Don't mess with the kings

This post is rated R because I don't feel like politely censoring myself. I think doing so in this particular post would kinda suck the meaning out of it. So, I apologize in advance for accidentally offending you, and I thank you in advance for reading. Mrowr.

About a dozen or so years ago, I was in love (yes, truly in love) with a man (back when I used to like effeminate men). I was very close friends with him, and he broke my heart so hard that I wrote songs about him, and then he had the audacity to still want to be friends with me, after he ran my heart through the shredder, and I ended up blocking him on Facebook twice, and look at me still wanting to rip into him years later.

Ahem. Allow me to start over. About a dozen or so years ago, I was in love with a girly man who didn't love me back. But he and I were part of a close social circle, and all of us would always spend a lot of time together. I believe one of our friends introduced us to the Gipsy Kings, a flamenco pop group. While I was hanging out with my social circle, girly-man mentioned that the Gipsy Kings were into witchcraft. After that trivia tidbit got stuck in my head, I imagined these cool-sounding pop performers to be a little too dangerous and definitely off limits for me, so I kept my distance from their music.

However, very recently, I did some digging around and discovered that the Gipsy Kings' cultural heritage is, in fact, gypsy. From what I understand, they are from France, but their family were gypsies who emigrated there from Spain. (According to Wikipedia, most Spanish gypsies are Roman Catholic, so I honestly don't know where girly-man got his nonsensical information.) They started making their music professionally in the 1970s, and they are still active today. I think their tunes are intoxicating. I believe they are largely responsible for mainstreaming flamenco music in the rest of the world. Two families of musicians are in the group, and one of the families' last names is Reyes. "Reyes" is Spanish for "Kings," and since their heritage truly is gypsy, they aren't being arrogant at all when they call themselves Gipsy Kings. They are simply being who they are.

Sometimes when you are genuinely being you, people will shamelessly copy you. (Especially if you're brilliant.)

This is a photo of 4 CDs currently in my music collection that contain either Gipsy Kings cover songs or Gipsy Kings wannabe sound-alike songs (along with Choochie my cat photo-bombing). I believe Julio Iglesias recorded a version of "Bamboleo" about a year after the Gipsy Kings recorded theirs. (Really? No imagination whatsoever?) Christine-Christine-the-cover-queen Sarah Brightman recorded her ballad version of "Tú quieres volver" about 9 years after the Gipsy Kings recorded theirs. (I don't care if her vibrato and her voice are as weird as my class-voice teacher said they are; I think her music is fun.) Del Castillo's music sounds way too much like the Gipsy Kings (except for the blues/jazz/heavy metal influence). And since the Del Castillo band members are from Texas, Missouri, and Mexico (NOT from France or Spain), I don't think it's genuine flamenco. At their shows where I would see them perform live, Del Castillo would talk about God. But after they started printing some weird yoga/ohm symbol (or whatever it was) on their website and merchandise, I stopped buying their stuff. I don't know exactly what happened to them, but their new tunes seemed a little too dangerous and definitely off limits for me. Add that to their copycat sound, and I've lost a lot of respect for them. But all that is just my opinion.

Ahem. Now I'm going to talk about my King -- THE King.

"So I wept much, because no one was found worthy to open and read the scroll, or to look at it. But one of the elders said to me, 'Do not weep. Behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has prevailed to open the scroll and to loose its seven seals.' " (Revelation 5:4-5)

"And He has on His robe and on His thigh a name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS." (Revelation 19:16)

"The king's wrath is like the roaring of a lion, but his favor is like dew on the grass." (Proverbs 19:12)

"The lazy man says, 'There is a lion outside! I shall be slain in the streets!' " (Proverbs 22:13)

Recently in the news, there was a story about a possible lion roaming the streets of Milwaukee. Yeah, right. I've never been to Milwaukee, but I'm guessing that no lion in his or her right mind would ever just wander the streets of civilization. Sure enough, the mysterious street-roaming lion turned out to be a dog. I'm guessing the recent Milwaukee story wasn't the first such urban mystery/legend of its kind in history. (Maybe King Solomon was like, "Oh, there's a lion, huh? So, your list of reasons to not get your tardy butt to work in the morning just gets longer and longer, doesn't it, you sluggard? Go to the ant!")

