Broad place

I recently got rid of an old stereo system. I'm still shopping around for a new one, and as you can see, I've reserved a spot for the new one (where my old one used to be). I was expecting my cats to adopt the empty spot, but they have completely respected the vacant area. I took this photo a month ago, and they still haven't touched the empty spot. Maybe they know it's off-limits because Mama has something special planned for it.

"My foot stands in an even place; in the congregations I will bless the Lord." (Psalm 126:12)

"He also brought me out into a broad place; He delivered me because He delighted in me." (Psalm 18:19)

This time of year (Christmas and New Year's Eve) is always a natural time for reflection. 2016 will be the year that I turn 40. That will be a monumental occasion indeed.

For me personally, I felt like God told me that this past year (2015) would be like a blank canvas (which gave me hope) and a year of surprises (which made me excited on one hand and apprehensive on the other). I thought 2015 turned out to be a year of surprises indeed:

1) I grew to hate my job (bad surprise)

2) I got a new job which I love (good surprise)

3) my cat got dangerously sick (very bad surprise)

4) my car got pummeled with marble- and pea-size hail out of nowhere (what the heck), but it wasn't damaged at all (thank You, Father!), and all that was just today (seriously)

And the above was just a tiny list of highlights.

For 2016, again for me personally, I feel like God has told me that the coming year will be like a kaleidoscope. There will be a variety of things going on (I think in my heart and also externally with my circumstances), and God will be churning some things around and letting some things come into place in a very cool way. I am definitely looking forward to it.

But in the meantime, I am here in a broad place, kind of like what the psalmists talked about in the Bible, and kind of like that open, vacant spot in my home that is reserved for something special. Here in this broad place, I've been enjoying some rest from (spiritual) war, I'm digging the peace, I'm reflecting on the things that God has done in my life, and I'm more than likely being sharpened in preparation for the upcoming battles. Not that I'm looking for a fight. It's just that, as Eugene Peterson would say, I belong to the God of angel armies. He's got some stuff for me to do.

So, while I've been here reflecting in my broad place, I've noticed some important things:

1) I'm a LOT tougher than I was about 20 years ago. When God changes people, He tends to make them softer and gentler. I think He did that with me, PLUS He made me scary enough to spit nails simultaneously. Check out a photo of me from 1997 when I was a senior in college:

 

Aw, look at that innocent face, that friendly smile, those eyes that say, "Hi, everybody! I love you! Can you please walk all over me today?" Poor kid. Never knew what hit her. Contrast that with a selfie that I took of myself recently.

 

Wow, look at that hardened brow, that absent-yet-present scowl, those eyes that appear to be saying, "Hey, kid, give me all your lunch money," or "I hate everybody in the universe" or "Hey, demon, get your scummy fallen-angel paws away from my sheep whom I love, before I break your twerpy little neck." I hope my eyes are really saying just that last one. (I think perhaps that Goth wannabe/curly-haired Trinity from The Matrix/Mexican-gangster way that I do my hair now adds to the intensity.)

For the record, I get that intense look in my eyes pretty often, and for many different reasons, most of which are harmless; most of the time it's just because I'm thinking too hard. But I do get greeted with a lot of fist bumps instead of handshakes or side-hugs.

If you've followed my blog for the past few years, perhaps you've seen me go through some pretty hard stuff. I think God has been using it to turn me into a dangerously fierce warrior. I'm still learning how to use the weapons He's given me.

For example, a couple of weeks ago one morning, I was eating breakfast, reading the Bible, and minding my own business when a demon manifested itself in my living room. I barely flinched. I was like, "Well, well, well. Who have we here?" The demon was like, "Strife." I rebuked it, but it didn't go away right away. So, I stood to my feet and cornered it properly with some spiritual warfare until it went away. (It's a good thing it did, because strife was the last thing I needed around me that particular day.) Bullying demons is fun, but what's most effective is siccing Jesus and His name at them. My instinct is to charge at them with my human brawn, but what tortures them horrifically is being reminded that Jesus shed His blood on the cross, died in my place, and rose again on the third day. Heh. That'll make 'em scream.

