Phenomenal non-coincidences

If you’ll indulge me for a bit, I’d like to spend some time marveling... in a good way.

I don’t think it’s an accident that I’ve had to completely change my diet around the time that I’ve been learning how to cook. I don’t think it’s an accident that I’ve had to learn to live with dietary restrictions around the time that society has been embracing people’s dietary restrictions. (I’m not vegan or glucose-free. I just need to avoid fat, sugar, and salt especially.) Even though I’ve been slowly grieving the loss of my favorite salty, greasy foods -- even though I haven’t really been able to afford to eat them in the past year and a half -- I don’t think it’s an accident that I’ve had to learn to discipline myself to eat better... around the time that God has been disciplining me to eat only certain foods when I fast.

I don’t think it’s an accident that God put it on the hearts of four of my friends to give me free food around the time that I would possibly be too broke to buy food. And now I have more food than I know what to do with. (No worries. My creative juices have been coming up with ideas.)

I don’t think it’s an accident that I happen to live in an area that is teeming with parks and walking trails at a time in my life when I need to exercise more.

I don’t think it’s an accident that I’ve been maneuvering through my current health drama during a season in my life in which I’m not working full-time. I don’t have to worry about calling in sick, taking off work to go to doctor’s appointments, fighting traffic to pick up a prescription at the pharmacy, or even being so stressed on the job that it could possibly kill me.

I don’t think it’s an accident that I’ve been living in a day and age when technology is sophisticated enough to facilitate the flow of my life. Although I much prefer learning in an actual classroom, I don’t think it’s an accident that online classes are available at a time when I need to take them for my degree and when I have the means to do so. Although it’s possible to call a doctor’s office and play phone tag with a healthcare professional, I don’t think it’s an accident that I live in a day and age when I’m able to communicate with medical professionals through a phone app... especially when I’m learning that I’m allergic to the medications that they were prescribing me. And they’re able to instantly call in a prescription for a replacement medication to my pharmacy... who can text me when it’s ready for pickup.

I don’t think it’s an accident that my physical health has been unraveling around the same time that my emotional health has been unraveling, analyzed, and slowly repaired at the roots. I don’t think it’s an accident that I’m surrounded by community everywhere I look, everywhere I go, everywhere I am... during this time when I really need covering.

I don’t think it’s an accident that the lady who prayed for me at the altar (in the balcony) at church yesterday -- when I asked for prayer for the tingly numbness that I’d been experiencing on one side of my body -- had also been dealing with numbness in one of her limbs and, therefore, had extra insight on how to pray for me.

And I certainly don’t think it’s an accident that I only own one cat now, who insists on extended times of affection... even if it means biting my shoulder while purr-mauling my arm. I don’t think it’s an accident that she doesn’t seem to mind that I don’t really have a routine right now... or that she’s flexible enough to give me some alone time when I need it and heal me with her love when I need it. I don’t think it’s an accident that we met each other when we did, and I don’t think it’s an accident that we need each other.

“To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1)

“Call upon Me in the day of trouble; I will deliver you, and you shall glorify Me.” (Psalm 50:15)

I’ve heard it said that “coincidences are when God chooses to remain anonymous.” I’m sorry, but that’s one of the stupidest things I’ve ever heard. If God wanted to be anonymous, why would He go through the trouble of letting people know when He was working in their lives? Why would He go through the trouble of sending Jesus -- who spelled out exactly who He was, is, and will be -- to tell us that we needed Him and to die on the cross for our sins? Why would He spell out in the Bible that He wants us to glorify Him? Why would He want to be glorified at all?

Well, it certainly isn’t because He wants to remain anonymous. It’s because He wants the credit for what He’s done. It’s because He’s God, and He’s the only One who will always be qualified to help us whenever we need help. That’s how He’s designed life to be, that’s the way He likes it, and I hope that that’s how I’ve been living my life.

I hope that I’ve glorified Him in this post, because I see that He’s orchestrated the tiny little details of my life. There’s no way that any of the things that I listed on this post are coincidences, and there’s no way that my God -- who loves me, wants me, and takes impeccably good care of me -- didn’t have a hand in any of them. I’m convinced that He’s made sure that every little detail has intersected in a way that has preserved my life... in a way that has gotten me back on track after I’ve veered off course.

I’ve heard it said that His timing is perfect, and I agree.

Healing... again

When I worked a seasonal job in retail a couple of months ago, the skin on my fingers started cracking due to the harsh winter temperatures and due to the callous physical nature of the work. Winter has been unkind to my skin in the past, but this time I needed to put band-aids on my wounds so that I could function (and so that I wouldn’t bleed on the merchandise).

 

Now that I’m back in school, I’ve discovered that it isn’t always feasible to wear band-aids. During the past several weeks, my fingers started cracking even more, and after they would heal they would end up cracking and bleeding in the same places all over again, and the wounds were particularly deep, and the healing process was particularly painful.

If I wear cheap band-aids from Dollar Tree, I have to replace them frequently because they won’t last through all of my handwashing. And, not to mention, band-aids aren’t very practical. They’re clunky, so they get in the way when I’m typing (even though it’s painful to type on an open wound), and when I play my guitar I need to just take them off altogether, pain or no pain. So, my fingers have been rather uncomfortable for the past few weeks.

But thankfully, they’ve gotten better. The wounds have been healing, and I’m able to type this right now band-aid free, without any pain.

You realize that I’m not just writing about winter-cracked fingers, don’t you?

