The bathroom mirror

About 4 years ago, I accidentally put a significant scrape on the outside of my car. (I'd show you a picture, but you'd be able to recognize my vehicle immediately on the street, and I really value my privacy. I mean, I don't even use my cats' real names here on my blog. Are you kidding?) It's kind of a long story as to how it happened, and it used to really embarrass me to drive my car with that highly visible damage.

I used to consider getting the damage fixed, but I've decided to just let it be. It's only cosmetic, it doesn't affect how the car drives, and my car -- which is already paid for -- has almost 100,000 miles on it. Honestly, I'm kind of proud of the damage now. I think it gives my car some character. I think it screams to people, "Hey! You shouldn't drive too close to this crazy lady!! Maniacal laughter!!!" Yeah, that's right. My car has an accidentally cool tattoo.

Throughout the years, my car's damage has caused people to react in all kinds of ways. People have asked me, "Hey, did you find out who hit your car?" or "Did you know that somebody hit your car?" with genuine concern, and that's no problem. But what's annoying is when repairmen accost me and solicit me for business. One time, I found a business card from a body shop on my windshield wiper. Another time, a guy pulled up next to my car while I was parked in the Target parking lot, motioned to me to roll down my window, and proceeded to tell me that he owns a small shop that could fix my car. I turned him down as politely as I could. Yesterday while I was driving to church and sitting at a red light, I heard someone honking very spastically, and I saw a guy motioning to me to roll my window down; I did, and he yelled at me while pointing at my car, "I can fix it!" I smiled and drove away. And I think I called him a jerk under my breath.

The thing is, people only see that one significant scrape on my car. They don't see all the other damage, and they don't know how any of it happened. And it happened 4 years ago; if I wanted to fix it, I probably would have by now.

When I got my car's first real ding, I scraped one of the corners of my car and dented my fender until I popped it back into place, and it was fine. I drove away and was pretty freaked out, but when I prayed and asked God what to do, He simply replied, "Just be glad you have a sturdy car." And I am. I also accidentally gave my car lots of other body damage when I worked in a building that had a parking garage. And have I ever told you about the time that I got rear-ended by a Hummer and lived to tell about it?

No, of course not. All people ever see is that one significant scrape. Perfect strangers are so ready to dish out their solutions to my "problem." They don't know any of the other stuff my car has been through, they don't know what was going through my head or my heart when it happened, and they probably aren't interested in getting to know me as a person at all. They just want to use me for their business.

I mean, come on. I live in a big metropolitan area of Texas that has a lot of traffic. It ain't uncommon for some of us to drive around with little dings on our cars. If it ain't broke, we probably ain't gonna fix it.

Of course, all this talking about my car has just been me building up to a huge metaphor.

 

I've never been married, but I have seen a lot of married couples interact. A husband and wife might not necessarily put the deepest workings of their relationship on display for all to see. In fact, they're supposed to keep the most precious aspects of their relationships private. The nuts and bolts of a marriage -- the deep discussions, the digging for solutions, the talking through and the unpacking of hidden emotions -- may not necessarily happen in the bedroom, in the living room, or at the dining-room table. I've seen a lot of it happen at the bathroom mirror. (So, it isn't just a place to take selfies. Who'd a thunk?)

While you're staring into the bathroom mirror to do very mundane things like brush your teeth, shave, fix your hair, or put your makeup on, you're not doing anything that requires rocket science, and it's a private spot that isn't open to the public, so it's a perfect location to work out some stuff with the person who's fixing themselves up either right next to you or perhaps in a location that's very close by. When I was younger, I got all kinds of scooped-out gossip while I would hang around the parents' bathroom mirror.

And as an adult, the bathroom mirror is a place for me where God tends to quietly show up and show me some deep stuff in my heart that I need to see. Or it's a place where I can be still and quiet enough to ask Him the deep questions that I didn't realize I needed to ask. Or it's a place where I've been able to ask Him some very practical questions, and He's either given me some very practical answers or given me some peace about my situations being worked out. He and I have worked some major stuff out at the bathroom mirror and at locations in my home that are very close by.

"For I considered all this in my heart, so that I could declare it all: that the righteous and the wise and their works are in the hand of God. People know neither love nor hatred by anything they see before them." (Ecclesiastes 9:1)

I've been stuck in Ecclesiastes 9 pretty much all week. It took me forever to get past the first verse. What does it mean? Why is it in the Bible?

