I had a weird dream this morning. In the dream, I was trying to get
ready for church, I think, and a strange lady suddenly came to our door. There
wasn't anything strange about how the lady looked or talked (because she was
poised and beautiful) other than the fact that she seemed extremely interested
in a bird that was living in a tree in our front yard. My sister and I were the
only ones at home, so we interacted with this lady. (I think this was the same
house where we lived when I was age 9-15, but in the dream we were living there
as adults.)
So, the lady was gushing about how wonderful the bird was, and I think
she really wanted to take it home with her. (It was just a regular-looking
bird, kind of like a mockingbird but less impressive-looking.) I think it
crawled around my neck, and I held it in my hand and asked if it would poop on
me. The lady said that it probably would. My sister entertained this lady while I scrambled to get ready for my
meeting -- sorting through a mess of clothes in the bathroom.
I think I was frustrated because this lady randomly showed up at our
door at an inopportune time and bothered us about a random subject that was
really none of her business. I think towards the end of the dream, the lady had
finally left, and I told my sister, "You're just like Mama (the cool, have-it-all-together one). You don't say what you really mean." My sister was
about to make fun of me for being just like Daddy (the nerdy, socially awkward,
weird one) when I woke up.
Sometimes when I have vivid dreams like that, I ask God if they meant
anything. Usually, He says something like, "It means you were
sleepy." (In other words, it was just a random dream.) But this time, He
gladly showed me that this dream really did mean something: The strange
birdophile lady was the devil, and the bird in our front yard was lost people.
Hmm. If I had known that that was what the dream meant, maybe I would
have stayed asleep long enough to kick the lady out of our house and tell her
to leave our bird alone.
So, when you grow up in a home that's that messed up, you kind of have
a ton of issues to sort through. And I've been discovering that that process kind
of takes a while.
I was raised by a hairdresser, so I always got my hair done
for free. Actually, there was a cost to it: I didn't really have much of a
choice in what kind of 'do I would get or how it would get done. Mom was the
boss. From what I understand, she suffers from dementia now, but about 20+
years ago, I wonder if perhaps we were getting the first clues about her
condition.
During my senior year in high school, Mom would color my hair red. (Not
sure why. I'm Scotch-Irish, so I already have bits of natural reddish
highlights in my hair.) On the night before she was supposed to drive me to
college, to move me into the dorm in August, she colored my hair because she
wouldn't be seeing me again until Thanksgiving. So, I was minding my own
business, getting my hair done, and then suddenly my cool, have-it-all-together Mom had
a hint of panic in her voice and told me to go wash my hair out. So, I
nonchalantly went and took a shower, as was my usual routine. When I finished
and looked in the mirror, to my horror I saw that my hair wasn't red -- it was
yellow.
Of course, I was ticked off. Mom said matter-of-factly that she would
fix it. So, she colored my hair again with a brown color that was supposed to
cover up the yellow. What got lost in translation were some very important
hair-care instructions: When you color your hair, you're supposed to wash it
with special shampoo that won't strip the color off every time you wash it.
Instead of using some of this special type of shampoo, I used Pert Plus, a
shampoo/conditioner combo that we had already purchased along with the rest of
my college/dorm supplies. So, while I was away at college, the brown cover-up color washed off rather
quickly, letting the yellow color shine through quite brightly.
I'm not sure if I was extra naïve or just extra excited about starting
college, but I barely noticed the yellow until my black roots had really begun
to show sometime in October or November. (Several paragraphs up is a
snapshot of those roots at the homecoming bonfire from my freshman year.) So,
every few months, Mom had to color my hair with that brown cover-up color until
all of the yellow finally grew out -- right before I started my last semester
of college. It took three years for that mistake to grow out.
I have never let anyone color my hair ever again. To this day, I am
vehemently opposed to the idea, and I only want my natural color to adorn my
head. (I'm actually kind of disappointed that I haven't had any new white/gray
hairs sprout on my head in about five or six years.)
So, my college hair-color catastrophe wasn't a quick fix. But every
time Mom would cut or trim my hair during that growing-out time, my look was
one step closer to being what it needed to be.
