In this post, I'm going to do what I usually do: take a couple of
mundane things and turn them into analogies that describe my inner healing
process. This time, I decided to make my main point the title of this post. I
might get a tiny bit personal, too.
Later today, I plan to take Choochie to the vet for her annual shots
and checkup. When I called to make the appointment, I was advised to bring in a sample of her poop for the exam. No problem. After we arrive at the vet's office, I
plan to hold up Choochie's poop in a couple of Ziploc bags and say something
to the effect of, "I collected this last night, and then I stored it in my
fridge. There's plenty more where that came from, so please let me know if you
need anything else." Sorry, I know that's gross. Just being real with you.
So, last night when I dug my pet carrier out of my closet, Choochie was
immediately drawn to it. (Macho hid behind my bed.)
If you've known me for a long time, or if you've read my blog for a
while, perhaps you're familiar with a story that's reached legendary status in
my mind: About 14 years ago, when Choochie got fixed, she had to spend at least
a week cooped up in my pet carrier while she healed. Since she had to depend on
me for everything during that process, she and I bonded considerably. I
particularly remember placing my pet carrier (with her in it) on a table and
pulling the table next to my bed at night so that Choochie could sleep next to
me, and I remember hearing her purring in the darkness.
Now when I go to bed at night, she still finds me in the darkness and brushes
her claw on my lip. I'm honestly not sure what she's after, but I think she wants to just snuggle somewhere near me. I lift up my covers so that she can snuggle with me,
but she doesn't really do anything. She just takes a couple of steps inside and
then stands there. If I cover her with my covers, she wriggles out of there.
Then she repeats the process a couple more times. (While I'm trying to fall
asleep.) Why does she do that? Does she just want to sniff me and remind
herself of what I smell like? Does she just want to be around me?
Eventually, she usually just steps onto my arm, snuggles onto my
shoulder, and purr-perches for a few minutes.
On days that I sleep in, Macho usually does the same thing in the
morning, except he sometimes accepts my invitation to snuggle with me under the
covers. He's very good at making himself at home and reclining on my arm in GQ-cat
fashion with a very deep, rumbling purr.
My cats are very quirky (they're cats), but they're my family. They're
welcome to make themselves at home in my life (within reason, hopefully within
the proper boundaries, as in definitely NOT inside my kitchen cabinets) however
they like. I hope they're familiar enough with me to be as comfortable and feel
as safe as they need to be. I hope they like the atmosphere that I set for them
here in my home. I hope it's healthy for them.
"Be merciful to me, O God, be merciful to me! For my soul trusts
in You; and in the shadow of Your wings I will make my refuge, until these
calamities have passed by." (Psalm 57:1)
Last spring/summer, I first noticed a bird's nest outside my window.
It's hard to see it in this photo, so I hope you don't mind me circling it
there in red for you. The bird's nest was hard to see in real life, too. But I could
see it. I knew exactly where it was, and I kept a close eye on it. It's finally
gone now.
I never saw any birds use it. I did see a robin hanging around my
neighborhood for a very short while (I thought I heard squirrel noises, but
apparently it was a bird), and then he/she suddenly vanished. Then I noticed
this empty, unused nest. I'm assuming it belonged to the robin.
That was a tough little nest. It withstood scorching summer heat,
sheets of pouring rain, and even the sleet that we got a week or two ago. I
noticed that after we got that ice storm, the nest was tipped over, weighed
down with a little pile of sleet inside it. But it was still there.
I guess it finally succumbed to most recent round of harsh winter
weather, because now it's finally gone.
Ice and snow are fascinatingly dangerous. (Perhaps I feel this way
because I'm a native Texan.) Ice is just slippery and treacherous. Snow
especially looks harmless. Children play in it and construct lifesize toys
(snowmen) out of it... and then they ball it up in their little hands and make
missiles (snowballs) out of it. It's beautiful when it falls to the ground. But
when it sticks, I sure hate to drive in it. If all I see is a sea of white...
um... where did the lanes in the road go? Where does the road end and the curb
begin? What if the vehicle next to me freaks out and skids into me? So much
potential for chaos. I only have one car, and I'd like to keep it in one piece,
thank you very much.
But ice and snow can only last so long. In order to remain intact, they
require that the atmosphere's temperature be set at 32F or below. When it gets
above that temperature, it begins to melt, especially if the sun shines
directly on it.
But even when the temperature is above freezing, there are still little
hidden places where ice and snow can remain intact. I found that out when I was
speeding to work on Thursday afternoon, after the snow began to melt in the
sun, and I drove across some unmelted ice that was hidden under a bridge on the
highway. I wobbled a tiny bit, but I was thankful to drive on through it. After
I arrived at work, I had to practically ice-skate out of my car onto a drier
part of the parking lot on the way to the building. On the way home, I decided
to stop for gas, where the pumps' roof kept chunks and sheets of ice safe and
slick right around my car.
