Casserole5

There’s a Toys R Us store on my way home from church. As you probably know, that retailer filed for bankruptcy, so the store has had a going-out-of-business sale going on for quite a while. I stopped in last night just out of curiosity. What I saw was pretty sad. Most of the store had empty shelves, and we were only allowed to shop at the front part of the store which was cordoned off and lightly stocked with the last remaining items. I believe the sign on the front of the store said the sale would last for six more days.

What I saw last night wasn’t the Toys R Us that I grew up with. When I was a kid in the 80s, going to Toys R Us was always a magical, anticipated, epic treat. The store that we would go to was huge and was stocked with every toy you could imagine. (Or maybe it seemed so huge because I was so little.) The sale items, marked with yellow or red price tags, were always a welcome sight -- especially when your dad was out of work and money was tight for everybody. When I got older, I used to shop more in the video game section (for our Atari), but I always thoroughly enjoyed my visit to that store (and I’m glad I bought what I did, because I was able to sell most of it on eBay years later).

But last night, it seemed like they had been emptying out the dark corners of their warehouse. There was a huge shelf full of plastic troll figurines, a display of personalized cheap-looking plastic Christmas ornaments (that were supposed to light up but didn’t seem to work), maybe like two or three Star Wars action figures, and dozens of C batteries (which, even at 60% off, would still be a better deal at Dollar Tree). There were also still some Babies R Us items for sale. I was kind of hoping to find some candy at the checkout lines -- which is a pretty standard sight at almost any retailer nowadays -- but there wasn’t any. (Purchasing a cheap little refreshment on my way out is sometimes my way of saying, “Thanks for letting me browse.”) Unless they already sold it all.

As I drove away without buying anything, I thought about how my favorite childhood toy store was probably yet another dead retailer that failed to change with the times. I mean, if you sell toys in close proximity to breastfeeding accessories, who are you catering to? Stay-at-home moms. And how do they shop? As cheaply as possible. Where? Online, of course, because you can buy used stuff there without having to lug your family around to any garage sales. And if they bring their kids to shop with them at your actual store, it would be retail suicide to not stock your checkout lanes with candy.

Rest in peace, Geoffrey. I’m glad I was a Toys R Us kid.

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Last night and this morning, MeepMeep has been displaying some signs of going into heat yet again -- separation anxiety, insatiable appetite for affection, nestling her head towards her chest. (This photo is completely unrelated to this phenomenon.) I’m hoping her hormones have just been petering out each time she gets like this, but I’m still prepared for anything. (And hopefully all of her current behavior is just a false alarm.)

And yesterday morning as I was trying to fall back to sleep, she scratched my eyelid. I think it was a playful act, considering that the sight of my closed eye peering out from underneath the covers was probably something that stimulated her feline curiosity. But for the rest of the day, I wondered if perhaps I should plot to trim her nails. (Macho and Choochie used to let me do that once a month, but MeepMeep hasn’t been as, er, submitted to my household leadership in this particular area.) And she’s kneading her long claws into my arm while I’m typing the remainder of this paragraph. Ow.

And yet, I wouldn’t change her for anything. Her tremendous energy, strength, and appetite for affection all contribute to who she is. There is a taming process that needs to be ongoing, but I don’t regret that she is who she is. In fact, I like her that way. And the more I get to know her, the more I like her.

I daresay God feels the same way about me. Maybe that’s why He hasn’t spiritually declawed me or given me some kind of lobotomy. He’s given me the Holy Spirit to help me walk in self-control, and then He instructs me to go get ’em, tiger. Rawr.

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I don’t want to start any political arguments with this ingredient in the casserole; I just want to be honest about how I feel. I’m half-Mexican, and I think I should weigh in on the current hot-button issue of children being separated from their parents at the border. I have mixed feelings about it. At the risk of sounding insensitive, I’ll say it in Spanish: Muchos mexicanos son muy mañosos. That means many Mexicans are very naughty.

I’ll say it another way: Mexican people can be very lawless if they’re not careful.