2) I'm a leader. I kind of knew this already (especially since technically every Christian is a leader, whether they want to be or not), but this is something in my life that God has highlighted for me recently. For example, before I sang in the choir at my church last weekend, I prayed and asked God what was on His heart for me that weekend. If I remember correctly, He said, "You're a leader. Just show up and be yourself. If you show up and be yourself, everyone else will show up and be themselves. I need everyone to be themselves." Indeed.

I'm a shepherd. I think that's one reason why God has been toughening me up these past couple of decades. Shepherds in the Bible lived their lives alone while they guarded and took care of their sheep, and they needed to be crazy enough to do things like kill anything (e.g., lions, bears) that attacked their sheep. They laid down their lives for their sheep (like what Jesus said in John 10:15).

That's the part about the Christmas story that touched me this year: When God's Son was born as a baby on this earth, He announced it to the shepherds first. I'm sure I've heard pastors talk about this before, but this year it hit home for me the deepest: God my Shepherd announced His Son's birth to His peeps first.

So, as a leader/shepherd, I need to be careful. People follow my lead when I don't even realize that I'm leading. They copy me. They take their cues from me. They desire my affirmation.

And they challenge me. One thing about being scary enough to spit nails is that, well, I can accidentally scare people. I can be very abrasive very unintentionally. So, I've been learning how to walk in "grace under pressure." I think sometimes people think I'm Google, because they sometimes ask me questions (that I don't know the answer to) that can easily be answered by doing some quick research online. One time somebody asked me a question about something that was completely out of my realm of authority, and then they yelled at me when I told them that I didn't know: "But you're a leader! You're supposed to know!" Um, sorry. All I know is the notes we're supposed to be singing. If you have an administrative question, please allow me to direct you to an administrator who can assist you.

I think I understand why Jesus kept trying to get away from the crowds so that He could be by Himself and pray. Maybe He was like, "Hey, I love you, but I really need to work some stuff out with My Father before I go crazy."

"Therefore be imitators of God as dear children." (Ephesians 5:1)

3) I'm God's child. I've noticed recently that God calls us His children, not His adults. (Even though technically many of us are adults.) Children need an incredible amount of attention and supervision, even if they're old enough to take care of themselves. They think they know everything, when in reality they still have SO much to learn. They're usually either in a hurry to grow up, or they're afraid to mature. If they throw a tantrum, they will make life embarrassingly miserable for everyone around them. And yet they are incredibly endearing, impeccably honest, infinitely precious, and completely vulnerable. They need adults to protect them from all kinds of harm. They have the potential for lightning-speed growth, so you need to give them a steady stream of nurturing. They genuinely want to learn how to live life, so they need someone around them pretty much all the time to guide them, direct them, and teach them how to live life the right way.

And that's how God my Father sees me.

When I'm wandering around His house doing foolish things, throwing tantrums, and strutting around like I own the place, I need to let Him patiently correct me, discipline me, and reroute me to where I need to be. He does it for His name's sake, and He does it because He loves me. I'm infinitely precious to Him, and I need Him to protect me, or I'll be toast.

"For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not sit down first and count the cost, whether he has enough to finish it...?" (Luke 14:28)

4) Towers are expensive. I heard a friend say once that there's a difference between "family" and "relatives." He was completely right. "Family" knows you. "Relatives" only share a gene pool with you.

Years ago, when God told me to leave my parents, and when I finally went through with it, I didn't fully realize to what degree I would truly be leaving my family. Interacting with relatives isn't scary anymore, but it's incredibly awkward. I can't be completely myself, or I will get judged, criticized, and/or stifled. Just like I did with my birth parents, I have to water down my personality anytime I interact with my relatives. I can't talk openly about God with most of them, so I have to kind of speak in Pharisee/religious code. (For example, "At church last weekend where I was worship-shepherding in the choir, I cried while I watched hundreds of people take communion" would translate into something like "At church last weekend, I sang in the choir.") I hate it.

I think I've gotten to the point where I'm used to people thinking the subject of "family" is a safe subject for small talk, so I'm prepared for it. And I think I've become an expert at changing the subject. Have I told you lately how much I love my kitties? Also, honestly, people are so willing to talk about themselves that they'll let me ask them about their "family," and they'll be quite eager to reply and completely forget about my vague answer to their "family" question. Sneaky chuckle.

