Sheep and landmarks

Disclaimer: As I've said before, I'm not a theologian or an ordained minister. I just use my blog to process some stuff that I've gone through in my past or that I'm going through now. I'm not proposing that everyone start doing things my way. I'm just talking about myself and the things I learn as I live my life. And you are welcome to read about it. Thank you kindly in advance for doing so.

"Do not remove the ancient landmark which your fathers have set." (Proverbs 22:28)

Five years ago when I took a spiritual gifts test, I was shocked to discover that I am gifted in shepherding, but when God started talking to me about it, it made sense. (My entire life started to make more sense.) Since then, I've noticed that shepherding affects nearly everything I do. For example, the disclaimer at the beginning of this post is basically me saying, "Hey, reader-sheep, if you don't like what you're reading, don't send me hate mail; instead, focus your attention on the fact that blogging is cheaper than therapy." At my day job, I'm an editor, and God has told me that I'm a word shepherd; at work, my red pen basically says, "Hey, sentence-sheep, you have a misspelled word over here," or "HEY! COMMA-SPLICE WOLF! Get out of my sentence-pasture!!"

I know. I'm obsessed.

I'm sure you've heard the saying that herding cats is impossible. Well... I had a conversation about this with a coworker at a previous job, and I explained that I (literally) herd my cats by feeding them; if I want them to be enclosed in a certain room, I'll feed them there inside that room and then close the door. But my coworker was like, "That isn't herding; that's attracting them to what they desire."

Um, what do you think shepherding is? You just lead the sheep to a place where they need to be. That's all there is to it. Leave the shepherding to us shepherds. We know how it's done. When you spend all your life in a lonely field looking after sheep who may or may not appreciate you, your mind begins to adapt with all sorts of problem-solving skills, and you get pretty darn creative.

Speaking of herding cats, earlier this week, during an almost sleepless night, I basically told God I was done with this whole Macho-peeing-on-my-bed thing. So, I started doing a couple of things differently. Firstly, instead of keeping my cats inside my bedroom at night with me, I've left my door open and let them sleep wherever they want inside my apartment. (Hopefully at this point, they're conditioned to stay away from my kitchen sink and cabinets.) I've also decided to not enclose them in my bedroom anymore when I leave for work. (They seem very happy with these changes.)

 

Secondly, I decided to protect my bed with wee-wee pads when I'm not sleeping in it. So, I bought a big package of puppy-training pads that are supposed to attract dogs to pee on them. I think they have the opposite effect on cats, because my babies haven't really shown any interest in the wee-wee pads so far.

 

After I placed a few of the pads in strategic places on my bed, I noticed only one little accident on my bed a couple of inches away from a pad, so I decided to just cover my bed with pads. So far, so good! The pads have remained completely dry, my floor has remained dry, no one has seemed to protest my methods by squatting in any unauthorized locations, and the litterbox has been buzzing with much activity. Mission accomplished thus far!

If you read my previous post, perhaps you have an idea of how frustrating and heartbreaking it has been for me -- for all three of us who live here inside my apartment -- to adjust while Macho has been relearning how to pee. God has had to hold my hand through this and help me to have some grace and wisdom in how to handle everything. Because this isn't anything they teach you at PetSmart when you adopt a kitten and bring him home.

Actually, a lot of the things that people told me about how to take care of cats have been wrong -- at least for my particular cats. For example, 1) I was told that cats like pressure, so when you pet them, you should pet them hard. This doesn't work with Choochie, who is tiny, delicate, and meows in pain/frustration if you pet her too hard. 2) Everyone says to discipline a kitten by squirting water on her whenever she is naughty. Again, this doesn't work with Choochie, who loves water, so much so that she gave herself an infection in her ear one time from drinking out of the faucet too much. 3) People will tell you to drug a cat with prescription medication or Benadryl before you take them on a roadtrip with you. Heh. Good luck trying to force any kind of tablet into Macho's mouth. Ever since he refused Benadryl once, I decided that both my babies will just have to deal with any kind of roadtrips medicine-free.

So, wee-wee pads designed to attract puppies actually repel cats. Who'd a thunk?