Here’s what I mean. Mexican people are warriors. That’s who we are; that’s how God made us. We can be quite lazy, and that’s a stereotype, but I think that’s the devil robbing us of our steadfastness. God created us mexicanos to be a very sturdy bunch of people. Many of us are small, fast, and shrewd. (And we’re fiercely loyal, sometimes to a fault.) These are all qualities that are needed on a battlefield. If we use them the right way, we’re like ninjas.

But if we use these qualities the wrong way, we mexicanos can become a very deceitful, lawless bunch of folks who act more like animals than people. My birth mother was originally from Mexico, and she was a compulsive liar who taught us how to be like her, so I know what I’m talking about.

Perhaps you’ve seen news or documentary footage of illegal-immigrant families trying to live ordinary lives here in the United States. If they hear that immigration officers (la migra) will be in the area, they’ll lock themselves down in their own homes -- nobody will go to work, the children won’t go to school, the entire family will hold their breath until the coast is clear. What kind of a life is that? And what kind of lesson are you teaching your children?

I love this country, I’m glad I was born here, I’m glad the Mexican half of my family immigrated here legally, and I hope the folks who want to make my country their home will do so the right way. Have you seen the news lately? Lawlessness is already everywhere, and there’s no need for it to continue to spread.

At the same time, there’s no need to rip a child away from his or her parents -- whether they abide by the law or not. For myself personally, I’m not really sure which would have been worse: Being raised by a deceitful mother or being separated from her when I was a little girl. But there’s no need to put innocent children through that trauma. It looks like steps are slowly being taken to fix this terrible situation in our country. But in the meantime, I pray that those kids who have already been separated from their parents will be reunited with them as soon as possible.

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Remember those cartoons where a prisoner would keep track of how many days they’ve been incarcerated by putting a hash mark on the wall? The other day while I was at work, when I looked down at the paper that I use to keep track of my quota, the hash marks reminded me of that. I guess you could say that I’ve been in a prison for a while, and I guess you could say that I’ll be stuck here for another couple of months.

But I’m honestly extremely thankful for the paycheck, no matter how tiny it is. And I’m extremely thankful to have work, period, because, well...

“For even when we were with you, we commanded you this: If anyone will not work, neither shall he eat.” (2 Thessalonians 3:10)

“When you eat the labor of your hands, you shall be happy, and it shall be well with you.” (Psalm 128:2)

“Here is what I have seen: It is good and fitting for one to eat and drink, and to enjoy the good of all his labor in which he toils under the sun all the days of his life which God gives him; for it is his heritage.” (Ecclesiastes 5:18)

At my previous job, I dreaded and hated Fridays. It didn’t seem fair. Everyone around me was enjoying Friday and looking forward to the weekend. But those of us who worked in my department would have an overabundance of work. People would heap proofs on my desk, in preparation for the weekend, and expect me to finish it by the end of the day. If I stayed late to finish it all, whoever was locking the building at 6 p.m. that evening would pressure me to get out of there, and then I would have to explain to people later why I wasn’t able to finish their work. And if the other editor had taken the day off, it was often worse because I would have to cover for her. Oh, Friday was miserable.

Now that I’ve been working at what is basically a clerical factory, the workload doesn’t change from day to day, so I’ve begun to feel myself actually enjoying Fridays again. I get paid every Friday, so the highlight of my week has been shopping at the grocery store on my way home on Fridays. (Depending on the week, sometimes I’ll go on a Thursday or a Saturday instead.) Oh, it’s glorious! Yes, I only have enough money to buy essential items, but I can barely express to you how gratifying it is to labor for a week and then immediately enjoy the fruit of my labor. I think it’s a beautiful thing.

When I get a better job in the future, if my routine changes, I think I’m going to miss it. And I’ll always remember it with fondness.

Interview

(On a hot almost-summer day, a crowd of people is gathered outside at a park. Upbeat techno music plays. A reporter, holding a microphone, is standing with the blogger and looking into a TV camera.)