The entire Book of Ecclesiastes is like that. What was King Solomon thinking when he wrote it? Did he write it after he had already been dissed by his 1,000 wives, and that was why he was so cynical? Why don't we Christians spend more time digging into this stuff? We just sort of quote the whole "To everything there is a season, turn, turn, turn," from chapter 3 as a rah-rah feel-good Bible passage and then move on to other rah-rah feel-good things. Why do we skip over all the bad things? I remember a couple of years ago, there were people on Facebook who were pushing for people to only post "positive" things. Have they never read Ecclesiastes? There is very little "positive" stuff in there. In fact, there is some stuff in Ecclesiastes that seems to contradict other stuff in the Bible. For instance:

"So I commended enjoyment, because a man has nothing better under the sun than to eat, drink, and be merry; for this will remain with him in his labor all the days of his life which God gives him under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 8:15)

I mean, doesn't that contradict what's in Luke...

"And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years; take your ease; eat, drink, and be merry.' But God said to him, 'Fool! This night your soul will be required of you; then whose will those things be which you have provided?' " (Luke 12:19-20)

...and what's in Proverbs?

"Hear, my son, and be wise; and guide your heart in the way. Do not mix with winebibbers, or with gluttonous eaters of meat; for the drunkard and the glutton will come to poverty, and drowsiness will clothe a man with rags." (Proverbs 23:19-21)

Well, since it's all in the Bible, it's all true. I think the trick is just to know when and how to apply and interpret which verse to which situation.

No, of course we fallible human beings can't figure it all out on our own. Metaphorically speaking, we the bride of Christ just need to keep spending time at the bathroom mirror with our Bridegroom. I think that's how we'll know what to do, how to think, and where to step. That's where we can work some stuff out.

At least, speaking for myself, I know that's where I can work some stuff out. I have to. I know that I'm toast without my Bridegroom, my Father, my Helper helping me maneuver through this minefield called life.

Regarding my car, I really think all those accidental dings I've gotten on it have helped me to become a better driver. I'm not proud of my mistakes, but I'm very glad and very thankful that I've been able to learn from them.

My heart has gotten some dings, scrapes, and scratches on it throughout the years, too. Some of the gashes are deeper than others. Sometimes God takes me to the metaphorical body shop so that my heart can get repaired, and other times I think He just lets me live my life with my unrepaired wounds right out in the open for all to see... and for many to pitch some unsolicited advice at it. Sometimes their intentions are very good, and other times they make the wounds seem much more of an embarrassment than they really are. (Actually, when the latter happens, that's a red flag to just stay away from those people.) They don't know all the circumstances behind all the heart-blemishes, and they don't know if God the Master Heart-Mechanic is going to fix the blemishes or just let them develop some character in me. But that's just something that He and I work out, metaphorically speaking, at the bathroom mirror. Most of the time, it's private, and nobody sees or hears what happens except Him and me. (And sometimes my cats.)

Jalapeños, last straws, and tough love

One day earlier this summer, I noticed that the sandwich artist (at a Subway where I had previously ordered many sandwiches) put jalapeños in my sandwich. I ordered banana peppers, not jalapeño peppers. I don't remember exactly what was going through my head that day -- if I saw the jalapeño catastrophe happening right before my eyes and was too polite or too hungry to say anything about it, or if perhaps I thought I would just try eating it for the sake of embarking on a new sandwich adventure. But now I was back at the company breakroom, and my lunchtime was almost over, and I couldn't just ask the Subway people to fix their mistake. (Perhaps if the sandwich artist had been paying more attention to me and less attention to her personal family drama which she doesn't have a problem freely sharing with customers, this wouldn't have happened.) Those jalapeños in my sandwich offended me, even after I picked them out of my sandwich and threw them away. This half-Hispanic chick doesn't mind jalapeños in her food from time to time. I just don't think they belong in a sandwich. Since that wasn't the first time this particular Subway had rubbed me the wrong way, I decided to never return there. (And I haven't.)

In that moment, God told me, "Sometimes you need a last straw."