But you gotta admit that if a mountain lion really were just roaming around freely, it would truly be a dangerous situation. Lions can cause some serious damage.

I mean, just look at Choochie the mini-puma. (This is a snapshot of her playing with me one morning while I was getting ready for work.) You don't ever want to be the object of her growling. (Her fights with neighborhood cats through patio doors are what inspired me to name this blog Windowbrawl.)

Of course, God is definitely more powerful than my tiny little housecat. But I don't think it's an accident that He refers to Himself as a Lion. The lion is the king of the jungle for a reason: The lion is the most powerful. The lion is the strongest. The lion is the best. You don't want to mess with a lion. He could kill you.

You don't want to mess with the Lion of Judah, either. He's loving, but He's also dangerous. Reminds you of Aslan, right? C.S. Lewis was a genius. I had a coworker who chimed in while we were discussing the Narnia movies once: "Aslan is Jesus," she said, her voice dripping with bored sarcasm.

I don't think she knew Him very well (if at all). Otherwise, she might have been more in awe, or at least more respectful. Seriously, you don't want to mess with THE King.

"Kiss the Son, lest He be angry, and you perish in the way, when His wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him." (Psalm 2:12)

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." (1 Peter 5:8)

Speaking of copycat kings, I'm not sure why the devil bothers to stalk about like a roaring lion, because he's really more of a slithering snake.

The real King of Kings has been misunderstood by the entire human race. People spew out nonsensical information about Him all the time. You can't figure everything out about Him, anyway. He's real, and He's accessible, yes. But He's also a mystery.

For instance, I still don't understand how or why the King of the universe would want to actually adopt me as His own, take me into His family, and re-raise me like I'm His little lioness cub. He's busy running the universe. He shouldn't have time for me. But He does. And He's always there. And He's never, ever let me down.

As He refashions me into His likeness, He teaches me His ways and helps me learn how to control all these crazy emotions that churn up inside me from time to time. One time when I was trying to confess something to Him that I guess maybe I thought He didn't know about, I was like, "Lord, sometimes I hold grudges." And He was like, "If it makes you feel any better, I just kill people."

Indeed. I think perhaps that one guy who used to harass/abuse me at church right before he suddenly, mysteriously died of a heart attack can probably vouch for that.

Lately, I've been working through some major anger that boils up in my head/heart from time to time. It's weird -- like these violent drama fantasies just start playing in my head, like I'm watching a cheap, rented C-movie in my head, and when I ask God what the heck is up, He doesn't seem worried at all. He just lets the stuff play out in my head, and then it's over. (It's like a boot camp for self-control.) Then I have to brace myself for when a fresh anger wave hits again. It's crazy, foolish stuff that, if I were to act on it, could get me fired or ruin friendships.

But I think I'm learning how to stop it. I think the anger in my head has been directed at the wrong people. In fact, it shouldn't be directed at people at all.

"For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places." (Ephesians 6:12)

"So the Lord God said to the serpent: 'Because you have done this, you are cursed more than all cattle, and more than every beast of the field; on your belly you shall go, and you shall eat dust all the days of your life. And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her Seed; He shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise His heel.' " (Genesis 3:14-15)

Yeah, that's right. I have a score to settle with my enemy, and my Lion-Father is giving me lifelong battle training for it. So, in this leg of my journey, anytime that misplaced rage bubbles up inside me, I need to redirect it towards the devil, the one who rebelled in heaven and then ruined life here on earth for me and the entire human race. Because of him and because of a couple of really foolish decisions that Adam and Eve made all those years ago, I and the entire human race now have to fight for basic things like power, love, a sound mind, peace, acceptance, joy, and even a simple, lifegiving connection to my Father -- things which, according to His original design for life here on earth, should have been normal all along.