REPORTER: Hi, there, everyone. This is Petunia Paul-Tree reporting at Salad Fast '18. I'm here with Tirzah, who has recently broken her fast. Hi, there, Tirzah. (points the microphone at the blogger's face throughout the conversation)

TIRZAH: Sup?

REPORTER: So, tell everyone at home about this event you've just completed. What exactly is Salad Fast '18?

TIRZAH: Well, Petunia, God and I started a tradition of me doing a salad fast every year. The first two weeks of June, I will eat only salads for meals and snacks.

REPORTER: I see. And how long have you been observing this tradition?

TIRZAH: Since 2013.

REPORTER: So, then, this is actually the sixth annual Salad Fast.

TIRZAH: You got it.

REPORTER: Wonderful. Now, is this some kind of religious observance, like Lent or Ramadan?

TIRZAH: No, not exactly. It's sort of like a family tradition with just me and God. This year was a little different because the fast happened on June 2nd through the 15th instead of the 1st through the 14th.

REPORTER: I see. And was there anything else that made Salad Fast '18 unique?

TIRZAH: Yes. This year, I felt like God told me that I could make a salad out of anything -- if I could mix it up and pour salad dressing over it, it was a salad.

REPORTER: Wow. That's kind of a stretch, isn't it?

TIRZAH: Not really. Have you ever heard of fruit salad?

REPORTER: (chuckles) Of course.

TIRZAH: That's fruit chopped up and mixed together.

REPORTER: OK...

TIRZAH: Or potato salad?

REPORTER: Well, yes. That's--

TIRZAH: Boiled potatoes mashed up and mixed together with mustard and/or mayonnaise.

REPORTER: I see. So, what sort of creations did you come up with this year?

TIRZAH: Well, I believe your producer was provided with a little graphic that I put together that shows some of the meals I had. I made quite a few salads with the traditional ingredients -- mostly spinach, tomatoes, and hard-boiled eggs.

REPORTER: (chuckles) You must really like spinach.

TIRZAH: (laughs like Popeye) Yes, but honestly I bought it the first week because the store was out of the type of lettuce I wanted to buy.

REPORTER: (mouth drops open) You're kidding.

TIRZAH: You know, I kind of think that's one thing that God wanted to reinforce during the fast -- because He uses a lot of symbolism with me whenever I fast. There's a verse in the Bible, Romans 8:28, that says that God uses all things for good for those who love Him and who are called according to His purpose.

REPORTER: And that's you.

TIRZAH: Exactly. So, when God mixes up the ingredients of my life, so to speak, He uses whatever is available to Him. Sometimes things don't work out the way He had originally planned, for whatever reason, and so I really think He just mixes everything up all together like a Master Chef and makes something awesome.

REPORTER: I see. So, He's like a culinary Genius.

TIRZAH: Yes, Petunia, the original Genius. And this year when I created my salads, I could use whatever ingredients were available to me. I chopped or shredded them up, mixed them together, and poured some kind of dressing over it.

REPORTER: Like bananas and toast covered in French dressing, I see.

TIRZAH: Yes, a banana, toast, and a hard-boiled egg most mornings for breakfast. Toward the end, I even ripped up some corn tortillas and pulverized some Cheez-Its for lunch.

REPORTER: (laughs) Oh, my.

TIRZAH: Yeah. Right now, money is really tight for me, and I couldn't afford to buy all of the usual salad ingredients that I normally would. So, I used whatever I had in my pantry, and I made it work. There were a couple of times when I got to eat restaurant-prepared salads, and there was one day at work when pizza was provided--

REPORTER: Oh! That must have been a temptation for you.

TIRZAH: Well, it worked out, because they had salad, too, so I just ripped up a couple of pieces of pizza and used them as croutons. And nobody gave me a hard time about it.

REPORTER: Or maybe they didn't even notice.

TIRZAH: Maybe. But I think my absolute favorite was the one where I ripped up a couple of pieces of fried chicken and a roll, and I mixed it all with some tomato and poured ketchup over it as a dressing.

REPORTER: (scowling) And you considered that to be a salad that was acceptable for a fast?

