve could vouch for this, too.

But that's a glimpse at where I am right now in my journey. And I look forward to continuing to cling to God during the rest of my journey. I hope I'm not being disrespectful when I say this, but maybe He's a little bit crazy, too? Hmm. I guess I'll find out. Maniacal laughter!

Anniversary

I got a small wound on my finger a little while back. In this photo, you can see it -- mostly healed up -- next to my tiny mole-freckle. It hurt when I first got it, and it took a couple of days for the swelling to go down completely. But I nursed it and kept washing it out as best I could, and now I forget that it's there. I think my finger will be completely back to normal in no time.

Wounds are funny like that. When you first get them, they hurt like crazy, and all sorts of weird things go through your head like, "Oh, my gosh, I'm going to get an infection and lose my finger!" It's irrational, but it's a real fear. (I'm a writer and a musician. I need my digits.) Enter a magical substance called hydrogen peroxide. This miracle liquid permeates the wound, ironically causing it to hurt even more for a little while, and then as it flows out of the wound, it brings all the impurities out along with it. After several of these treatments, the wound shrivels up and dies as the surrounding healthy tissue regenerates and takes over. (Actually, that might not be the accurate scientific explanation for what really happens, but I'm gonna stick with it anyway.) Yeah, that's right. Life wins... again.

"He sent from above, He took me; He drew me out of many waters. He delivered me from my strong enemy, from those who hated me, for they were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my calamity, but the Lord was my support. He also brought me out into a broad place; He delivered me because He delighted in me." (Psalm 18:16-19)

14 years ago today, I attempted suicide. I've written plenty about it before (especially on this previous post), and it is kind of a strange anniversary to celebrate, but I think 14 is kind of a big deal. I've been told that 7 is the biblical number for perfection and that 14 is double perfection. And in the Bible, didn't Jacob work for his father-in-law for 14 years so that he could marry Rachel? I think that's pretty darn romantic. "Baby, I love you so much that I'm going to do back-breaking labor for you, for as many years as it takes to grow a teenager."

So, in 14 years, I've learned a lot. Pardon my French, but I've learned a hell of a lot. Or rather, perhaps I've learned a lot from hell?

"The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly." (Jesus talking in John 10:10)

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world." (1 Peter 5:8-9)

"Blessed be the Lord my Rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle -- my lovingkindness and my fortress, my high tower and my deliverer, my shield and the One in whom I take refuge, who subdues my people under me." (Psalm 144:1-2)

I heard a pastor teach once that the Bible says the devil comes to steal, kill, and destroy -- not to annoy or bother. She's right! The devil is serious about stealing, killing, and destroying, and he doesn't play by any rules. He doesn't care if God is about to break through or if God is about to "use" you for something big or that he's so scared about God's plan for your life. You can try to analyze the devil's activities if you like, but my experience has been that the devil doesn't care about any of that. I don't even think he waits for us to accidentally open any doors for him. I think maybe he tries to pry doors open unless they're cemented shut or unless we allow God to use explosives and blow up the door to smithereens. I think maybe sometimes the devil tries to build a trap door and attack from below. I think maybe sometimes he disguises himself as a damsel in distress, like the villains sometimes do in the movies. I think he's an expert at any type of evil you can think of, any type of evil that hasn't been invented yet, any type of anything that will steal, kill, and/or destroy anything that moves. He just plays dirty, period. I think he just attacks us because he hates us, and he's the devil, period.

Take my life, for example. I was a victim of adultery while I was inside a church building. I attempted suicide while I was in missionary school. And I was bombarded with suicidal thoughts for the first time in years as soon as I came home from Kairos (in 2010). Seriously, what the heck kind of slimeball attacks a chick with atheistic, suicidal thoughts while she's minding her own business, worshiping God on her guitar, right after she's returned home from a Freedom ministry event? The devil, that's what kind of slimeball.

I hate demons. I hate the devil. I hate his guts so bad, and I hope people get saved just from reading this.

Spiritual warfare used to creep me out, but it doesn't so much anymore because I've had lots of practice slapping my armor on (or whatever type of weapons I could find on extremely short notice) and charging into battle... or at least swinging my fists at the demonic forces that were belching in my face. As a result, I'm a very sloppy fighter. I pray very sloppily. But it's sink or swim, ya know?

And yet, I probably shouldn't give the devil all the credit for the misery I endured. I had plenty of issues, made plenty of bad decisions, and experienced plenty of pain that kept me plenty weighed down, depressed, and struggling to surface for air. Sometimes when you're drowning, you don't really have time to analyze why you're drowning. You just need help. I repeat: Sink or swim.

