Parking at my apartment complex is pretty much first-come, first-serve.
So, for the past couple of evenings, I've been delighted to see that the spot
where I usually like to park was vacant. "My space!" I've exclaimed. Not
that I actually own my usual parking spot. (And not to be confused with the outdated
social media site myspace.)
The concept of ownership is very important to me. Maybe I'm just like a
cat.
I heard the cat-whispering expert Jackson Galaxy explain on his TV show
once that a cat needs to have a spot that he/she owns. In my apartment, Macho
"owns" a spot under my bed and a spot on my couch. These are places
where he naps, snuggles, rests, and hides from the rest of the world.
As pictured here, Choochie "owns" a spot on my couch, too.
But I've recently realized that she has a deeper, longer-term sense of
ownership somewhere else: my chest.
I truly hope this doesn't sound crass, but a woman's chest is kind of a
multi-purpose area. One main purpose of a mother's chest is to comfort her
child. It's a nicely cushioned area where a child can find refuge, be embraced,
and have a good cry if necessary.
My chest is Choochie's default snuggle spot. No matter what I'm doing,
no matter how sleepy or hungry she is, and no matter how awkward of a climb it
is for her, she will find a way to crawl onto my lap and hoist herself up to my
chest. Sometimes she doesn't even snuggle -- she just stands there and
purr-meows, perhaps as if to claim her territory for anyone within earshot. I
think when I'm trying to fall asleep at night and she tries to half-crawl under
the covers, she's actually looking for her default snuggle spot (which isn't
set up for her properly when I'm lying down on my side). Once in a while, I will
wake up at 1 or 3 in the morning flat on my back to the sound of Choochie
loudly purring while reclining on my chest. (I love you, too, kitty. Um, did
you know that it's 1 in the morning?)
Actually, anytime she doesn't snuggle on my chest, and she just stands
there awkwardly instead, it can get a bit frustrating for me. (Especially if
I'm trying to watch TV or type something on my laptop.) I mean, just recline
and let me pet you for a while, kitty. You're my baby, and I want to enjoy you,
too.
Yes, of course I've been building up to a giant analogy.
"The ox knows its owner and the donkey its master's crib; but
Israel does not know, My people do not consider." (Isaiah 1:3)
I started rereading the Book of Isaiah I think a couple of weeks ago...
but I haven't really been able to finish chapter 1 yet. I've been stuck in / obsessing
over verse 3. It's basically saying that, in this particular context, an ox and
a donkey are smarter than Israel. Or I guess you could also say that my cats
are smarter than I am.
From what I understand about Isaiah chapter 1, God isn't cool with how
Israel dissed Him. Out of all the other peoples of the world, God chose Israel
to be His very own. But all throughout the Bible, they repeatedly turned away
from God and worshiped other gods. I guess you could say that Israel was like a
giant rebellious teenager who would get in serious trouble, beg for forgiveness,
turn around and get in serious trouble all over again, rinse and repeat.
Nothing against Israel, of course, because I'm the same way. To a
degree, we all are.
I think Isaiah 1:3 is saying that an ox knows who owns him/her. Even a
donkey knows where he/she belongs. (Yes, even my cats know where their home is
and where their snuggle spots are.) But Israel was clueless. I've been
clueless, too, and God has had to continually retrain me.
"The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by Him, who
shelters him all the day long; and he shall dwell between His shoulders."
(Deuteronomy 33:12)
I think that space between God's shoulders -- that snuggle spot that
God wants me to have with Him -- is right there on His chest.
During my most recent round of psychotherapy, I discovered that I'm
addicted to turmoil. (And I blogged about it, of course. You can read about it
here if you like.) That was a huge discovery for me
last year. Since then, I've learned that there are healthy ways for me to get
my turmoil "fix," such as watching reality shows (where there are always
tons of conflict), yelling at demons whenever I do spiritual warfare, etc.
But lately my life has been settling into a very nice, quiet routine
that is almost turmoil-free. Of course, during the past several years, my soul
has been getting used to peace and quiet -- things that are actually supposed
to be normal, but had been foreign to my soul.