(Reader, please do not be alarmed while I address the devil in these next two paragraphs.) Listen to me, you fucking asshole fallen-angel bastard. I know you can read English, and I know you're probably reading this now. Whether you take the time to read it yourself or whether you have one of your fallen-angel bastard peons read it for you, because you're too good to actually do all the dirty work yourself, I know you can hear me. I hate your fucking lousy pathetic fallen-angel guts. I look forward to the day when you rot in hell... no. You're actually not going to rot. You're going to burn. Yeah, that's right. My Father prepared an extra-hot, extra-tortuous place just for you. He's going to make sure that you suffer every fucking bit as you made us suffer, you pathetic loser. After I get to heaven someday, I hope He gives me a nice little Christmas present: a free torture-you coupon just for me. I hope He lets me take a field trip to your special little place in hell so that I can have my way with you. Yeah, that's right. You know what I'm gonna do to you, you sick little fallen-angel bastard. I'm going to rip off your fallen-angel testicles with my bare hands, and then I'm going to chop them into little pieces and shove them down your throat. And then I'm going to gouge your fallen-angel bastard eyes out with my own two hands, and I'm going to squash them in my own two palms like little grapes, and I'm going to shove what's left of them into your ears. And then I'm going to rip your heart out with my own two hands, and I'm going to run it through a shredder, and then I'm going to floss your fucking fangs with your own heartless-heart-shreds.

Wait. No. Forget I said that, you fallen-angel bastard. I'm not going to do any of that. You see, the One you REALLY need to worry about is my Father. You see, you have hurt one of His little ones. The thing is, I am required by my Father to forgive. You know that, you fucking little hypocrite. But He isn't required to forgive everyone... especially not you, you skanky little snake. I would like to see Him torture you in ways that no one has ever fucking heard of, you pathetic little fallen-angel bastard loser. He'll make sure you get yours.

Whew. Glad I belong to the right King.

Recalibration

I'm not sure how to introduce this particular post, so I'm going to just jump right in.

God has been teaching me things now that He wanted me to learn back in 1999. In 1999, I was 23 years old, I lived alone, I was getting more hours at work, and I was extremely, unhealthily involved at church. 1999 was an intense year for me. I wrestled heftily with depression, and I eventually lost. (2000 was the year of my suicide attempt.) During my wrestlings, one of the chicks to whom I was accountable told me, "All of us need recalibration from time to time."

The other day, in 2015, God reminded me of that conversation that I had with my accountability chick in 1999. He showed me that I didn't just need a recalibration back then. I was dealing with some dangerous depression, and I needed help. I was around a lot of clueless church people back then. I'm glad God stepped in and protected me Himself.

In case you're not familiar with the term "recalibration," it's basically a readjustment of how something is measured. If you pick up a footlong ruler, you'll see 12 inches on one side and about 30 centimeters on the other. One side is calibrated in inches, and the other is calibrated in centimeters. If you changed your mind and wanted to measure something in meters or picas or pixels or miles instead, you'd probably have to recalibrate. (Or maybe use a different ruler altogether.)

"Dishonest scales are an abomination to the Lord, but a just weight is His delight." (Proverbs 11:1)

"Diverse weights and diverse measures, they are both alike, an abomination to the Lord." (Proverbs 20:10)

OK, so I couldn't find a Bible verse that talks about recalibration. (I think these two verses talk about double standards and cheating.) But I think it's safe to say that the way in which something is measured is very important to God. He has told me that this season for me, now in 2015, is a season of recalibration.

August 1999 was an insanely crazy month when I did not have a single day off from work. The closest thing I had to a day off was one Sunday when I worked approximately one hour to pick up and deliver something for my job. That was a terribly exhausting month.

The summer of 2015 has been very exhausting for me. In addition to the summer heat zapping my energy away, my job will only give me six vacation days this year (not counting paid holidays), so I've needed to be very careful how I use them. The other morning when I woke up, I honestly couldn't remember what day it was. I lay in bed for several minutes until I finally figured out that it was Wednesday. Gosh.