Not everything works for everybody. And God knows that.

"The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want." (Psalm 23:1)

"I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will guide you with My eye." (Psalm 32:9)

Earlier today, I was thinking about a memory from about 9 1/2 years ago, when I moved into the metropolitan area. Dad, Mom, and my cousin were helping me move into an apartment. I have an old desk, and I packed its contents simply by taping a bag over the top of each drawer. (I saw Mom pack some dressers that way years ago, so I had packed my drawer contents that way ever since. It was easy and convenient because it saved so much work.)

But Dad had this quirk of demonstrating gravity to everyone outside my immediate family. (I have no idea why. Welcome to my life.) So, while my cousin was there with us, Dad did his gravity-demonstration thing. He grabbed one of my desk drawers and said something like, "See what happens? There's this thing called gravity..." What was supposed to happen was, Dad would turn over my drawer, nothing would fall out of it because its contents were packed securely, and voila, my cousin was supposed to ooh and ahh over Dad's supreme knowledge of science. Instead, alas, Dad turned over my drawer, all of its contents spilled out because I guess my packing technique royally failed me, one of my glass picture frames broke, and Dad said, "Whoops."

I ended up replacing the frame, but Dad didn't show any kind of remorse over breaking my property, and I don't remember him offering to fix it or make it right. (The next time I moved, I emptied out all my drawers, packed the contents into boxes, and hired professional movers.)

Today while I was thinking about that memory, God basically told me, "You were raised by an overgrown child, and I had to remove you from there and re-raise you Myself."

I'm God's sheep. He's my Shepherd. Throughout the ages, since the beginning of time, there has only ever been one ME. While God has been taking care of me, I guess He could have taken advice from people about the proper way of taking care of a Tirzah. But maybe I'm not like all the other Tirzahs. Maybe I'm ME. And maybe I need some very specific TLC that only God knows about.

Psalm 23 says He herds me to the places where I need to be, and Psalm 32 says He instructs me in the way that I should go.

 

I've recently decided to start a new tradition: Every Saturday afternoon, I will enjoy a vanilla milkshake. (Last week, it was Braum's; this week, it was Whataburger.) Why? Is it because I need the extra calories? Is it because I'm five years old?

Recently, I've been fighting some depression that pops up during the weekends when I'm lonely. It's OK; I know how to kick depression's butt. God has taught me all about how to do that during the past decade and a half. And during this particular leg of my journey, it seems wise to set up a new landmark -- a new tradition.

Traditions are bad if you worship them, and they're especially bad if you depend on them to get you to heaven someday. If you're an artsy-fartsy chick like me, it's fashionable and cool to blow traditions to smithereens, because they go against everything that your artsy-fartsyness stands for.

But through the years, I've learned that traditions aren't all bad. They help you keep your sanity (especially when your artsy-fartsyness makes you crazy like a senile cat who thinks it's OK to pee on his owner's bed). They give you something to look forward to. It's nice to know that you're going to get some kind of celebration every year on your birthday. It's nice to know that little kids are going to dress up in silly costumes and ask you for some candy every 31st of October. It's nice to know that somebody is going to have a huge turkey dinner with your name on it every Thanksgiving. It's nice to know that somebody is going to give you some kind of present every Christmas. It's nice to know that people in your area are going to count down to the very last second of the year every 31st of December.

Traditions are all over the Bible. For example, there are all sorts of Jewish holidays that I barely know anything about, but that I would like to learn more about and maybe even observe myself.

But for now, my new tradition is a vanilla milkshake every Saturday afternoon. It will give me something to look forward to. (And I like vanilla milkshakes.) God is a good Daddy. I'm sure He'll give me plenty of conversation while I slowly chug down a dessert drink every weekend.

Because that's what good fathers do. Good fathers spend time with their children. They enjoy their children. They defend their children. They don't destroy their children's lives bit by bit, inch by inch, year by year, just to make themselves look good.

As the closing song from the old TV show Square Pegs asserts, "One size does not fit all." What might work for somebody else might not work for me. So, I think I'll just leave the shepherding of Tirzah to the ultimate Shepherd. He knows how it's done.