But I digress. Over the years, my healing process has had SO many ups and downs. I think perhaps my issues took root very gradually and very deeply, so my healing process also had to be very gradual and very deep. In my particular case, God strongly urged me to not rush anything. He is definitely the most patient Person in the entire universe. I had many close calls along the way, as you have perhaps read about. But God has been faithful... no. Well, yes. But "faithful" isn't a big enough word to describe God, in my opinion. Faithful? More like Stubbornly, Lovingly Insistent On Never, Ever Letting Go Of His little girl Who Often Has Trouble Knowing Which Way Is Up And who Is Usually Way Too Weak To Walk On Her Own; He Props her Up, Holds her Together, Covers and Protects her, Clears The Air For her, And Refuses To Stop Pursuing her, Because He Knows That she Is 100% Helpless Without Him. There. If you can smush all that together into one brand-new adjective, I think that might be able to describe Him a teeny-tiny bit.

So, during this long, gradual process of healing the wounds that drove me to suicide 14 years ago, God has been nursing those wounds in a similar way that I was nursing my finger. Enter a Powerful Being called the Holy Spirit. I think He can sometimes operate like hydrogen peroxide. He flows through the wounds and stirs them up, ironically causing them to hurt even more for a little while, and then as He flows out of the wounds, He brings all the impurities out along with Him. There were several occasions where, after I would internally writhe in agony, God would smile, pat me on the shoulder, and be like, "Feel better?" Oh, my gosh. He doesn't use anesthesia when He operates.

But it works! His ways are the best ways!

Over time, the wounds shrivel up and die as the surrounding healthy spiritual tissue regenerates and takes over. (Metaphorically speaking in my artsy-fartsy way.) Yeah, that's right. Life wins... again. And again. And again. And again. Times fourteen.

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

In my opinion, it's way too trite and, frankly, immature to say that when bad things happen, it's God's will, or when trauma occurs, it's because God has a purpose for it. "God wanted you to be molested so that you could have a wonderful ministry to victims of sex trafficking later on." Um, really? Um, no.

In my opinion, it's more like my life is a junkyard. God is walking through it and looking for stuff that He can "use." Maybe He'll find something disgusting, raunchy, and unrecognizably defiled, pick it up, smile, weep, and say, "This is terrible. This is horrendous. I don't like to look at this. And yet, I can't take my eyes off it. I want to take this thing home with Me and recycle it. I want to make something beautiful out of it. Maybe someday, My little Tirzah will be able to see My handiwork in the finished product."

God didn't hurt me. But I think He has used many of my hurts to help me understand how His heart beats and how to help other people. I can accept other people because I know what it's like to be rejected. I can be kind to other people because I know what it's like to be abused. I can avoid "the appearance of evil" like the plague because I know what it's like to participate in evil secretly while people in the other part of the building were trusting you. I can treat people like human beings because I know what it's like to be treated like an object. I can walk deeply with a person because I know what it's like to be ignored and blown off. I can love and protect people because I know what it's like to be hated and attacked. I can honor other people because I know what it's like to be shamed. I can relate to a person who is mentally tormented and confused because I know what it's like to endure a living hell inside my head... and I know what it's like to survive it.

And I know I didn't do it alone. God was with me every step of the way, just like He's with me now, just like He will be throughout eternity. He's the One who reshapes how I think, how I feel, how I exist.

Yes, it is kind of a strange anniversary to celebrate, but I think 14 is kind of a big deal.

"I sniff your eyeball"

On mornings when I sleep in, I often see something kinda like this: Macho's orange face sniffing my eyeball. (This photo doesn't quite do it justice. It's more of a giant white chin with gigantic whiskers about to devour my eyeball.) Macho is about 15 years old. He's officially been my cat for almost 13 years now. Why does he keep sniffing my eyeball? Doesn't it smell exactly the same every time he sniffs it?

And what kind of thoughts go through his head? "I sniff your eyeball; now you will feed me breakfast." "Oh, my gosh, you're still alive!" "Wait. Do I know you?" "Um, in case you were wondering, you promised me last night that you were going to feed me tuna today... lots and lots and lots of tuna."

Nice try, Macho.

"You crown the year with Your goodness, and Your paths drip with abundance. They drop on the pastures of the wilderness, and the little hills rejoice on every side." (Psalm 65:11-12)

A major motif this year in my relationship with God has been intimacy. I've been learning and re-learning about intimacy in general and just how exciting and scary it can be simultaneously. God knows everything about me -- even before I ever existed -- and yet He still wants me to pour out my heart to Him. He still wants us to communicate with each other as closely as possible, because He and I are friends. We're family. He's always there for me. I need Him, or I'll die. He feeds me. He quenches my thirst. He satisfies my inner aches, and then He revs up my curiosity for more.

I watched and videotaped an interview a few years ago on a Christian TV special. A pastor or just a host guy interviewed a worship leader and asked her about her relationship with God. "Do you have a routine?" he asked. Wait. Did he want to know about her relationship with God, or did he want to know about her quiet time? Those are two different things. I think that would be sort of like saying, "Hey, I'd like to know if you're a good driver. What kind of car do you drive?" Um...

God isn't just an ethereal Being that you interact with during your quiet time routine, and then that's it. However, He is a Mystery who's worth pursuing, digging into and, quite frankly, obsessing over.