In 1999, I attended a church that constantly (and I mean CONSTANTLY) kept us busy with activities that we were expected to attend. To top it off, they frowned upon entertainment. I even remember (probably in 1997 or 1998) one skit that was performed during a church service. In the skit, a girl was like, "Oh, it's Friday night! I think I'll just kick back, relax, and watch a movie." The moral of the story was... don't do that. Spend time with Jesus instead.

So, the idea that secular entertainment was practically evil... that was implanted in my brain, and God has been un-implanting it. Yes, of course it's important that I be careful about how I entertain myself. I have to be picky. I don't want to accidentally open up any bad spiritual doors. (Trust me, I have enough problems as it is.) But Joyce Meyer is right: Christians need healthy entertainment.

In 1999, I was heavily involved in a part of the church run by prophetic intercessors who were staunchly no-nonsense. We would spend many of our weekends on retreats, we would always talk about mission work, and we would spend hours praying together. And we were expected to attend a leaders' meeting pretty much every Sunday morning around 8 a.m. There's definitely nothing wrong with participating in all those activities. I just don't think that the leadership really knew how to have fun.

My church (now in 2015) prints a monthly publication. One recent issue had an article that my pastor wrote about how important it is, metaphorically speaking, to continually fill our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual tanks. (Anyone remember Baylor's Welcome Week wheel?) One way in which my pastor recharges is watching funny movies. For me, just knowing that tidbit about my pastor is healing. In the article, he said that spending time with family, friends, etc., are ways in which we can metaphorically refill our tanks. (But in the article, he said we should do what works for us.) I kinda already knew that, but since I'm not always able to do those things, I have to be creative about discovering ways to unplug, relax, and recharge.

God has definitely been helping, and He's been pretty specific. The other day, He told me, "You need to play video games." OK, no problem.

So, I recently dusted off my old netbook (which isn't really good for anything anymore except music and games) and rediscovered Pinball. There's my little computer pictured with my own personal cheerleading section. Aww, yeah.

It's kind of a weird feeling to have old, stupid ideas ripped out of your head and replaced with new, healthy ideas. I asked God yesterday if it was OK to just check out of life for a while during the video games and hit the pause button on life. God replied, "What do you think sleep is?" Indeed.

Another way I like to unplug (especially on the weekends) is listening to music with crazy chord progressions. I found a used Sarah Brightman CD at Movie Trading Company the other day, and my cats are probably sick of me singing some of it. (They are probably also embarrassed by my interpretive dancing.) Perhaps next weekend, I'll dive into some opera. (Do you dare me?)

I'm learning a lot about myself, and certain aspects of my personality are cementing pretty firmly.

I believe it was last summer (while I was unemployed) that I had a blank canvas on which to paint my "quiet time" with God. I would spend about 20 minutes worshiping on my guitar, maybe about 10 minutes reading my Bible, and about 5 minutes praying. God told me that He just wanted to show me my personality/gifting during that season: "You're not an intercessor. You're a worshiper." Ain't nothin' wrong with that.

In 1999, I enjoyed a personal songwriting Renaissance in which my guitar and I were very prolific. In 2015, I have discovered that it is easier for me to sing my prayers than to speak them. If you want me to pray fervently and effectively, put a guitar in my hands and let me go to town for at least 20 minutes.

In 1999, when I lived alone, I was constantly around the same people all the time, and one particular mentor relationship that I had was very codependent. This mentor was actually involved in several codependent relationships with other women whom she was mentoring. I saw the aftereffects of a couple of these relationships, and they weren't pretty at all.

In 2015, when I live alone with two cats, God has shown me that He's been teaching me how to be alone. He's said, "It's hard to deal with loneliness when you have people in your face all the time." Indeed.

"To do righteousness and justice is more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice." (Proverbs 21:3)

I think in 1999, my life was still being measured by a Pharisee's ruler: Don't do this; do that. Pray and be spiritual; don't be a human being or have fun. Redeem the time, for the days are evil; so come to our retreat this weekend, or we will assume that you are participating in sinful activities without us.