Yes, if you keep the temperature above 32F, the ice and snow will
eventually melt. If you make the temperature even hotter (say, around 100F), it
will melt even faster.
But if you guard ice and snow in an environment where the temperature
will never go above 32F, it might never melt.
"If I had cherished sin in my heart, the Lord would not have
listened; but God has surely listened and has heard my prayer." (Psalm
66:18-19, NIV)
One time when I heard Mike Bickle teach/preach, he said that a quiet
time is "like putting an ice cube in front of a bonfire." In other
words, during a "quiet time," when I come into God's presence
(because He's a consuming fire), my heart (the ice cube) will melt pretty darn
quickly. Interesting observation indeed.
If I am kind, gracious, and loving on a regular basis, sure, I'm
walking in the fruits of the Spirit. But I'm also hanging out with Somebody who
is kind, gracious, and loving and who is melting my heart with His kindness,
grace, and love and who is influencing my thoughts, my actions, my very
heartbeat with the kind, gracious, and loving atmosphere that He creates in His
presence, just by being Himself. His being Himself is a very powerful catalyst
for me being myself -- my true, redeemed self who He intended me to be all
along.
I think God being Himself and setting the atmosphere of my life in a
way that has been conducive to my healing has made all the difference. If I
remain in His atmosphere, I will continue to heal and grow. However, if I turn
down the thermostat back to below 32F, the ice and snow that lurks in the
dark corners of my life may never really melt.
Lately, my healing process has mainly been focused on my hodgepodge of
lust issues. Sometimes I'll catch myself thinking or believing something and
going like Whoa! Why the heck is this here? And why is it the default setting
of my insides? Have I cherished this to the point of believing that this is OK to
keep here inside me?
My previous healing process was mainly focused on my depression/suicide
issues. Those are completely gone now. I'm really glad I worked through those
(besides the fact that it's nice to be alive, versus being bogged down with
crap), and I'm glad that God has helped me recognize how I heal from really
deep issues like those. For me, it's a gradual melting away. It's an ongoing hunt for
slick, dangerous places where I could still trip and fall. It's a waiting
process where I constantly look out the window and examine the atmosphere: Is
it spring yet? I hear birds chirping, but is it warm enough for me to not wonder
if I'm about to step on a sheet of ice?
Being afraid isn't OK, but being cautious is definitely OK. If God
prepares a nest for me to hang out in and build a new life in, I know He's
going to be faithful to watch over it and guard it from the elements. But if I
insist on keeping the atmosphere's temperature below 32F, I can say bye-bye to
my new nest. It isn't really designed to withstand a constant barrage of ice
storms.
God is the most amazing Father in the universe. I know it isn't really
fair to compare Him to my earthly ex-parents, but the atmosphere He sets for me
is so much better than the one they set for me. For instance...
When I'm getting over allergies or a cold, and I'm still coughing...
Them: Why are you coughing? /
[turns up the volume on the TV so that he can hear the newscast]
God: I don't mind hearing
you cough. That means you're still alive.
When I'm minding my own business...
Them: Why don't your eyelids
close all the way when you blink? / You're making me look bad.
God: Chip off the old Block.
When I do something wrong...
Them: ¡Fea! [that's Spanish
for Ugly!]
God: [smiling] It's OK. I've
got you.
See what I mean? Whose atmosphere would you rather exist in? Whose
atmosphere would inspire you to be your best in? Whose atmosphere would give
you hope?
This past New Year's Eve, I sat in my church's parking lot and waited
for the service to start. As usual, I was being extremely introspective. I
thought about previous New Year's Eves. I thought about my loneliness, and I
realized that it wasn't choking me that evening. I thought about my past
depression, and I realized that I didn't have it anymore. I thought about the
year to come, and eventually God showed me that it was like a blank canvas.
That feeling that I had felt foreign to me... but in a good way. If I remember
my words correctly, I told God, "For the first time in a long time, I feel
like I have hope."
Heck yes. Bring it on.
I wonder if sometimes, God does something like this: He walks right up
to the devil, holds up my soul-poop in a couple of Ziploc bags, and says,
"See what I just collected out of her? You can keep squeezing all the crap
you want out of her, but I'm just going to keep making something beautiful out
of it. There's plenty more where this came from, so be My guest." And
maybe He'll add, in a deep, rumbling growl, "You know she hates your guts,
don't you? And you know that I'm just going to have My revenge on you later,
don't you?"
Yeah, I'm pretty sure he knows.
And even though my Father is a Consuming Fire, I want to feel
comfortable enough with Him to walk right up to Him and snuggle with Him. I
want to hug Him. I don't care if my arms burn off in the process. And I don't
care if I die trying.
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