So, this God who feeds me from Himself, this Author of the most alive Book in the entire universe, has dropped little mysteries for me to find all over His word. It's sort of like a treasure hunt.

While I was unemployed, I was zipping through Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, and Job, but when I got to the Psalms, I skidded to a molasses-slow halt. I got to Psalm 18, and I've been stuck there ever since. Did you know that Psalm 18 is almost identical to 2 Samuel 22? Why did David change certain phrases and add certain things to his psalm between the time he gushed it out in 2 Samuel and the time it was published in the songbook of the Israelites? Or was it the other way around? And did you know that Psalm 68 is based on Judges chapter 5? (according to one commentary?)

"She stretched her hand to the tent peg, her right hand to the workmen's hammer; she pounded Sisera, she pierced his head, she split and struck through his temple. At her feet he sank, he fell, he lay still; at her feet he sank, he fell; where he sank, there he fell dead." (Judges 5:26-27)

Hmm. I wonder if Deborah was headbanging with an electric guitar while she was leading that song.

And have you ever seen Psalm 65? Whoever heard of a path dripping with abundance? And whoever heard of a drippy-abundant path dropping on a pasture in the wilderness??

Apparently God did. I think it was His idea. And I think He does it all the time. But He's definitely revved up my curiosity to find out more.

Earlier this week, I voted. In case you can't tell from the Facebook pages that I "Like," I'm a Republican. But I don't like to vote straight ticket. I like to reserve the right to vote for a Democrat (or a member of any other party, for that matter) in case the Republican in a particular race is being a total dork, or in case a race is uncontested because a Republican couldn't get off his/her butt to actually run against a Democrat (or a member of any other party, for that matter). But that is just my personal preference/quirk.

Perhaps it's because I'm lazy or uninterested, or perhaps it's because I'm burned out from years of having politics crammed down my throat -- whatever the reason, I just haven't been keeping myself informed with political issues during the past several years hardly at all. During this particular election, I discovered that I was almost completely uninformed. So, voting was pretty fun. I showed up at the booth, and to my surprise, another Bush was on the ballot. I got to vote for another Bush! Sweet!

Perhaps I'm a terrible example of how to vote, but I hope all the candidates I voted for appreciate the fact that I actually got off my butt and voted for them. I may not have spent hours of preparing or studying for the election, but I did something extremely important: I showed up.

In my struggle with friendships and relationships in general, I've learned that actually getting off your butt and showing up is extremely important. Forget the five love languages. Forget the personality tests. Forget everything you thought you knew about friendships and relationships in general. If you don't make some sort of effort to actually show up -- and if you don't keep showing up -- you and I certainly won't become intimate friends, and we may not even have any kind of relationship at all in the end.

Don't you appreciate it when God "shows up"? I think He appreciates it when you show up, too. And, of course, when I say "you," I mean "me."

Speaking of cats who sniff your eyeball, years ago I was kitten-sitting for a friend. I was alone in my friend's living room when the baby cat randomly walked up to me and started licking my eyelid. I'm not exactly sure why she did this, but I think it was one of the most innocent expressions of affection that an animal has ever given me. (And I think it was also heartbreaking when my friend told me I could have her kitten and then changed her mind.) I don't think I needed to have my eyelid exfoliated that day, but I was definitely blessed to have a kitten get close enough to me to say Hi in a very special way that day. (Maybe it was also her way of thanking me for feeding her?)

I think maybe in the same way that Macho sometimes sniffs my eyeball in pursuit of breakfast, I need to sniff God's metaphorical eyeball in pursuit of His feeding my metaphorical belly, quenching my metaphorical thirst, and satisfying my inner aches. I mean, it's not like I've never sniffed His metaphorical eyeball before. Maybe it smells exactly the same as it did the last time I sniffed it.

Or does it?

If He really is full of grace and truth, what does His eyeball smell like after He's been grieving over humanity? What makes Him tick? Why does He love? Why did He choose me? Why hasn't He ever zapped me off the face of the earth? Why wait until I die and get to heaven to ask Him my deepest, most itching questions?

I don't think He wants me to wait. I think He wants me to be comfortable enough around Him to walk right up to Him and say something like, "I sniff Your eyeball; please feed me, because I am starving." He'll probably reply something like, "I thought you'd never ask." I'd probably reply, "Wait; if You're God, what do You mean You thought I'd never ask, even though You already knew that I would ask?" He'd probably reply, "You got a problem with Me talking to you like a Friend?" I'd probably say, "Please don't burn me to a crisp." He'd probably say, "Never." I'd probably sigh, "Daddy, please hang out with me today." He'd probably whisper, "Of course, little girl."

Why did David re-publish 2 Samuel 22 as Psalm 18? Why did he base Psalm 68 off Judges 5 (according to one commentary)? And how the heck can a God who's so gentle with His children be so gory in battle?

This inquiring mind wants to know. This little girl wants to know her Daddy as intimately as He will let her. Maybe tomorrow morning... or maybe even later tonight... He'll let me show up, walk right up to Him, and sniff His eyeball all over again.