Sometimes emotional things will churn and boil inside my heart/head
because I need to work through them. This is healthy. But other times, my heart/head
will boil and freak out unnecessarily. Perhaps this is the turmoil addiction
that I've been gradually getting a handle on.
God recently told me something that has helped me immensely: "Don't go
shopping for strife inside your head."
I'm a woman, but for some reason I don't have the clothes-shopping gene
that most other women seem to have. In case you can't tell from the way I
dress, I royally hate clothes-shopping. When I was a kid, shopping with my
birth mother was torture because after taking forever at every store at the
mall, and dragging us all with her, she would be almost out the door... and
then she'd spot something else on a rack right by the door... so we'd end up
shopping for like another hour. D'oh! So exhausting!
During one episode of Duck
Dynasty when Miss Kay took forever to shop for furniture, Phil wisely
observed that when we women shop, we "browse." That's why it takes
forever. We may not necessarily find what we need/want right away; we'll spend
time looking at every single one of our options before making a purchase. (If
we make a purchase.)
So, I missed inheriting the clothes-shopping gene, but I definitely
have a browsing gene. I hate shopping for clothes, but I could shop for CDs or
DVDs till the cows come home. Seriously. If you want to get rid of me for an
hour, just take me to Movie Trading Company and drop me off. I'll get lost in
browsing heaven. I won't necessarily even buy anything; I'll just explore
options, compare prices, read song lists, scan movie summaries -- oh, gosh, I
love to do that.
One time, my obsessive browsing possibly freaked out a manager at a DVD
rental store. I was looking for a movie to watch, and I almost found a couple
of them, but I decided not to after all, and I insisted on looking at almost
every shelf, and I think I combed the entire store like two or three times. I
almost bought candy but decided not to after all. When I walked out of the
store with nothing, the manager exclaimed exasperatedly, "The whole
store?!?" Um, yes. Sorry. (It ain't my fault you have a crummy selection.)
So, when God tells me to not go shopping for strife inside my head, I
know what He means. Say, as a very silly example, that somebody tells me that I
remind them of their Aunt Harriet. Aww. And they love their Aunt Harriet. And I
take it as a compliment. Shopping for strife would be sort of like looking for
trouble where there is none, and you just browse until you exhaust yourself.
"Wait. When she told me I remind her of her Aunt Harriet, did she mean
that she only wants to see me at Thanksgiving and Christmas?? Or that she
secretly hates her Aunt Harriet, and now she hates me, too??? Or that I'm old
and dorky????? You know, I never liked that chick, anyway. I should unfriend
her. No, I should tell her off before I unfriend her. No, I should crash the
restaurant where she's having dinner with her friends and tell her off in front
of them. You know what? I'll rehearse what I'm going to say right now! Um...
no... that would result in her calling the police... getting a restraining
order... and I'll probably have to go through therapy again... and who will
feed my cats for me while I'm in the psych hospit-- WAIT, WHY THE HECK HAVE I
TAKEN IT THIS FAR IN MY HEAD??? There probably wasn't even anything there in
the first place. Gosh."
I know, silly example, and it honestly happens much more vaguely than
that for me. But maybe you get the idea.
"Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your heart before
Him; God is a refuge for us. Selah." (Psalm 62:8)
Regarding my cat Choochie, perhaps one reason why she's so close to me
is because I HAVE TO keep her close so that I won't lose her. She is a very
extroverted, outgoing, friendly cat. Years ago, before I got her "fixed," she had
what vets refer to as "a tendency to roam." Of course, "fixing" her
curbed that tendency (for the most part). But if I were to open the front door to my
apartment, and if Choochie were unrestrained, she could possibly wander off and never be heard from again.
And I would be heartbroken. So, I keep her close to me, and I daresay she likes
it. Perhaps she adopted that snuggle spot that she owns on my chest way back
when she was a kitten. But she knows that's where she belongs.
Of course, it's the same with me and God.
Oxen, donkeys, and cats know where they belong. They know who owns
them.
I want to know who I belong with, the One who owns me, more deeply than
ever. I don't want to wander off. I don't want to go shopping for junk that I'm
not designed to use, store, nurture, or distribute. If junk boils up in my
head/heart, I need to keep pouring it out to my Owner and letting Him help me
work through it.
That spot between His shoulders is my space!
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