The fragrant chuppah

Yesterday on my way home from work (while I was stuck in traffic that was bottlenecked due to construction), I snapped a photo of a couple of trees that I thought were forming a familiar shape. As Owen Wilson told Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents, "It's an altar. Or you might call it a chuppah?"

I'm not Jewish, but Wikipedia tells me that a chuppah is a canopy that a bride and groom stand under while they are getting married; the chuppah is a symbol of the new home that the husband and wife will build together.

I thought the photo that I snapped while I was in traffic yesterday caught an adorable nature scene. Aww. Or, since there is a football and/or soccer practice field in the background (under the tree-chuppah), perhaps you could say that the photo could symbolize Texans' crazy autumn addiction to sports. I now pronounce thee football fans and wife. Heh, heh.

But I didn't sit down next to my purr-drooling cat today to write about sports.

"Of the wood of Lebanon Solomon the King made himself a palanquin: He made its pillars of silver, its support of gold, its seat of purple, its interior paved with love by the daughters of Jerusalem. Go forth, O daughters of Zion, and see King Solomon with the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding, the day of the gladness of his heart." (Song of Solomon 3:9-13)

Recently when I began rereading through Song of Solomon, I was a little bit weirded out. I've read the Book before, and it was awesome, and it ministered to me (especially chapter 6, verse 4). But this time, I was a little bit disappointed, and I thought Song of Solomon was like a weird opera.

Perhaps Mike Bickle had a similar experience many years ago. I heard him explain once in a sermon that God told him to familiarize himself with Song of Solomon because he would basically be teaching God's heart for His people through that Book. So, Mike Bickle read the Book and was a little bit weirded out. He described himself as "a man's man," and now God suddenly wanted him to explain this flowery, girly Book to people? I think it really stretched him at first. But Song of Solomon is one of his specialties now.

As for me, when I recently tried to understand Song of Solomon, and I was having a "what the heck" moment with God, He simply told to me, "Love is messy." Indeed it is. And perhaps that explains the entire Book in a nutshell.

I mean, in Song of Solomon, you have this young girl gushing all over her beloved, and she has an entourage of chickfriends following her around and getting an earful of how she feels about her beloved. And you have the girl getting all fickle and being like, "Eh, don't bother me, beloved, I need my beauty sleep," and she starts looking for him, and the city watchmen beat her up while she's looking for him. And throughout the entire Book, the girl and her beloved totally gush all over each other like two very hormonal teenagers who seem way too young and immature to get married. In most places, the Book reads a lot like a loveletter that a teenage boy would sneak away into his parents' attic to write to his girlfriend.

(And yes, Song of Solomon is also about sex, which is why some churches are too uncomfortable to preach sermons about the Book. But really, if you can't use the Bible to talk about sex, how are you going to discuss it? Are you going to just let your teenagers do whatever the heck they want behind your back? And then wonder why you suddenly have so many unwed pregnancies in your family?)

During my recent "what the heck" moment with God regarding Song of Solomon, Jesus told me, "I spilled My guts out for you." Indeed He did. You don't give up Your body to die on a cross just because You kinda like somebody a little bit. You do it because You truly love them, and the only way to have them all to Yourself is to sacrifice Yourself for them.

Of course, the entire Book symbolizes Jesus' heart for His bride (us, the Church, the bride of Christ). It's basically a love song that Jesus and His Church need to constantly sing to each other: "I am my Beloved's, and His desire is toward me. / You are beautiful, My darling, My love." And the world is supposed to see it and get all swoony over Jesus, too. Ideally, that's what needs to happen.

"Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place. For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing. To the one we are the aroma of death leading to death, and to the other the aroma of life leading to life. And who is sufficient for these things? For we are not, as so many, peddling the word of God; but as of sincerity, but as from God, we speak in the sight of God in Christ." (2 Corinthians 2:14-17)

Sometimes when I scoop my cats into my arms, I press my nose into their adorable little fur and take a nice, big breath. Sometimes they smell awesome, and I'm like, "Wow. Did you put on some kitty cologne?" One time, I had Macho in my arms, and I breathed in his furry aroma, and I was like, "Wow. You smell really nice... Oh. You walked into the air-freshener spray, didn't you?" Heh, heh.

Yes, my cats smell like my "fragrance" because they live in my home. They can't avoid what I smell like or what I want my home to smell like.

If I am part of the bride of Christ, then He and I have built a home together. I live in God's house. I am going to smell like Him. God smells like love, so I hope I smell like love, too. And yes, love is quite messy.

Loving people is hard. Sometimes they don't understand you, and they hurt you. Other times they change their minds about liking you, and they decide that they hate you, and they think everyone around them needs to hate you, too. They spread rumors about you that aren't true. They mock you openly in front of people who you thought would stand up for you, but they just keep their mouths shut while the mockers -- the ones for whom you've spilled your guts out -- just keep dissing you.