"Who is the man that fears the Lord? Him shall He teach in the way
He chooses." (Psalm 25:12)
At my church's Freedom ministry department (and probably at lots of
other churches), the process of internal healing is often compared to peeling
an onion. There are often many layers that need to be pulled back and discarded
before you finally get to the heart of an issue. (And you tend to shed some tears
along the way.)
But for me, my healing process hasn't really been that much of a
layer-shedding one. It's been more of a layer-growing one.
Today, I ventured out to a local mall. OH, MY GOSH, IT WAS CROWDED.
Kind of an introvert's nightmare. But I did manage to finally find a blouse
that I thought was worth standing in line to purchase. I just didn't realize
that I would be standing in line for about 20-30 minutes. I've never seen
anything like that at a mall. All of the store's 9 or 10 registers were open, but the line
still curved around like a giant snake all the way back to the men's
department. I'm used to seeing people get frustrated, set their merchandise
down, and leave a store because of an enormous wait time. But everybody just
stood in line with minimal complaining, as if standing in the biggest secular
retail line I've ever seen was a normal, everyday activity. (I didn't realize
Burlington Coat Factory was that popular around here.)
So, while I was standing in line, I felt like God told me something to
the effect of, "I wanted you to see how patient you've become."
Hmm. Life can do that to you, if you let it.
"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)
I used to be one of those uptight, impatient people who would abandon
their merchandise and leave the store just to avoid waiting in line. (Not that
there isn't a time and a place to do that. Sometimes enough is enough.) Today,
I figured I didn't really have to be anywhere else, so I had time to stand in
line. (And I almost bought some snacks, too, because I had the munchies, and
there was food just staring me right in the face. Those retail people are
marketing geniuses.) The lady behind me kept bumping into my ankles with her
fun-kid shopping cart, and I tried to be as gracious to her as possible during
the entire 20-30 minute wait.
That was God. Not me.
"Unless the Lord builds the house, they labor in vain who build
it; unless the Lord guards the city, the watchman stays awake in vain."
(Psalm 127:1)
I'm not the first person to notice this, but Jesus was a Carpenter, so
it isn't an accident that there are references to "building" stuff
throughout the Bible. I think that's cool.
Last month, shortly after I got new glasses, I realized that they were
too tight behind my ears. So, I went back to the eye doctor to get my glasses adjusted. Now they fit me just right. In a few short seconds, an expert
corrected something that had been causing me a couple of days' worth of pain.
During that time, while I was talking to God about my situation (cuz
that's how I roll), He said, "There's no shame in getting an
adjustment." That was very profound, because I know He wasn't just talking
about a pair of glasses.
Sometimes God can fix stuff in our lives in a few quick, miraculous
seconds. But other times, after He prunes stuff away John-15 style, we have to
wait until the new stuff grows.
I recently watched a YouTube video of my church choir from 2012. I was
kind of amazed to see video footage of me standing there politely
holding my hands together during a song that we were singing. But that ain't
how I express myself on a worship platform anymore. Now I punch the air with my
fist (sometimes upwards, sometimes as if I were stabbing myself in the side). I have kind of a battle stance with one foot in front of the other. I often have a rather scary look on my face. At least, I hope the demons are scared (instead of the innocent bystanders who I'm trying to lead into worship). Nobody has
complained about my style/expression of worship, so hopefully I'm doing it
right.
But changing my style/expression wasn't a five-second adjustment. It was about a five-year journey of growth.
2012 was an interesting year. I was leading a small group at my church,
and stuff was going on behind the scenes that I couldn't openly talk about. So,
I had to be reserved. At the end of that year, I stepped down from that leadership
role and moved into a smaller apartment. While I was processing my life, I soon began
to fight some pretty serious (literal and metaphorical) demons. During the next
several years, I developed some major survival skills, and I became very rough
around the edges.
I think God liked how I developed, because He ended up promoting me to
more responsibility on the worship platform. Now the entire church gets to
watch me rip my gloves off and kick the stuff out of the spiritual forces that used
to try to eat me for breakfast.
As long as a strange lady (or the devil) doesn't try to steal any birds
(or people) from my front yard, and as long as I don't let her (or him) do it,
I think that would be mission accomplished.
I want to let the Master Carpenter tear down and/or build whatever He
wants inside me, even though the construction process can be a long one, and
even though the paint can take a long time to dry. There ain't no shame in that.