TIRZAH: (smiling and nodding) Apparently God did, too.

REPORTER: I see. And did you and He have any particular deep times in prayer, as people who are fasting often do?

TIRZAH: No, not really. But He did say that I was entering into a season of contradictions. And I gotta say, I think my fried-chicken salad was an example of a contradiction. Was it a salad (uses air quotes), or was it a fried-chicken bowl?

REPORTER: Hmm. That is a deep question.

TIRZAH: And do I work 40 hours a week at a job (uses air quotes), or is it just a way to earn a paycheck while I'm waiting to do what I really want to do?

REPORTER: Another deep question. (looks at camera) And you heard it here, folks. (looks back at the blogger) Anything else you'd like to tell the folks at home about this year's fast?

TIRZAH: Well, Petunia, in addition to the salads, I also felt like God wanted me to not listen to music while I drive, like I usually do -- except on Saturdays, when I observed my Sabbaths.

REPORTER: (nodding) So you could hear yourself think. So, then, Salad Fast '18 was about creativity?

TIRZAH: See, that's what I thought, too, at first. But God showed me that it was really about taking things one day at a time.

REPORTER: Fascinating stuff. Any other deep revelations during this year's fast?

TIRZAH: (shakes head) No, but I think God told me that I would be myself during this fast, and He would be Himself. We spent a lot of time just chatting like a couple of close friends.

REPORTER: Because you are.

TIRZAH: Exactly.

REPORTER: (smiles) Anything else you'd like to tell the folks at home?

TIRZAH: (looks at camera) Um, don't forget to feed your cats?

REPORTER: (laughs) No, I mean, come on. During all of those friendly conversations with your culinary Genius Creator, didn't He give you any big revelations about your future? Like -- and I know your readers are all dying to know -- when are you going to get married and have children?

TIRZAH: (scowls at camera) Seriously? Y'all sent me a gossip reporter?

REPORTER: Come on, now! Do you have your eye on anybody special?

TIRZAH: (smiles at camera) Thank y'all for reading! (twirls the reporter around, grabs her by the collar, and jogs away with her)

REPORTER: (forced to jog along) So long, everyone! This is Petunia Paul-Tree reporting! (laughing) Wow, all that spinach made you really strong!

TIRZAH: (laughs like Popeye)

(Upbeat techno music plays more loudly. Credits roll.)

Gloves off

Disclaimer: I tried to be tame when I wrote this post, but I'm not sure I was very successful. (But then, when have I really been tame lately?)

I'm sure I don't have to tell you about all the ways that recent news headlines have been awash with successful suicide attempts. I'm sure you already know that our society's focus on current events has suddenly shifted from the gun-control debate to mental-health awareness. And if you've followed my blog at all for the past nine years, you already know that my suicide attempt from almost 18 years ago was quite unsuccessful.

Nevertheless, I would like to add to the discussion.

In case you didn't already know, I tried to kill myself nearly 18 years ago. About 20 years ago, I felt like God told me that I needed to leave my parents or it would "lead to death." I didn't, so a few months later, I got hit with a suicidal thought for the first time. The next two years were very emotionally turbulent, and I suffered from depression really for the first time in my life. I would get better, then worse, then better, then worse, etc.

In retrospect, I know now that I was in a spiritually abusive environment that made everything worse. I was enrolled in a missionary training school through my then-church, I had just returned from a weeklong mission trip, I was exhausted; and one day instead of driving to school, I drove out of town. Thinking I was better, I drove back the next day, but on the way home I told God, "I'm going to take my life, and only You can stop me." I bought two bottles of aspirin at a convenience store because I thought taking all of the pills would kill me. After I took the pills, I regretted doing so, and since I was still alive, I figured God still wanted me around. Then a friend drove me to the ER and the people from the missionary school enrolled me in a psychiatric hospital, where I stayed for four and a half days.