“Mercy and truth have met together; righteousness and peace have kissed. Truth shall spring out of the earth, and righteousness shall look down from heaven.” (Psalm 85:10-11)

Perhaps I should have warned you at the beginning of this post, but I’m going to write about my emotional healing... again. I’m currently doing what is basically a Bible study for survivors of abuse, in addition to psychotherapy, so I’ve been thinking a lot about my past, the type of home that I grew up in, and the way it’s affected how I think and act today. Please understand that my intention in writing about it is 1) NOT to dishonor or disrespect anybody 2) to process my stuff 3) to encourage people to process their own stuff 4) to wave a giant red flag to anyone who grew up with me, who might be reading this right now, and let them know that what we experienced was NOT OK 5) to gush about how God is meeting me while I’m processing my stuff... cuz I’m like that. If you’re uncomfortable reading about this type of thing, and if you’d rather skip the rest of this post (or any other posts where I talk about this type of thing), I understand. I may end up parking on this subject for a few months. Regardless, thank you for reading.

Healing is a fascinating subject, and it is even more fascinating when you work through it yourself. I’ve heard people compare emotional healing to physical healing, and I heard somebody say once that you can’t compare emotional healing to physical healing. I think maybe both thoughts are correct. Physical healing can sometimes be easier to work through because all you have to do is get a diagnosis, take some medicine, maybe have some surgery, maybe get some rehab, and you’re on your way to wholeness. With emotional healing, you can take metaphorical medicine (e.g., a Bible study, a book, a retreat, a class, etc.), get some metaphorical surgery (e.g., psychotherapy), some rehab (e.g., a small group, journaling, opening yourself up to other people, etc.), and you get whole... until something happens. Then you need to make some adjustments. Or start all over again.

Regardless, people told me many years ago that your physical body and your emotions are interconnected, and one affects the other. Since I’ve been working extremely hard to get physically healthy (taking blood pressure medicines, exercising, being very strict with my diet), why wouldn’t I also work extremely hard to get emotionally healthy? I daresay my physical health depends on it. My emotions almost killed me once, but they’re not going to do that again. Not if I can help it.

My therapist shared an interesting observation with me the other day. She said that when I talk about myself and my life, sometimes my mind goes blank, and then I start tapping (my hand will tap on my face, my head, my knee, a chair, etc.), and I lose track of what I was talking about. This is gross, but one morning after she told me that, I was eating breakfast and had a gas cramp; then I started tapping on my coffeetable. And I realized: Pain. I tap when I feel pain. I was using the tapping to cover up the pain.

It was like my band-aid. So, lately I’ve been making an extra effort to not cover up emotional pain but to feel it and express it... hopefully in a healthy way.

Another thing that my therapist has observed is that a little girl lives inside me. She comes out at inopportune times and yells at people. So, my therapist has encouraged me to let her out more so that we can work through my issues together. The little girl is a scared, troubled little thing. As I’ve gotten to know her, I’ve discovered that she’s very angry, and she’s an orphan. In other words, she doesn’t trust anybody except herself (IF she trusts herself). She pretty much hates everybody because she feels rejected, unloved, and stifled.

But I’ve been trying to speak kindly to her. I ended up writing her a song to encourage her to come out and play. She’s a part of me. I need her. I especially need her to cooperate with me and stop raging against the people who keep trying to help her.

It’s gonna be OK. I think I know how to talk to her now. And if she knows that she won’t get kicked away for being honest, she’ll feel welcome and accepted, and she’ll be more likely to grow up.

 

This morning, I was instructed to draw a picture about my healing -- something that would inspire me during this process. So, I drew a quick sketch of myself on a mountaintop (I’m usually a cartoon with crazy hair and a dress whenever I draw myself), after a rough climb, enjoying a triumphant moment with God. What God put on my heart was basically, “People have judged you for taking so long to heal, but I say you can take as long as you need.”

I mean, come on. I’m a deep person. It can take a while to dig stuff up, and it can take even longer to properly process through it. You can’t just add water and expect instant healing. These things can take a long time, and there’s no shame in that.

In this particular leg of my journey, I’m learning that healing sometimes needs to involve other people.

I had a hard time with this concept, but this morning I realized something important: I grew up in a house where we didn’t trust anybody. We didn’t trust each other, we didn’t trust ourselves, we didn’t trust other family members, we definitely didn’t trust outsiders, and we certainly didn’t trust church people... which is ironic, considering that I grew up in a pastor’s house. Throughout the years, as I’ve opened myself up to other people and have probably trusted them a little bit too much, I ended up getting hurt... and I wonder if maybe I just defaulted to what I was taught indirectly while I was growing up: You can’t trust anybody.

This is bad, because you can’t build any kind of relationship without trust.

Come on, Tirzah. You’re tough, but you can be soft, too. You can do it. You can learn how to trust people. Not everybody is a jerk. Not everybody is going to hurt you. It’s OK. (See? I have to talk to myself now.)

One thing that has bothered me lately is that I’ve noticed that I stopped crying. I used to be able to cry at the drop of a hat: I would raise my hands in worship and cry. I would think about my relationship with God and cry. I would watch a movie and cry. I would hear somebody give a testimony and cry. You name it, I would cry. Then I noticed that I wasn’t crying anymore. When did I stop crying? I asked God about it, and He told me it was when I started working that seasonal retail job a couple of months ago.

Of course. When you’re working in harsh physical conditions and somebody is yelling at you to move faster without giving you a break, and you can’t do anything right for them, and they shame you in front of everybody when you make a mistake, but you can’t quit because you need the money, and the best way you can think of to endure it is to just expect to get yelled at... no, you don’t cry. You set your face like flint, you forgive, and you survive.

But you can’t live your whole life like that. It could kill you.

I noticed that I finally started crying again about a week or so ago. Maybe I was exhausted. Maybe I had finally ripped off my emotional band-aids. Maybe I was just fed up with everything and leaned on the One who knows everything. At any rate, I hope that’s progress.

So, I’m in a season of healing... again. And I daresay my life depends on it.