I'm not quite sure that God would have expected me to count this much detail along with my tower-building cost. But it's worth it. Oh, my gosh, it's so worth it.

5) I've decided to not get a tattoo after all. Perhaps you remember reading this post from last year where I explained why I was seriously considering getting a Psalm-91-inspired tattoo. The lion and the cobra in verse 13 would have symbolized depression and lust -- two things that I have or will have battled and won (depression beaten, lust still fighting). It would have been an awesome 40th birthday present to myself.

But now I have an awesome job (truly the classiest gig I've ever had) that has a dress code that might not mesh well with that harsh of a tatt. Also, frankly, I'm quite nerdy and potentially allergic to almost anything, and I wouldn't want to take a chance of having some kind of bad reaction to getting my first tattoo. (Maybe I've been watching too many episodes of The People's Court?)

And I was thinking about the tattoo idea recently and talking to God about it, and I was like, "But the lion and the cobra would symbolize me beating those two things." And God was like, "Why stop at two?"

I know, right?

So, no tattoo. I think I look scary enough without one. And I would eventually need to cover myself in ink to tell everybody about everything that God has done with me.

You hear that, 2016? You have endless possibilities, because you're in the infinitely capable hands of my Father who loves me, has a plan for me, and is guiding me every step of the way. I'm ready. Bring it!

Goodbye, dream; hello, dream

I need to warn you about this post. I'm going to write about the menstrual cycle. If you feel the need to skip reading this post, I won't be offended. (However, if you feel the need to lecture me about talking about this type of thing in mixed company, I'll be pretty darn offended.) I'll try to not get too personal or too graphic, and I definitely won't include any photos. (Sorry.) Also, I'm not a medical professional or an ordained minister. But I am a woman. And I'm going to gush-ramble for a little bit.

About once a month, I spend a little time hating Eve (the first woman, the one who influenced Adam to sin, the one who ruined everything for every woman who came after her and for all of humanity). This may sound terrible, but I hope Eve isn't in heaven, because if she is, I think I'm going to kick her butt when I meet her. Really hard. Or maybe Jesus will host field trips to hell so that every female citizen of heaven can take turns punching Eve in the jaw. Really hard.

The menstrual cycle is a really, really, really big deal to a woman. It ends up controlling many of her everyday decisions. Her entire month could end up revolving around it. I myself need to keep ibuprofen and chocolate handy for the week leading up to it, and I need to keep feminine napkins and lots of toilet paper handy for the week during my period.

Because eventually, it's going to happen.

If a woman doesn't get her period every month, she's either pregnant or something is wrong with her health. Any young woman who has never had a period by a certain age might need surgery to correct the problem. Any woman (like the one in Matthew 9:20-22) who gets a period that never stops will either need surgery or a miracle to correct the problem. I once knew a girl who was anorexic in junior high, and she stopped getting her period while she had her eating disorder. After she came to her senses and started eating again, her period didn't come back again on its own until she was in college. I've heard stories of some women who have very painful, irregular periods; in these cases, doctors often prescribe birth control pills because they cause women's bodies to have light, regular periods.

Speaking for myself, if I am very stressed out, I will skip my period that month. That is actually what happened to me last month... so this month's period is particularly heavy. (Hence the inspiration for the writing of this post.) Yay, I get to skip a period, right? Wrong. Try having PMS for a month. Yeah, I know.

In cases like that, finally getting my period is a relief... and yet simultaneously, it's like an unwelcomed guest in my life. To me, having a period is the most disgusting thing about being a woman (which is an otherwise wonderful thing to be). Once a month, blood very gradually gushes out of a major body cavity and threatens to stain everything you wear and/or sit on unless you take the proper precautions. It takes some serious skill and finesse to live with your period and even to hide it from other people. It's a slimy, sweaty, stinky, gross process. There's no stopping it once it starts; you just need to wait 5-10 days and let nature take its course. Thanks a lot, Eve.

Actually, when I attempted suicide 15 years ago, I was on my period, but it stopped suddenly while I was in the psych hospital. I guess a traumatic experience will do the trick.