And yet, Jesus just keeps on loving.

Sometimes after sowing love, you reap it back, and when that happens, it's very rewarding. Sometimes people will surprise you and suddenly bless you with an awesome gift. Sometimes people will bend over backwards to spend time with you. Sometimes people will rush to your defense so fast, it will make your head spin, in a good way. And sometimes your cat will crawl up to your chest and lounge-purr so hard that she'll drool on your sleeve.

If this type of thing makes my heart skip a few beats, I can only imagine how good it makes God feel whenever I express love for Him so hard that I nearly fly through the ceiling, rip through the roof, sail up to heaven, and smooch His face off.

Yep, love is messy indeed. But I don't think my Bridegroom Who stands under the chuppah with me would want it any other way.

"Your Obviousness"

I think it's a good thing I live by myself. Otherwise, any roommates of mine would have to put up with the obsessive, incessant way that I talk to my cats.

I basically say the same things to them over and over and over again -- not necessarily in this order, but it's a neverending stream of the same basic stuff: "Hi, how are you doing? I love you. You're my kitties. I'm your mama. I'm so glad that you're my kitties. I'm so glad that I'm your mama. Did you know that you're the most extremely adorable kitties in the entire universe? In the entire universe, you are the most extremely adorable kitten boy, and you are the most extremely adorable kitten girl. Are you having a good day? I love you. You're extremely adorable..." etc., etc., etc., almost as if my voice were a recording playing on a loop.

Sometimes I wait for them to answer me with a "Meow" or a "Wow," but most of the time I just keep talking. Still other times, Choochie will purr very loudly in reply, or Macho will meow-bark and strut away like a little drama queen. I wonder what they would tell me if they could speak English. I don't think they would call me "Your Majesty" or "Your Highness." I think they would probably call me something else. "Gee, thanks, Your Obviousness. I had no idea that I was your cat or that you were my mama, considering that you kinda already TELL ME ALL THE TIME!!!" Sigh. Little teenagers.

But for the most part, they don't complain about my love-gushing. (They're animals. They don't get bored.) They just listen, and they take it all in. Actually, as cats, they probably relish my I-love-you-loop routine.

I know Somebody who communicates in a kind of obsessive, incessant I-love-you-loop of His own.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)

"By this we know love, because He laid down His life for us." (1 John 3:16a)

"But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." (Romans 5:8)

 

A few nights ago, I realized something very interesting. In approximately one year's time, I have only read about three and a half books of the entire Bible. Sure, I've read the entire Bible all the way through before, but when I bought a brand-new Bible a few years ago, I thought it would be cool to read it all the way through. But I usually don't read more than one chapter in one day. I'm a meditator. I obsess. I chew. I obsess. I absorb. I obsess. (Have I mentioned that I obsess?)

So, from the latter part of September 2014 through almost the latter part of September 2015, I've only read the Psalms through the first half of Song of Solomon. My one-chapter-a-day plan wasn't always followed to the letter. Sometimes I would reread a chapter, sometimes it would take me a day or three (or seven) to read a chapter, and other times I would read something else. It's just crazy-interesting to me that I can pinch my entire year's worth of Bible reading between my fingers.

Of course, God knows exactly what He's doing with me. He knows me.

"The Lord builds up Jerusalem; He gathers together the outcasts of Israel. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." (Psalm 147:2-3)

One thing He's been doing with me is dismantling my "quiet time." I used to be a Pharisee. I used to be extremely, rigidly, unhealthily, dangerously religious. I think one of the most effective ways to dismantle that way of life is to blow a chick's paradigms to smithereens. For example, there have been a few times when I've realized that I've gone through almost an entire day without having an official "quiet time," and I'll tell God this. He'll answer with a whisper, "Is this quiet enough for you?"

Ha, ha. OK, Father, I get it.

"Of making many books there is no end, and much study is wearisome to the flesh." (Ecclesiastes 12:12b)

When I was in college, I had this verse taped to my bedroom door. Ha, ha. Get it? I think I totally understood that "much study is wearisome" part. But long after I graduated from college and embarked on my career, I think I began to understand that "Of making many books there is no end" part. (Literally, I think.)

I started a new job three weeks ago. You haven't heard much about it because, well, the job is so awesome that I haven't needed to vent about it. (Lucky you, reader!) My new job is about 500% better than my old job. (Not literally, but still.)

I'm in a very cool place in my editing career. At my current job, I get to use almost everything I learned at my previous jobs. And yet, so much of it still seems new.

My first real editing job was at a newspaper. It was very intense, very stressful, and extremely high-paced. I worked at a daily newspaper, so we had to finish editing at a certain time every night, or else. There were no second chances. We had to be perfect the first time, every time. (Even when I started working for the Spanish weekly edition of the paper, there was still a hard deadline once a week.) Sometimes we wouldn't see our mistakes until after they were published. Then our managing editors were very faithful to point out our errors. That job was very good editing training ground.