A similar thing happened when I sat down to unwrap a lunch that I had just picked up from the Schlotzsky's drive-thru. I ordered salt and vinegar chips, but they gave me jalapeño chips instead. (What is it with jalapeños infiltrating my lunches without my permission?) So, that was my last straw for that particular Schlotzsky's... not counting the 15-20 minute wait times that had become common at the drive-thru or another way they messed up my order in the past. I mean, forgiveness is one thing, but realizing that there are dozens of other lunch spots in the vicinity competing for my business is another.

I'm still trying to figure out if me waiting for a "last straw" to initiate change in my life is a good thing or a bad thing.

The reason I had been venturing to restaurants for lunch (instead of bringing my lunch, which is always cheaper) was because I couldn't take it anymore in the company breakroom. Again, I'm not sure why the constant aroma of poop wafting from the nearby men's room, or my boss telling me "I've told you that if you want a private lunchroom, you can close this door" while he closes the breakroom door so that I will be all by myself and feel even more lonely and isolated than I already am, or my coworkers interrupting my lunch break (while I'm trying to relax and regroup) to ask me work-related questions that can wait until I'm back on the clock... I'm not sure why any of those things weren't enough of a catalyst to get me to eat lunch off campus, but somehow the boss' pantless son always peeking his nose into my meal and announcing to his wife what I was eating was my last straw.

I think I've mentioned this before, but I think growing up in an abusive environment gave me a very high tolerance for crap. Again, I'm still trying to figure out if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I'm guessing it's the latter. And I'm learning how to recognize red flags sooner and do something about them sooner.

I mean, submitting to authority is one thing, but escaping an oppressive environment is another. Just ask any immigrant who has ever sought refuge in a free country.

This is my last week at that job, hence my obsessive processing/reflecting. I'm still going to keep my guard up and be ready for anything. I mean, any company run by a boss who openly shames his wife for her mistakes in front of the entire company would be a place where I would need to watch my step, right? When I first started working there, I was told that the boss treats his employees like family. Yes, he does. And I have learned a valuable lesson while working there: Every good tyrant has an army of enablers behind him.

To celebrate my last days there, I have been planning to eat most of my lunches in the breakroom. I think it's easy to enjoy life in a certain space when you don't feel trapped there.

"When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice; but when a wicked man rules, the people groan." (Proverbs 29:2)

I think Pharaoh, Moses, and the Israelites were also in a sort of three-way tug-of-war of last straws. In the Israelites' case, their oppression involved literal straw, but that's beside the point. Pharaoh kept pushing and pushing the Israelites to spin straw into gold (metaphorically speaking) until God heard their cries for help, He brought Moses and Aaron over to Egypt, and He even hardened Pharaoh's heart so that he wouldn't let the people go. Pharaoh's last straw was that last plague where all the firstborn in Egypt were killed unless they had followed God's blood-on-the-doorpost instructions.

Life wasn't a rose garden after the Israelites escaped their oppression in Egypt, either. They sinned by creating and worshiping a golden calf, God put His foot down and created the Ten Commandments (that we all still have to follow today), He killed some Israelites who sinned against Him, and He also almost killed Moses in the process.

Wow. God is love, but He's also a God of tough love.

"Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap. For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life." (Galatians 6:7-8)

I think King David could also vouch for this. After he married Bathsheba (which he used his kingly authority to do, after sleeping with her, impregnating her, and arranging for her husband to be killed), God was like, "I love you, but you opened the door to violence in your house, and now your little baby son will die, too."

I like how the Bible gives so many gory details about heroes like King David. It encourages me that I don't have to be sinless in order for God to love, favor, and want me. King David made some enormously terrible mistakes, but he repented, and God honored him enough to publish his songs in the Bible, to refer to him as a man after His own heart, and to entrust his lineage with welcoming His only begotten Son into the world.

As loving, gracious, and favoring as God is, He is still serious about us living life His way. Perhaps one way that He loves us is being firm enough to steer us in the right direction.

"For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." (Romans 11:29)

God showed me several years ago that He designed me to be a worship pastor. I'm very cool with that. I understand that this more than likely won't happen for me vocationally for a very long time. I'm cool with that, too. I also understand that God has been using the experiences I've had throughout my life to shape me into the person He wants me to be. I'm definitely cool with that as well.

I believe it was when I took a home ec class many years ago that I was told that children prepare for their future during their playtime. For example, a future teacher might play "school" with friends and/or dolls. A future healthcare professional might play "nurse" with family members and/or dolls/toys.