As if having your period weren't already traumatic enough. In my 26 years of having periods, the worst experience I ever had was when I was about 16 years old. I was with my family at a Baptist camp, and I was inadequately prepared for my monthly visitor. I had an accident, and my birth mother drove me back to our motel room for a change of clothes, etc. During the process, I accidentally locked us out of our room; while I was getting a spare key from the motel office, my mother threw her back out while she was lugging our ice chest out of our car. She was bedridden for pretty much the rest of the week at camp, and she blamed me for it. (There is so much wrong with this story... because I was being shamed on top of being embarrassed... and I didn't force her to retrieve the ice chest which we didn't have an immediate need for... while we were being total snobs who didn't sleep in tents or dorms like everybody else at camp. Yes, I was pretty much raised by wolves.)

But if you're a woman, unless you have extenuating circumstances, you're going to get a period every month.

I don't think it's an accident that God created the menstrual process to be a weeklong, very gradual process. It would be enormously inconvenient and embarrassing if my body were to suddenly eject a never-born infant's blood supply in one huge gush. Now that I think about it, I'm kind of glad God makes it last several days. (I mean, my body isn't a computer. I don't get like a pop-up flash across my eyeballs or anything like that: "Countdown to monthly ejection in 10... 9... 8...")

God knew this. The menstrual cycle shows up in random places in the Bible, from the woman with the issue of blood to Rachel lying about being on her period while she was hiding some idols (see Genesis 31:34-35). God gave Old Testament laws about what to do and not to do during and after a menstrual cycle. I read an article online once that was written by a Jewish woman who, from what I understand, still does the ceremonial cleansing that God ordained in the Bible. If I remember correctly, she said that the ceremony is a beautiful thing that represents the loss of the baby that will never be born -- of a life that will never be.

And that leads me to the point of this entire post. God showed me recently that the menstrual cycle is basically the monthly death of a dream.

This totally makes sense. The death of a dream can be a very gradual, messy process as well. (Some dreams can die very suddenly, but the grieving process can be gradual and messy.)

"Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us. Selah." (Psalm 62:8)

"Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it spring the issues of life." (Proverbs 4:23)

"Most assuredly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain." (John 12:24)

All of us have something that God designed for our future -- a purpose, a calling, a destiny. Oftentimes that something (or somethings) starts out as a dream. That dream germinates, is cultivated, and grows -- sometimes for a very long time -- until it is finally realized.

But other times, a dream will die permanently.

Sometimes you know it's coming; sometimes you can brace yourself for the gory process. But other times, the death of your dream will take you by surprise, and you feel very ill-prepared, disoriented, and humiliated. Still other times, the people around you who were supposed to support you during your grieving process end up hurting you during your crisis.

There isn't anything gentlemanly or discreet about grief at all. By its very nature, grief is an unavoidable monster that is best handled by allowing it to take its course. If the process makes you uncomfortable or if you do anything to try to stifle it, you could severely harm yourself.

But the best way to let grief take its course is by crying into the bosom of your Creator. When your dream dies, you'll have a giant hole in your heart; what was once alive will be gushing out of you in ways that you might not be able to control. The entire process will be messy and terrible, but it will be beautiful.

You think it doesn't hurt when your dream dies? Heh. Let me share just a couple of my personal examples with you.

I used to want to be a novelist. This dream of mine has died twice, and it was God's idea both times. The first time, He told me to just lay it down; that was 16 years ago, and I was dangerously mad at Him. Then He rekindled the dream inside me about 5 years ago. Then about 3 years ago, He told me to let it die so that I could learn how to cultivate a dream; thankfully I'm not mad at Him anymore, and the new dream is way cooler (now I want to be a worship pastor, which is a calling that He hadn't told me anything about until a few years ago).

But while I had been cultivating my novelist dream, and while I had been watching it gradually die, I encountered all kinds of heartache related to it. I started a novel a couple of times, but it never got off the ground. I wrote several short stories, but none of them sold to any magazines I had submitted them to. I even wrote a play, but nobody bought it (and it stank). Meanwhile, I had moved back in with my birth parents (wolves), and I tried to write, but I was constantly distracted (no, thank you, I don't want to watch another useless made-for-TV movie), and then they wondered why I wasn't writing.