My second real editing job was at a closed-caption company. That was when I first heard the phrase "drop deadline." In other words, say for instance that a deadline to finish a caption file was Thursday at noon, but the drop deadline was Thursday at 3 p.m. That meant that ideally, they wanted to have the caption file by Thursday at noon, but they absolutely had to have it by 3 p.m., or else. (I think if they didn't get it in time, the TV show would air without captions.) Sometimes we were given surprise assignments with insane drop deadlines. In that case, it was all hands on deck; even the manager would roll up his sleeves and work on the file with us. That was how the work got done.

My next editing job was at a company that was run by ex-teachers. No offense, but you can't run a writing/editing operation in the same way that you can run a classroom. Reader, perhaps you remember reading my multiple ventings about this particular job that put me back into therapy. (Sorry.)

But the two most recent editing jobs I've had have been a bit different. Working at a monthly periodical and now at a company that publishes cyclical print pieces has kind of stretched me a little bit. It's forced me to slow down a little bit. I'm definitely not complaining about the process -- just saying that it's taken some getting used to.

I remember the first time I put a metalworking magazine together. I had thought that it would be like working at the newspaper, where you only got one shot at getting it right. But when I saw my magazine the second time around, before it went to the printer, I was like... "I have to read this again?" And then I saw it a third time, before it was actually printed, and I was like... "Um, what am I supposed to be looking for now?" I think my job at that point was to make sure that somebody at the print shop (or myself) hadn't made a weird mistake or sneezed or something and maybe accidentally rotated a photo or something like that.

At my current job, there is a similar editing process that involves me reading the same thing multiple times before the product is actually printed. I am still learning when to read for what type of content, and sometimes my previous newspaper training kicks in, and I scan the material at lightning speed... but I am still learning what to check, when to read quickly, and when it's OK to slow down. It's fascinating, honest. If you want to print something, and you want somebody to actually read what you agonize over writing and editing, you need to make sure that it's highly polished and perfect.

Of course, this extended editing process reminds me of Somebody I know -- Somebody who is also into perfecting His creation.

"A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed." (Song of Solomon 4:12)

Last night, I was about to read Song of Solomon chapter 5, but I backed up a few verses and parked at the latter part of chapter 4 instead. (I've done that sort of thing a lot this past year.) Gardens take a while to cultivate and grow. If you're growing a garden, you need to take care of it. You need to make sure each element of your garden gets as much water and sunlight as it needs to get. If something in your garden needs fertilizer, you need to take the time to distribute it and let it take effect. If certain rodents have a tendency to attack or steal from your garden, you need to be ready to protect your garden from the trespassers. (Of course, a cat could come in handy for this job.)

God is definitely the Master Gardener. If I am His garden, then He is taking His time to cultivate the things that are growing inside me. Maybe these are things like love, patience, goodness, faithfulness, self-control, etc. -- things that can take time to grow. God does the highest quality of work -- He does everything accurately and perfectly, the first time around. Sure, there is a certain time crunch to me developing the things inside me that I need to develop. And yet, He is probably going to take His sweet time.

God is definitely the Master Publisher. Metaphorically speaking, He is writing a story inside me that He won't publish until He knows it's perfectly polished. He's going to write, rewrite, revise, and edit. And then He is going to proofread as many versions as He wants to read until He is sure that His story will print exactly the way He wants it to print.

Sure, I probably get in the way of the gardening or the editing process. But God is graciously, enormously, infinitely patient with me, and He gives me lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of chances to get it right.

God knows me. He knows that I'm an obsessive little sponge of a meditator. He knows that after years of me soaking in the wrong mire-stuff, He needs to pull me out of the mire, sandblast me off, and then let me soak in the right grace-stuff for a while. Perhaps that's what He's been doing with me. Perhaps in a similar way that I say the same things to my cats over and over again -- "Hi, I love you. I'm so glad that you're my kitties. I'm so glad that I'm your mama" -- on a neverending loop, God has been communicating the same way with me -- "Hi, I love you. You're Mine. No one will ever be able to take you away from Me. I'm so glad that you're My child. I'm so glad that I'm your Father. I love you..."

Even the other night while I was trying to fall asleep, I heard myself ask God, "Do You hate me?" Um... it was a very sincere question that bubbled out of me. Perhaps this is why He's had His work cut out for Him.

God certainly doesn't deserve to be called "Your Obviousness," especially considering that the things that He obsessively, incessantly communicates to me aren't so obvious to me. (Otherwise, maybe He wouldn't need to communicate them to me so obsessively and incessantly, until they finally soak in.) He would definitely be "Your Majesty" or "Your Highness," because He's the King, and there isn't anyone higher than He is.

And yet, He just wants me to call Him Father, Daddy, Friend, Lord. I think I am still in the process of "getting" that. Hmm. I think I will let that soak in a bit more.