I used to want to be a novelist. When I was about seven years old, I figured out where the letters were on the worn-out ancient typewriter at our house, and I would sit down and write stories. Now I earn my living by writing and editing.

Recently, when I wondered how my childhood playtime foreshadowed my future as a worship pastor, I remembered playtime as a four-year-old. Our family owned a white kitten named Puff. I would carry him while marching around in a circle in the garage (more than likely while I was singing). Puff had issues. He hated being carried, and he would violently scratch me and anyone else who would try to play with him. He eventually ran away.

I hope I don't offend anyone by saying this, but I think working with stubborn animals is very good training ground for being a pastor.

In my current life with Macho and his health issues, I hope I have been reflecting God's heart of tough love. Almost two weeks ago, when I had a lot of trouble getting Macho to eat, he was really deteriorating, I was wondering how much longer he had to live, and I was considering the possibility of putting him down. So, I stopped sugarcoating everything, and I just confronted him. (Yes, I know he's a cat, and I know he may not understand English, but still.) It was almost like that scene in The NeverEnding Story where Atreyu tries to keep his horse Artax from sinking into the Swamps of Sadness. I was exhausted, I was frustrated, and I was grieving, so I just went for it. I wasn't threatening. I was just being real. I told Macho, "I don't want to lose you like this. If you're not going to try, then I'm going to take you to the doctor and have her put you to sleep. I'm going to take you to the doctor and have her kill you."

 

So, now he's eating up a storm. (He may not speak English, but he knows me.) I hope I wasn't too hard on him, but I guess it worked. I'm still taking it a day at a time, and I'm still keeping a close watch on him, but it's good to see him get a little bit of his swashbuckling energy back.

God is very gentle and kind, but He's also incredibly firm. Awhile back when I was wrestling with an opportunity that I'd been given, God kept telling me, "You're a teacher. Get over it." Last week at church while my pastor was preaching a sermon about discovering and using your spiritual gifts, God told me, "You're a pastor. Get over it." This week, He said, "You're a shepherd. Get over it." No problem, Papa.

Of course, you have to understand Who's talking to me. If anyone else were to talk to me that way, it might rub me the wrong way, like jalapeños in a sandwich. But this is the God of the universe -- the One who always has time for me, who always shows up for me, who always defends me, who always comforts me, who always chooses me, who always favors me, who always graciously pours out His goodness on me. He's the Boss, and I trust Him. He can talk to me however He wants.

As always, thank you for reading. Now if you'll excuse me, I must stop typing so that I can feed someone who is stalking me for his snacky.

 

Uno más

The title of this post is Spanish for "One more." I don't remember the exact context of how this phrase got in my head, but I think it may have come from one of my uncles telling me about one of my cousins.

I believe this is the same uncle who told me that when I was a toddler, I used to run around exclaiming with my index finger in the air, "I got an idea! I got an idea!" Of course, this would excite my uncle, so he would try to get me to stop running around and give him the scoop. "What, Tirzah? What is your idea?" The only reply he would get from me was, "I got an idea!" Hmm. Perhaps I took pleasure from keeping things vague on purpose, even as a toddler.

Years later, when I took the Clifton StrengthsFinder test, I scored Ideation. Go figure.

I think it was this same uncle who told me that one of my cousins would eat a lot, and I think perhaps they had trouble getting him to stop eating. I think he said that when they would tell my toddler cousin to eat no more, he would say, "Uno más." I know, right? It can be easy to keep eating "uno más" when you're enjoying what you're eating (e.g., Johnson City peaches, pan dulce, or any kind of candy).

But if the same icky food is placed in front of you day after day, meal after meal, it can be really hard to open your mouth and shove one more morsel down your throat yet again.

"My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing." (James 1:2-4)

Recently, God has been telling me, "You inherited your parents' impatience." So, He has been developing some patience in me. He's been placing me in some situations that aren't getting any quick fixes -- situations that are requiring patience. And He's been developing some endurance in me, too. I kinda thought I had all this stuff inside me already, but maybe He's giving me some more. Or maybe He's scrapping the old stuff and building some new stuff altogether. Hmm. Not sure. I'm just gonna have to wait to find out. And I'm OK with that.