Blecch. I would much rather God measure my life with His own ruler: Love Me, love people, and don't forget to love yourself. I am not just another category in your tiny little life; I am a God who wants to seep His way into every single aspect of your tiny little life and breathe new life into it. You are in My family now, so let's enjoy this life that I've carved out for you.

I used to be a much nicer person. I used to be extremely, weirdly gracious and nauseatingly forgiving toward people... or was I? After all, I did become gravely depressed, and one major cause of depression is unforgiveness. So, now in 2015, God has been helping me pour out my heart to Him (Psalm-62 style) and resolve stuff on the inside before it officially festers into depression. He's been re-teaching me how to forgive, how to be gracious, and how to love people, and He's shown me that I originally learned how to do these things the wrong way. I am not a doormat. It's OK for me to have boundaries. It's OK for me to do things like entertain myself, pick my friends, and have fun.

As Sarah Brightman would say, it's time to say goodbye.

2, 3, 4...

The other day while I was driving home and listening to music (Billy Joel, I think), I noticed myself counting off out loud, "2, 3, 4..." almost every time a new section of a song would begin. It was obsessive and hilarious. (I even think I noticed myself doing the same thing after I switched to Queen.) Even after that very fun drive home, I've noticed myself doing the same thing from time to time when I listen to music, if it's a song that I'm already familiar with. This anticipatory counting off is instinctive for me because I'm a singer/musician.

Perhaps this quirky behavior shouldn't surprise me. Metaphorically speaking, God does the same thing all the time. And I am made in His image.

"Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I declare; before they spring forth I tell you of them." (Isaiah 42:9)

"Behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." (Isaiah 43:19)

While I was driving home on Friday evening, I was spewing out my complaints about my job and my life in general to God (which He likes me to do, and I really would die if I couldn't do it). I don't remember His exact words, but I remember that I was crying, and He gently comforted me: "Different things are needed in different seasons. Back then, you just needed a job, and you got one. Now you need your dignity back."

While I was trudging to my apartment, I debated whether or not I should attend a church service that evening. I asked God that if I were to go to the service, that He please just speak to me.

So, the pastor that evening preached a little bit about the Bible story about the daughters of Zelophehad. From what I understand, these were the first women in the Bible to inherit property, which they were able to do because their father died without producing any male heirs. The pastor said that these women were very bold and that their story was a significant one because women in biblical times weren't always treated very well. But the daughters of Zelophehad were women of dignity.

I believe that part of the message began in Numbers 27:3. Do you know what one of the preceding verses says?

"Then came the daughters of Zelophehad the son of Hepher, the son of Gilead, the son of Machir, the son of Manasseh, from the families of Manasseh the son of Joseph; and these were the names of his daughters: Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah." (Numbers 27:1)

I rarely have the privilege of sitting through a church message where any biblical story about Tirzah is mentioned. So, this past Friday evening, God definitely confirmed what He had already spoken to me. He blessed me. He encouraged me. He overwhelmed me by showing me how important I am to Him, just like He always does.

Just like how everybody is important to Him, and He'll show everybody if they'll just let Him.

 

For the past couple of weeks, I've been giving Macho some medicine orally every 12 hours on a full stomach. I live with both my cats in a small apartment, so there's no use hiding anything from them. Anytime I have to administer some sort of veterinary treatment on them, I like to tell them about it first... even if I have to warn them about my sneakiness. "Is it OK if I trick you into taking some medicine?" "Wow."

So, it didn't take long for Macho to figure out when it was time for me to give him his medication. I would usually say, "Would you like some breakfast and some medicine?" or "Dinner and some medicine?" or "Snacky and some medicine?" etc. Sometimes he would hide under the bed as soon as he was done eating (which would require some fancy cat-herding moves on my part), or he would try to skip a meal altogether (like this morning), and other times he would eat his meal solemnly and then crouch in anticipation of the inevitable (so that I could carry him into the kitchen, force his mouth open, and squirt the stuff down his throat).

But whenever I say, "medicine," Macho has an idea of what to expect. It is very important to me that my cats trust me to deliver whenever and whatever I say I'm going to deliver.