Fast-forwarding to today, I gotta say it's good for dead people to get all this sympathy after they're gone. You feel sorry for them, you wonder what you could have done to help them, you miss them, and you celebrate their lives. I think, in a twisted sort of way, that is EXACTLY the kind of celebration that people who commit suicide were CRAVING while they were alive.

It's sad, isn't it? It takes physical death to achieve something that they won't really get to enjoy. Because they were deceived into thinking that death would end their pain. And possibly because they surrounded themselves with people who were WAY too clueless to appreciate them.

While I was scrolling through Facebook on Friday night and seeing all the posts about dead celebrities and people coming out of the woodwork to raise awareness for mental illness, I began to get pretty angry. I'm still a little bit ticked off.

And I'm not afraid to express it, because the basic definition of depression is "anger turned inward." (If I'm not keeping my anger bottled up inside, I won't get depressed, right? Right.)

Here's the thing: People who successfully commit suicide get all the love, attention, and glory. (Oh, poor them! If we only knew what they had been going through!) People like me who have unsuccessfully attempted suicide get all the lectures, shame, and ridicule. (Oh, you're a freak! If you could only get your life together!) We get it from secular professionals as well as from the Church.

The only people we don't get it from are other people just like us. The people who have struggled with depression and/or suicidal thoughts are the only ones who really understand what we've gone through.

Rewinding back to 18 years ago, I gotta say the people who surrounded me during my recovery process were really terrible friends to me. While I was at the psychiatric hospital, the person assigned to my case happened to go to my then-church (I think the head of the missionary school asked her to check on me). One afternoon while I was watching TV in the lobby (which was a miracle in itself, because my then-church basically taught us that TV was evil), she came up to me and asked, "What do you know?"

I replied somewhat facetiously, "The TV's on."

She asked more seriously, "What do you KNOW?"

I think maybe she expected me to answer something like, "God loves me" or maybe, "God has a plan for my life." Well, guess what, lady? If I really had known that, I probably wouldn't have tried to end it all.

During one of our individual sessions, she laughed at me and told me that I wouldn't have been able to kill myself with two bottles of aspirin. She basically said that I stank at suicide, so I shouldn't try it anymore. I know what she was trying to do, but my reply was, "Great. I can't do anything right." Thanks a lot for rubbing my nose in it, lady.

During another one of our sessions (if not the same one), she told me that my roommate had complained about me not paying my share of the bills (because I had no money, probably wasn't tithing, and sucked at meeting my financial obligations). "Are you behind in your rent?" she asked. So, when my roommate and another church leader came to visit me at the hospital, I confronted my roommate and demanded to know why she had told everybody that I hadn't paid my rent.

Anyway, a day or so later, my roommate called me at the hospital and explained that my sister had called for me at the house. (This was back before I owned a cellphone.) She told her that I was at the hospital, which worried my sister. "What should I tell her?" my roommate asked. "Tell her I'm in the hospital for depression," I replied. She did, and my sister was basically like, "Oh, is that all?" and stopped worrying.

¿Cómo que IS THAT ALL?

Then for some reason, the therapist lady insisted that I call my parents and tell them where I was and what I had done. I did so, my mother blamed the school I had been attending, and then she and my father drove all night and arrived at the hospital the next morning.

The therapist lady arranged for a family session with me and my parents. After she left the room, the first thing out of my father's mouth was basically, "Statistics show that suicides happen between the ages of 18 and 24. How could you do this to us?" Jerk. Maybe if you hadn't treated me like a science project in the first place, I wouldn't have believed that I was expendable.

Later that day, I had some sort of session/meeting with the therapist lady, my parents, the head of the missionary school and his wife, I think my roommate, I think my friend who had driven me to the ER, and two of the church elders/leaders and their wives. They explained to me that after I would leave the hospital, I would move in with a church family for a while (I guess because my roommate couldn't handle me living there and because I needed some love?). My mother explained that she didn't understand and said, "She already HAS a family."