As you may have read in my previous post, getting my cat Macho to eat lately has been a heartbreaking struggle. I tried everything I could think of to get him to eat. I think last weekend was the worst part of this entire season. At one point, he was so weak that he meowed but no sound came out. (He just mouthed his meow.) On Monday night, I decided that I should take him to the vet the next morning and possibly consider putting him to sleep.

You may not like cats, and I can certainly understand that. But if one of your roommates were dying, you'd probably feel the same type of emotions that I've been feeling.

On Tuesday morning, Macho seemed hungry, and he downed some tuna, so I decided to postpone his visit to the vet. Then God prompted me to put my new philosophy into motion: "Uno más."

So, I got an idea!

 

On Tuesday afternoon, I found this stuff at PetSmart. I was very excited to see Macho scarf it down. Apparently, he's a Purina man. Go figure. He's been eating about three cans per day now. Yesterday, I found a similar canned food from Hill's Science Diet that he ate this morning. For now, the vet said to just make sure that Macho keeps eating, and I also plan to start him on new medication very soon. I'm taking it a day at a time, and I hope I get to keep Macho for as long as possible. And I'm OK with that.

"In my distress I cried to the Lord, and He heard me." (Psalm 120:1)

Two Friday nights ago, I was emotionally very low. I won't go into details here, but suffice it to say that I was kneeling on my couch with my Bible open and literally crying out to God because I didn't know what else to do -- with my current job, with my cat's health, with everything else in my life, etc., etc., etc.

I'm glad He heard me. Sometime during that weekend, He told me, "Uno más."

That following Sunday, when I opened up my laptop to look for another job and strategize my search yet again, I decided to send my resume to a company that I didn't get any response from when I contacted them about three times last year. Now this year -- two weeks and two interviews later -- I accepted a job offer from them.

So, the principle of "uno más" is a God thing. Go figure!

"As a father pities his children, so the Lord pities those who fear Him. For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust." (Psalm 103:13-14)

"A bruised reed He will not break, and smoking flax He will not quench; He will bring forth justice for truth. He will not fail nor be discouraged, till He has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands shall wait for His law... 'Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I declare; before they spring forth I tell you of them.' " (Isaiah 42:3-4, 9)

So, I'm learning how to wait, persevere, and just keep showing up when it doesn't seem like anything is changing. (I'm also learning that God doesn't want to kill me.) 

I think maybe God does the same thing for us. I know He's given me at least a zillion "uno más" chances. I also know that He sometimes keeps things vague on purpose. I mean, how else will He be able to sit down with us and examine the contents of our hearts if He doesn't make us wait, persevere, and press in for something?

I want to be just like Him. If He doesn't give up easily, I don't want to, either.

Parallel shades and slow deaths

For this post, I thought it would be good to combine a few different ideas together and cook up something cool. I hope it turns out OK.

My sophomore year in college, I took an English literature class that was excessively challenging, to say the least. It was taught by the head of the English department (or maybe just head of the grad school) who was probably very close to retirement. He was a nice guy, but his ideas went so over our heads it wasn't even funny. (Well, OK, maybe it was a little bit funny.) If I remember correctly, the part of the class that covered William Blake poetry was especially out of whack. While we were discussing one poem in class, the professor was like, "Surely you caught the sexual connotations in the poem." Um... what? Come on. We were good little Baylor kids who were away from home and lived life in our naïve little bubbles. We went to church when we weren't studying. Our brains weren't anywhere near the same ballpark as a sexual connotation. We wouldn't understand a sexual connotation if you drew us a map to it, tattooed it on our foreheads, and invited us out to a candlelight dinner with it.

Our grades were dependent upon our ability to analyze the poetry, and our analysis needed to match the professor's out-of-whack-and-so-over-our-heads analysis. I remember at the end of the semester, he nonchalantly showed me that I scored a D+/F- on my final essay, but he was going to curve all of our grades. I think I ended up getting a B- overall in that class. It was an honors class that kicked all of our butts. We were all very capable students, but I think perhaps the professor knew that we all needed to have our grades curved to compensate for his flying-way-out-in-outer-space head.

During one class, when we were covering a flying-way-out-in-outer-space poem, the professor asked us to discuss our impression of the poem. I think he was looking for input from us -- something, anything -- to get the discussion started. I don't remember exactly why I answered (perhaps I couldn't bear the silence any longer), and I don't even remember if I had actually read the poem before class, but I replied, "There's some parallelism in the poem." That seemed to please the professor. Whew! Saved by the Bible.