"To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven." (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

"But, beloved, do not forget this one thing, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day." (2 Peter 3:8)

So, when we musicians count off during a song, it often indicates that something is about to change -- that something new is going to happen. For instance...

2, 3, 4...

Begin verse two.

2, 3, 4...

Bridge.

2, 3, 4...

Key change.

As the metaphorical song of my life plays, I think sometimes God metaphorically counts off every time a new section or season of the song begins. I kinda wish it would go something like this...

2, 3, 4...

Begin new job.

2, 3, 4...

Boyfriend.

2, 3, 4...

Calling fulfilled.

And sometimes things happen that quickly and almost that predictably (especially when you're a kid and don't have anything to worry about except school during the week, cartoons on Saturday, and church on Sunday). But sometimes things don't happen that neatly (far from it -- waaaaay far from it).

In a nutshell, music is half logical math ("theory") and half vague art (the kind of stuff that makes this artsy chick's heart soar). Perhaps both aspects of music also come into play as the metaphorical song of my life plays. I wonder if perhaps God's metaphorical count-offs happen more like this...

2, 3, 4...

Um... sure, you can have a new job... eventually. Like, when you get to heaven, you can work for Me.

2, 3, 4...

[crickets chirping, clock ticking]

2, 3, 4...

Hey, child, have I ever told you the story about the little girl who let her Daddy carry her through the valley of the shadow of death? Oh, I have told you that story? Let Me tell it to you again. It's one of my favorites. Once upon a time...

So, I think I might be on the verge of something new happening in my life, because I think I've heard God metaphorically counting off. And yet... it's very possible that He's counting off (or thinking very seriously about counting off) something that might happen in the distant future... maybe... if everything goes just right... unless He changes His mind and just wants to share an ice-cream cone with me instead.

He can be like that. I think I just need to keep listening and stay ready.

Stalking

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." (Psalm 23:6)

A while back, my pastor mentioned this verse in a sermon. He said that the original word for "follow" actually means "chase" -- that God's goodness and mercy chases after us, and they will finally find us and grab us if we will just stop running from them. I haven't been able to find the original Hebrew, but it sure got my imagination going. What if God's goodness and mercy are actually stalking us?

Sure enough, I did find this in Nelson's Compact Bible Commentary: "The Hebrew verb follow describes an animal in pursuit. When the Lord is our Shepherd, instead of being stalked by wild beasts we are pursued by the loving care of the Lord."

Reader, welcome to my world.

Growing up as a female in a Mexican culture (even in English-speaking Texas) meant being constantly pursued -- stalked, you could say -- by males. Now, as a chronically single woman, I'm certainly no expert at relationships, but I can tell when a guy likes a girl. All I have to do is remember what it was like to be pursued. (My immensely heartbreaking disappointment of not being pursued by eligible bachelors in a non-Mexican culture is another story.)

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was minding my own business one day while walking near the cafeteria around lunchtime. I was relatively new to my school, and I was still growing out of my awkward early-teenage phase. But out of the corner of my ear, I heard a guy say, "I want to [bleep] her."

Almost immediately afterwards, I was approached by an extremely unattractive guy. He had very bucked teeth and ears that stuck way out of his longish hair. I thought he looked like a mouse. (I'm not making this up.) He announced that his friend wanted to meet me. Really? Someone really wanted to [bleep] the nerdy new girl who wore discount-store clothes, her hair in a ponytail, and big glasses? This was uncharted territory for me.

So, mouse-boy introduced me to his friend -- a stocky, nervous-looking guy who was fairly cute but otherwise creepy. (I mean, you'd probably think so, too, if he announced that he wanted to [bleep] you.) I don't remember if it was at this particular meeting or if it was another time that he delivered a note that he had written to me. In this note, he said that he had his own truck and that he went to church because he thought it was "good for the body." I'm not sure what he meant about that part, but when I announced my newfound boy-adventures to my family, my birth father suggested, "Maybe he means the body of Christ." Eh, I don't know. I think he was just trying to impress me.