After I left the hospital, I continued psychotherapy, dropped out of missionary school, stepped down from lifegroup leadership, stepped down from a worship team that I had been a part of, moved into a temporary housing situation WITHOUT my kitten (Choochie), quit my job, and started looking for a new one. Now that I think about it, I had wanted to end my life; and in a roundabout way, I ended up getting what I wanted... because my life as I knew it really HAD ended. I was at rock bottom and had to start over completely.

I continued to have official meetings with people in the church who were following up with me to see how I was doing and to make sure that I had found another job. (I was accountable to about seven people to make sure that I wouldn't attempt suicide again.) During one meeting, the head of the missionary school mentioned that I hadn't found a job yet and said, "This is starting to get frustrating." Um, excuse me? Your life isn't the one that's just been turned upside down. And YOU have the nerve to be frustrated?? At that time, I was learning in psychotherapy how to be assertive (versus being passive-aggressive), so I didn't know yet how to tell him how I felt to his face. Instead, I got in my car, angry-cried, and almost drove out of town again. I turned back around, drove to my new home, and faced the music.

After a few months, the church family that opened up their home to me suddenly decided that they wanted their privacy back and made me move out. My roommate, thankfully, was willing to let me move back in. And my emotional state, thankfully, was able to handle it all at that point in time. (And I was permanently reunited with my Choochie! Pet therapy.)

Reader, the reason I've shared the details of this entire story (perhaps you've read them before?) is to show the ways in which the people who surrounded me -- my family, my friends, and the Church -- failed me when I needed them the most. I needed to be treated like a valued human being, but instead I was treated like a problem.

In today's society, people who successfully commit suicide are mourned and celebrated. Those of us who unsuccessfully attempt suicide -- those of us who realize how wrong we were, those of us who have changed our minds and truly want to live -- are punished and ridiculed. I am not cool with that, and I hope you're not cool with that, either.

It's ironic, isn't it? If a suicide attempt is successful, the devil wins. If it is unsuccessful and the survivor intends to give God and His plan a chance, God wins... but if church people treat the survivor like dirt, the devil wins.

I wish I knew the answer to this problem, but perhaps that IS part of the problem: We think everything has a neat, easy formula that can be followed. But it doesn't. One important thing I've learned in my journey out of depression is that depression situations are like people: No two are alike. The way a person will become free from depression and the length of that person's recovery will just depend on the situation and the person.

For me, I understand now that if I had obeyed God about 20 years ago and left my family THEN (instead of about seven years ago), I would have come out from under their unhealthy covering. I would have been free much sooner from the spirit of Jezebel; a constant torrent of spiritual and emotional abuse; and a cesspool of anxiety, guilt, religion, arrogance, and hypocrisy. I believe this could have cleared my head so that depression probably wouldn't have formed in the first place.

But at least now, God can use my experiences with depression and suicide to help other people.

And my experience was MY experience. Medication helped. Artistic expression helped. Psychotherapy helped. Removing stress from my life helped. Talking about my feelings helped. People praying for me helped.

But what helped me more than anything else was being gut-level real with God. I've said this before, and I'll say it again: Psalm 62:8 tells us to pour out our hearts before God and that He is a refuge for us. I began to finally experience freedom from depression when I poured out the crap that was in my heart and let Him pour His love back into me. I still continue to do that. The gloves come off, and He has never punished me for it. I tell Him to His face how I'm feeling, and He tells me to my face what the truth is.

It's called A RELATIONSHIP.

One night in 2001, a few months after I had been released from the psych hospital, I was experiencing emotional turmoil while I was alone on a road trip. (Does this sound like a familiar scenario?) I don't remember if I screamed this out loud or just in my spirit, but I asked God, "WHO ARE YOU?!? And who am I?"

He replied quite simply, "I am yours, and you are Mine." And that's all I needed to hear. I broke wide open, crying pretty much the rest of the ride home, and that was a major turning point in my healing process.

Perhaps what has healed me more than anything else is the fact that God has been the Father and the Mother that I never had. He has let me lean on Him more closely and more strongly than any human friend ever has. And He hasn't been surprised or disgusted at any of the crap that has come out of my heart or my mouth whenever my mental health has depended on me puking it out.