Parallelism is a repetitive literary device that is used usually in poetry for rhetorical effect. (You wouldn't use parallelism in journalism, because journalism requires as few words as possible.) In parallelism, you say one thing and then repeat what you just said in a different way. Here's an example of parallelism:

I own two cats;

Two felines have I.

I think ancient Hebrew poets and psalmists used parallelism a lot, because it's all over the Bible. For example:

"Give ear, O my people, to my law; incline your ears to the words of my mouth." (Psalm 78:1)

"Plead my cause, O Lord, with those who strive with me; fight against those who fight against me... Let those be put to shame and brought to dishonor who seek after my life; let those be turned back and brought to confusion who plot my hurt." (Psalm 35:1, 4)

I am very thankful for my college education, and I am very blessed that it happened when/how it happened. But I've discovered in recent years just how damaging the worldview of some of the professors and even the surrounding community really was. I think I've blogged a tiny bit about this before. The church I joined in my college town (soon after I graduated) believed that the Bible was real, inspired, and inerrant, but only in the original manuscripts. (So, does that mean that all our English translations are garbage?) Then I began attending a missions training school. I don't remember his exact words, but one of the instructors there (shortly before I attempted suicide) basically said that believing something to be inerrant was a narrow-minded, uneducated thing to do. (Shame on you for throwing a wrench in a gullible, vulnerable kid's faith.) Then we ended up discussing how some statements in the Bible are contradictory and how some mistakes were supposedly published in the Bible.

Really? Seriously? Have you even met my God? How can you not understand that He's powerful enough to cover up and fix any mistakes that some dorky little translator made way back in the Dark Ages?

At any rate, I don't think it's an accident that God chose for the Bible to be written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek so that we English speakers or German speakers or Spanish speakers would have to go on a treasure hunt to discover what was originally written in the original biblical languages.

And I definitely don't think it's an accident that parallelism was used so much in ancient Hebrew poetry. I think to a degree, God's heart beats in parallelism.

"Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one! You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength. And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart." (Deuteronomy 6:4-6)

"Then one of the scribes came, and having heard them reasoning together, perceiving that He had answered them well, asked Him, 'Which is the first commandment of all?' Jesus answered him, 'The first of all the commandments is: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.' This is the first commandment.' " (Mark 12:28-30)

"He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake." (Psalm 23:2-3)

"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!" (Matthew 23:37)

"Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who trusts in Him!" (Psalm 34:8)

"Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat. Yes, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend money for what is not bread, and your wages for what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good, and let your soul delight itself in abundance." (Isaiah 55:1-2)

 

Recently, due to Macho's health issues, my refrigerator has become a pet pharmacy. Pictured from left to right are liquid steroids that my vet hasn't yet authorized me to give to my cat but is ready for distribution just in case, my dinner from last night which I used to tempt my cat whose appetite has mysteriously vanished, used needles which I was instructed to not throw away but to bring back to the vet's office for disposal instead, half a Coke which I am chugging down while I am writing this post, liquid antibiotic which I've been required to squirt down my cat's throat every 12 hours but only if he eats, and vitamin B12 injections which I have been administering weekly.

Yes, the game I've been playing with Macho lately is "Why the heck aren't you eating?" My once gluttonous cat has been declining into a fragile shell of a feline who is quite possibly living out his last days. Or perhaps he's just being a drama queen -- I'm not quite sure yet. But I've been taking it one day at a time.

His appetite was fine until about two weeks ago when he stopped wanting to eat. I've tried all kinds of things to get him to eat again. Sometimes my attempts are successful, and other times I just say "whatever" and let nature take its course. But I'm still fighting for him. Considering the way he was squirming while I was cleaning his ears a little while ago, I hope he's still fighting, too.

I've tried everything I can think of to get Macho to eat again: dry food, wet food, my food, tuna, in his bowl, off the floor, out of my hand. This process seems to require a lot of patience. Yesterday while Macho was eating wet cat food out of my hand (a process that is uncomfortable for me but hopefully life-giving to him), I asked God if He was like that with me. He replied, "Oh, child, you have no idea." Indeed.