Frankly, if he had kept his inappropriate [bleep]ing comments to himself and, especially, if he had pursued me himself instead of recruiting mouse-boy to do it for him -- THEN I might have been impressed.

I turned him down as nicely as I could, but apparently it wasn't nice enough for him. A couple of years later, he saw me in the hallway while he was cruising with his friends and called to me, "Hi, Pierce-ah!" His entourage laughed. Ah, ha, ha.

Fast-forward to the summer after my freshman year in college when I had my first job. I worked at an insurance agency and met at least a dozen new customers every day. One time, one of the customers called me at the office and asked me out to lunch to thank me for helping him buy a policy. This created a bit of a stir in the office, of course. My boss laughed and said that this particular customer was married with five kids and that he was crazy. Well, if you consider adulterous to be "crazy," OK.

I got out of going to lunch with him, but he did return to the office and half-hug me while squishing his bushy sideburns on my cheek. Ick, I'm shuddering just typing this.

I know these are kinda silly examples of being pursued or stalked. (My cats weren't available this evening for photographs.) But as I mentioned earlier, that's how I can tell that a guy likes a girl -- he'll chase after her.

No, this post isn't just about romantic relationships. It's about THE relationship.

"Seek the Lord while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near." (Isaiah 55:6)

"When You said, 'Seek My face,' my heart said to You, 'Your face, Lord, I will seek.' " (Psalm 27:8)

"... if My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land." (2 Chronicles 7:14)

I don't remember the exact context of the conversation, but I was talking to my birth sister one day years ago about something God-related, and the subject of "seeking the Lord" came up. She became a bit defensive and was like, "Seeking the Lord is a charismatic thing." Well, sorry to throw a wrench in your cessationist ideas, but the truth is all over the Bible, right there in black and white. God likes to be pursued.

I learned / was reminded of this quite recently while I was working through some boiling emotional stuff in my head. I don't remember exactly what I was thinking or what I was silently screaming about, but I prayed. Then God said, "Don't bother Me."

So, of course, I bothered Him.

I'm not completely sure if He was doing a reverse-psychology thing with me, but of course it worked. I don't remember our exact conversation over the next few days, but I was like, "Wait. Was that really You talking?" And He repeated, "Don't bother Me." And I was like, "Am I being prideful? Are You resisting me?" And I was like, "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," and I followed Him around like a lovesick puppydog who knows that it's mealtime, and her Master has some kibble with her name on it, but for some reason He just won't give it to her yet.

I'm crazy. Sometimes I have to say something to the effect of, "I don't care if You burn me to a crisp, but I need You to hug me" to communicate how I'm really feeling to the God of the universe, the Consuming Fire who I can't see with my earthly eyes and still live, my Father who adopted me and is probably aching to hug me, too.

At any rate, I came out pretty quickly from whatever type of foggy whatever that was in my head, because God was like, "You passed the test." I think maybe He wanted me to stalk Him. And He showed me how the stress of me always trying to please my birth father (who always looked down on us) contributed to my current issues. God is pretty efficient, especially when He speaks. Sometimes He likes to kill multiple birds with one stone.

And the cool part about God and me stalking each other is that neither one of us will ever need to get a restraining order. Quite the contrary. If I don't chase after Him, and if I don't let Him chase after me, I'll die.

So, Psalm 23:6 says that goodness and mercy will chase after me for as long as I live. Maybe that means that goodness is like a persistent customer who calls me up out of the blue and is like, "Hey, your Father wanted to thank you for letting Him adopt you. How about a roof over your head, food in your fridge, and a movie date on Friday?" Maybe that means that mercy is like a sight for sore eyes who suddenly approaches me and is like, "Hey, your Friend wanted me to tell you that He doesn't want to [bleep] you, no offense. He wants to bless you. He really, really, really, really, really likes you. How about some grace to keep your mouth shut when you want to open it and hurt people, a schedule that miraculously gives you a bit of breathing room to take care of your ailing cat, and some incredibly divine protection while you're zooming down the highway day in, day out?"

Heck yes. I'll take all of that. Thank You.