So, in conclusion, I love the Church. I love the concept of Church. I don't really know how to be myself apart from the Church. But, Church people, if you know someone like me who has attempted suicide, or who has contemplated suicide, or who has been struggling with depression, or who has been battling a combination of any of the above... please don't punish them. I think the fact that they are still alive and breathing shows that they are clinging to some shred of hope on the inside. There is a chord deep inside their heart that only God knows how to play. Let Him do it. Encourage them to open themselves up to it. (Encourage them, don't force them, because they might be angry at God.) Let them lean on you, set some healthy boundaries (because they will probably be pretty clingy and might accidentally think that YOU are God), pray for them, listen to them, let them talk, and encourage them to get the help that they need. Because they DO need help. They might only need you in their life for a short while, or maybe they'll need you to walk with them for the rest of their life. Maybe you can pray about it and see how much of a friend you can commit to be to them.

I can guarantee you that they won't forget how you treat them -- good or bad -- while they're at their lowest. If you do a good job, hopefully they'll respond with gratitude; if you do a bad job, they might need to work through some pain and bitterness later on, like I did.

So, no pressure. Heh, heh.

Just know that you might not understand everything that they're going through... and I honestly hope that you never do. Because nobody ever should.

Casserole4

TV preachers often have bad reputations, and I think it's because of people like the guy who's been asking people to give $50+ million so that he can buy a new private jet. Seriously? I think I've completely lost respect for the guy.

In contrast, the pastor of my church -- who happens to preach on TV -- told us yesterday that our church building's debt is completely paid off now. That's awesome. I'm not debt-free yet (far from it!), but I sure am glad that my church building is. And they didn't even ask for donations for that particular item in the budget.

Incidentally, Jesus didn't ask for donations to buy a donkey. From what I understand, He just borrowed one for a one-time ride. But, you know, whatevs.

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The content that I'm about to share in this segment of the casserole is very deep and personal to me, so I debated on whether or not I should share it at all. But since this is basically my online diary where I process and document stuff, and since the things going on in my life could hopefully encourage somebody else on their journey (and since I felt like God nudged me to share it), I'm gonna go for it. And, due to copyright issues, I'm going to keep some details vague on purpose.

A few days ago, an out-of-state church held a conference in my area, and my church choir was invited to sing along with the worship team one night. The fact that they were recording live tracks for their new album -- with our voices -- was extra cool.

During soundcheck that afternoon, I recognized the melody from one of their new songs -- from my head! I had been wanting to write a song around almost that exact portion of the melody. So, for a few seconds, I was jealous. (Hey, that's my song!) Then I realized that since nobody ever sings my songs, anyway (except me), I'm glad that that particular melody will be recorded and sung by somebody. (I mean, it's not like the out-of-state church people invaded my living room while I was composing and stole my tune.) Then I realized... wait. I actually hear stuff?

I've been writing worship songs off and on for the past 20 years. The closest I've ever come to cutting an album was the one time when a friend set up a mic in another friend's living room; I sat on the floor with my guitar and played my repertoire for a couple of hours. (I still have the CD, but its content is pretty raw and unedited, like a collection of demos.)

A few years after that amateur recording session, I was part of a worship team, and I got to lead one of my songs one evening for a church-department gathering. I believe it was the pastor of that department who approached me after the worship set and told me that a line in my song was theologically incorrect.

So, I wrestled with that for a while (because the whole point of me including that line in my song was to express my heart to God). I even met with the worship pastor at that church, I think to ask for his counsel. He explained that as a songwriter, people are always going to suggest new lyrics for your songs whenever you sing them publicly... but that he could understand why some people could take that one line in the song the wrong way.

So, I ended up revising that song twice. I've been happy with the final result, but nobody really sings it but me. (My poor little Frankensong. Heh.)

One thing that God has been showing me lately is that my church isn't going to sing all of my songs, and I need to be OK with that. (I've been at my church for almost nine years now, and lots of people write songs that nobody really sings anymore... so hopefully I'm in good company.)