"The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand [the side not carrying a shield]. The sun shall not smite you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil; He will keep your life." (Psalm 121:5-7, Amplified Bible)

My first job straight out of college involved some manual labor. I had to haul packages and other materials on a dolly across a college campus. It was hard, but I enjoyed it. In the scorching Texas heat, I learned how valuable the shade of a tree really is. Shade is a lot cooler than it looks.

So, when God says that He Himself is a shade, I think He means that He is a necessary, refreshing, cool refuge from the scorching-fire trials of life. Trekking across the unforgiving, unrelenting, unavoidable sun-scorched prairie of life is so much more bearable when I'm careful to walk in the shade.

The Amplified Bible says that our right hand would be the unshielded hand (I guess because an ancient Hebrew warrior would fight with his sword in his right hand and his shield on his left hand). So, God is my Keeper who takes care of me. In the areas of my life that are unshielded, He Himself is my shield. He protects me from the elements -- physically, spiritually, emotionally, etc. -- especially from the details that I don't even know exist, and I think He is so much more zealous about keeping me alive than I am.

I think that's true for all of us... especially if we let Him shield us.

Lately as I've been digging a little bit into some opera, I've realized just how excessively dramatic it is as an art form. Which is probably why operas are usually more popular in Europe (which embraces traditions very tightly), as opposed to the USA (where, if something stops working for us, we just take it out back and shoot it). Usually what happens during an opera is somebody will fall in love, somebody will have one or more affairs, and/or somebody will die, and the story will usually take about two hours to be told. It's sort of like watching a movie with cheesy acting and nonstop singing. For example, while I was watching La bohème for the first time yesterday, I almost stopped about a quarter of the way through. I'm glad I didn't, because it's a classic indeed, but I think perhaps Puccini could have done without the last 20 or 40 minutes of the play. By the end, I was like, "OH, MY GOSH, JUST DIE ALREADY!!!"

Are slow deaths just a European thing? I mean, when Frodo went on his quest to destroy the Ring of Power, he didn't just sprint across Middle Earth and slam-dunk the ring into the fire from which it came. He took three movies to do it in. On his long, arduous journey, he encountered opposition, enemies, and all sorts of danger. He even slipped up a few times and used the ring for himself. But an entire trilogy later, the ring -- and all the evil that it attracted -- was finally destroyed.

"And those who are Christ's have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires." (Galatians 5:24)

In his book, Dennis Jernigan talks about how the death of the flesh is slow and excruciating, and he isn't kidding. When God told me that my healing from a specific type of sin would be gradual, He wasn't kidding, either.

If you've been following my blog for the past several months, you know that I've been fighting the addiction of a habitual sexual sin. God has been helping me every step of the way, and I'm still amazed at how He hasn't kicked me to the curb. He's emphasized pretty firmly that my healing isn't going to come from a formula. And He's right. Just when I think I have a handle on my struggle, I'm thrown a curveball, and I stumble and fall. I think it's really more of a dance than a battle strategy.

Yesterday, for example (because the temptations are usually strongest on the weekends), while I was working through and talking through a temptation with God, I ended up becoming way too busy to sin. Oh, would you look at the time? I have to get ready to go to church now. Darn, crucified little flesh. You'll just have to kick and scream without me.

But that worked for me yesterday. That might not necessarily work for me today.

What works for me all the time is just doing whatever God says to do, avoiding whatever He says to avoid, and clinging to Him for dear life. That isn't a formula. That's a relationship.

God isn't a senile professor with a flying-way-out-in-outer-space head who expects us to follow Him and pinpoint His ways by matching His out-of-whack-and-so-over-our-heads analysis. He doesn't give us all curves because He expects us to fail all His tests. He isn't some dumb little god who gives us a dorky little book to read, and He doesn't give us a dull-bladed, mistake-filled, dangerously faulty weapon to fight with. He isn't a cruel tyrant who gives up on us as soon as we refuse to eat the food He gives us.

God is a loving Father whose ways are so much higher than ours, and He knows that, and He's always readily available to help us tiptoe our way through this landmine-filled life. He is infinitely patient with us, and He is infinitely faithful to us, and He won't give up on us. If we belong to Him, I don't think He'll just take us out back and shoot us if we make one little mistake. I think He'll bunk next to us while we're withering away in our sickbeds, and He'll nurse us back to health. He'll bring us back to life, if we'll let Him. He's committed to that, and He's already poetically told us all about it in His word.

I am in God's family;

God's child am I.