Years after I permanently ventured out on my own, I can see how God's vision for my writing skills reached far beyond what any stupid novels could accomplish. I hope Windowbrawl has helped people connect with Him (in addition to being therapy for me).

But the process of letting that dream die (both times) was rather painful. You think it's easy to get fired from a writing job? You think it's easy feeling like a screw-up? You think it's easy to earn a college degree in writing, only to watch people with terrible grammar, language, and communication skills get their work published instead? Yeah, I know.

Here's another dead dream: I used to want to get married. This dream took a really, really, really long time to die, because getting married is a really big deal (especially to a woman). Actually, I think this particular dream is still in the gradual, gory, gross process of dying. I have felt little painful squirts here and there from time to time, sometimes with little warning or preparation. Letting it run its course has downright stunk.

You think it's been a picnic to go 21 years without a date? You think it's been wonderful to allow your heart to develop feelings for somebody, only to watch him pursue other women instead? You think it's been easy to watch your friends marry guys who you used to have a crush on? (That's happened to me at least twice.) You think it's been flattering to practically throw yourself at men who end up registering on match.com instead, or who end up whining on Facebook about their singlehood, or who end up just ignoring you altogether? Yeah, I know. Sometimes I feel like a useless container for ovaries. (And I'm very surprised that I haven't punched every member of the male species in the jaw. Really hard.)

You think it's easy to pray for a husband and for God to be silent? You think it's easy to hear Him finally start talking to you, when He tells you that you're not going to have a husband? You think it's easy to hear people preach at you about God giving you the desires of your heart?

Of course it isn't easy. They have no idea what kind of storms have raged inside your heart. They have no idea that something has already been in the process of dying inside your heart and that it's about to gradually flow out of your heart forever. They have no idea how painful it will be for you to let that death run its course. They have no idea how God wants to use your pain to make you stronger, help other people, draw you closer to Himself, and hopefully earn you some sweet rewards in heaven someday. (Not counting getting to kick the crap out of Eve.)

Only God knows.

He is the best Person to grieve with. His bosom is the best place to express the angst that builds up right before, during, and after the death of another dream. Sometimes He's the only One capable of saying anything that actually encourages you while you're hurting. And He's definitely the Expert at rebuilding old dreams and creating new dreams.

"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)

Living alone with two cats isn't the kind of life that I would have chosen for myself when I was fresh out of high school or college, but I'll take it. God told me a long time ago that my independence was a gift from Him, and I think I understand now what He meant by that. I don't think I would have time to cultivate my new dreams if I were too busy trying to rescue the old ones. I don't think I would have had time to spend 16-17 hours at church this past weekend if I had either 1) a novel to finish writing and/or 2) a husband and children to clean up after. Honestly, I'm very thankful that my teenage cats are still alive, and I'm glad they support my current life pursuits by just napping and being themselves.

I almost wonder if perhaps God planted the seeds of my current life inside me when I was a kid. I used to play/pretend that I lived all by myself in an apartment where I had everything I needed. And when I was even younger than that, I had a kitten whom I referred to as "my son."

But while I'm letting my dreams die, and while I'm learning how to cultivate new dreams, I'm going to hold on to God as tightly as I can, and I'm going to let Him hold on to me. I think in addition to being the Expert dream-builder, He Himself is also the ultimate Expert at letting dreams die. From what I understand, Adam and Eve were God's dream to populate the earth with little human expressions of Himself. But they royally messed up that dream for God and for us.

So, God created a new dream: to repopulate the earth with redeemed human expressions of Himself. That dream grew over the centuries, and it finally came true when His Son Jesus came to earth, died, and rose again. And God's new dream comes true every time somebody gives their heart to Him for the very first time.

For a woman, being on her period is a very awkward time of the month. But it's worth pushing through the awkwardness because she knows that without this natural process, she couldn't reproduce herself. Similarly, letting your dream die is a painfully terrible process that possibly only you and God will understand. But it's worth pushing through it because without this process, you might not be able to make room in your life for the tailor-made dream that God has for you. And you could get to know God at a deeper level than ever before.

Maybe someday, Jesus will host a field trip to hell where He'll let me punch the devil in the crotch. Really hard.