At any rate, I haven't written music in a long time, and I'm nowhere near as prolific as I once was. (I think maybe a pastor telling me that my lyrics were theologically incorrect kind of threw a wrench in the works for a while.) Hopefully, songwriting is one of my talents that have been in the bank collecting interest in the spirit of Matthew 25.

But I think that might change soon.

As I was saying, my choir sang along with the worship team from an out-of-state church during a conference one night. When we got to the song where I recognized the melody from the song that I had wanted to write, God told me, "Watch this." After a few moments, I realized that one phrase from the first verse and another phrase from the second verse are also in ANOTHER one of my songs -- my poor little Frankensong that nobody sings but me.

At every stage of development -- from the accidentally theologically incorrect version to the final version -- I've sung that song to God dozens if not hundreds of times throughout the years. But on that platform, while my choir was singing with the out-of-state church, God poured that song back to me.

And I finally remembered that I HAD written that song with the cool melody after all. (I had just forgotten about it. Cuz we artists can be spacey like that.) So, in that one new song were not one but TWO of my songs.

So, while we were singing that song, written by people from the out-of-state church, sounding a lot like my music, I felt like God asked me, "Are you ready to start something new?"

While I've sung on the worship platform with my church, there have been two or three moments between me and God that were so deep that I ugly-cried, sobbing almost uncontrollably. That night was one of those moments. (If you hear sobbing on the new album, it might be me.)

I felt like that very special night validated me as a songwriter. This out-of-state church is known worldwide for its music, and if I can hear the same musical frequency that they can, then I'm not a screw-up. I have all the tools I need to proceed with that aspect of my calling.

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I think one theme or motif of my life right now is vindication. Every time I see a certain Baptist leader in the news (the guy who has messed-up views on women and abuse), I remember that he was the guy who fired Dad. His name was not a popular one in my house while I was growing up, mainly because Dad's layoff launched an extended poverty in our family. (And possibly because Mom never really learned how to forgive people.)

So, now that his name isn't exactly a popular one in the entire Baptist community anymore, well... let's just say what goes around comes around.

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I think it's simultaneously interesting and ironic that God gifts shy, introverted people with creativity -- a gift that requires an audience. I might be a private and reserved person who keeps to herself a lot, but if you put a mic in my hand and put me on a worship platform at church, people will look at me. The irony is that I don't really want everyone to look at me; I'd rather be in my living room singing or creating something by myself. But it's interesting that someone like me who's terrible at making small talk and chitchatting with people has a calling with a built-in conversation-starter: "Hey, you sing on the worship team!"

But I love the worship platform. I feel like the more I show up and do my thing, the more confident I am when I do it. And, of course, the whole point of me being up there is for people to look at me, for me to point people to God, and for people to be encouraged to worship Him. When people look at me, they need to see Him.

Unfortunately, I don't think everyone realizes that that's the whole point of being on the platform. I've learned that when you have a mic in your hand and a camera in your face, you instantly become a celebrity. When people see you in the hallways at church, they feel like they know you, and they start talking to you. Sometimes they offer you some pretty heavy flattery. I've seen people kind of make fools of themselves when they're in the presence of a worship leader who's just minding their own business at church.

And then a few weeks later, you show up for church on your day off in a T-shirt and blue jeans, and they completely ignore you because you're just another face in the hallway.

And all of that is OK. As long as people worship God and I don't get in the way, it's all good. I wouldn't trade that for anything else.

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One morning while I was waking up, I saw MeepMeep's adorable little masked face in the dark, and I thought to myself, It's almost impossible to say No to that face. I felt like God basically said, "I feel the same way about you."

I think this truth is still steeping into my spirit. If I'm God's child, He wants me to be bold enough to ask Him for stuff. (Like MeepMeep demanding some affection as soon as I wake up.) He wants me to be brazen enough to approach Him for things, to ask some tough questions, and to express my heart to Him in ways that I can't express to anyone else.

He delights in me. He wants to be close to me. He wants to make sure that I have everything I need. And He feels that way about ALL of His children.