Candy dish

You know how sometimes you go over to somebody's house, or maybe you're at the doctor's office, or maybe even the breakroom at work, and there's this big candy dish there? It usually gets filled around Halloween, but most of the time you will find a candy dish just about anywhere, and it's often faithfully filled up by whoever maintains it. Whoever is in the room as soon as the candy dish is refilled gets first pick of all the good stuff. It's a bummer to visit the candy dish a few days later, after all the good stuff is gone, and see all the reject candy sitting at the bottom of the dish with some bits of stray wrapping. Then if you're desperate for a snack or a sugar rush, you're stuck with all the reject candy -- like Mary Jane candy. Sorry, but I didn't like that stuff when I tried it. I prefer Jolly Ranchers, any flavor. Or Tootsie Roll, any flavor. Or even that plain dollar-store peppermint stuff that's especially plentiful this time of year. (But not Mary Jane. Yecch.)

Well, I don't have a candy dish, but I do have a blog. I intend to fill this post with bite-size nuggets -- and you get first pick! Maybe you won't like some of them. Maybe you will reject the ones that taste like Mary Jane to you. Or maybe you'll like all of them and gobble everything up immediately. But I hope you will enjoy, and don't spoil your dinner!

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I wonder if the same people who complain about stores selling Christmas stuff in September also complain about people posting sonogram pictures of their baby on Facebook. It's the same concept, right? Early celebration?

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A small stretch of road in my general vicinity is maintained by a local chapter of atheists, according to a sign posted there. When I drove by it recently, I wondered if perhaps I should confront these road-maintainers about how the road doesn't actually exist; it's really just a figment of their imagination. But I decided not to after all. I think that would be too snarky, even for me.

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I recently received snail-mail correspondence regarding a 401k that I never had, and I got email spam in my personal inbox regarding a company website that I no longer have access to... because that particular company fired me 8 months ago. I was about to raise a stink about it (it's just inconveniently humiliating), but I was reminded about how wonderful it is to no longer work for a company that isn't anywhere close to having its act together. Thank you for proving my point yet again!

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During recent visits to the vet, I felt like the doctor was trying to psyche me up for what it's like to own a really old cat -- that my cat won't be very active and will move more slowly. OK, I get it. If I had cataracts, I'd probably move more slowly, too. But doc, you ain't never seen my Macho in full swashbuckling action after dinner. He puts Errol Flynn to shame.

And I'm getting older, too. I'm totally OK with Choochie taking an almost-nap next to me while I'm slouching here typing this. I think all three of us have been very good company for one another while we've been growing old together.

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I've lived in my apartment for two years now, so I've gone two years 1) without my own washer/dryer 2) without cable and 3) without really cooking for myself (except for cereal, toast, sandwiches, or junk that you can heat up in the microwave like TV dinners, soups, and hot dogs). Heh. And I'm still alive. How about that? Thanks, Lord!

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Galatians 5 talks about spiritual fruit. I've heard pastors talk about how the fruits of the Spirit take a while to grow, just like how regular fruit like apples, oranges, grapes, etc., take time to grow. That makes sense. If you try to rush the growth of your fruit, you could get into all kinds of trouble.

I think the Robertsons learned this the hard way on a classic episode of Duck Dynasty. Willie bought a vineyard, and he had every intention of turning it into a fully operational wine-producing wing of his business. Unfortunately, he didn't do his homework before he made his purchase, and he discovered that wine is actually produced from a very specific type of grape. He decided that he didn't have time to wait for the right type of grape to grow in his new vineyard, so he recruited his family to help him make his own vintage redneck wine with store-bought grapes and sugar. The results, of course, were disastrous. I believe Jason described the wine as tasting "like a cross between doe urine and jalapeño juice."

So, don't rush your fruit growth, and make sure you're letting the right type of fruit grow in the first place. And I am also preaching to myself.

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Ever since I was preparing to go off to college more than 20 years ago, I've heard and experienced all types of reactions anytime I mention the words "writing" or "writer." The following two examples are my favorites.

Me: "I'm a professional writing major."

Somebody else: "UGH! I hate writing!"

Um, thanks for making me feel socially desirable?

Me: "I'm a writer."

Somebody else: "Oh! You must really like to read!"

Um, no, I really like to WRITE.

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Recently, I took my car in for some maintenance that turned into several more repairs than I had anticipated. I was thankful to have been able to pay for it all, and I'm thankful to still have a car that works after driving it around the Metroplex for nearly 6 1/2 years.

While the car was in the shop, the dealership insisted on sending me away for a few hours in a loaner car, even though I would have been content to hang out in the waiting room instead. So, I drove a brand-new car for a very short while. I wonder if perhaps it was just a ploy to get me to see what driving a brand-new car was like. Although the drive was smooth and high-tech, I intensely missed my old car. Forget the GPS, the upgraded digital readouts, and the fancy reverse back-out camera. I missed MY old car. I missed the CD player, the felt seats, the wider view in the windshield, and the fact that I've spent the past 6 1/2 years making myself comfortable and making tons of memories in MY car.

And while I was driving around the brand-new loaner car, it clicked for me that God feels the same way about me. I don't want to replace my old car -- MY car -- with a brand-new one. And God doesn't want to replace me -- even though I still need a lot of work and have failed Him plenty of times and have lots of scratches -- with another person. He wants to keep me. He wants me. He has a lot of sentimental value attached to me. I'm in His family. I'm HIS. So, while I was driving around town for a very short while in a brand-new loaner car, I received some majorly deep inner healing.

Hmm. I wonder what my therapist would have charged for a session like that. 

SEXUAL SIN!!!!!

Due to its subject matter, this post is rated R.

I think maybe this post is kindasorta in a way like a sequel to this post, but not really. I mainly just wanted to get your attention with the title. I know. I'm like that. Perhaps this post could also be titled "Things aren't always what they appear to be." One main reason why I blog is to process things -- get them out of my head and onto a computer screen where I can get a better handle on them. I'm not really hoping to initiate an online discussion with this particular post; I simply would like to share some of my processing with you. Thank you in advance for kindly taking the time to read this.

"That which has been is what will be, that which is done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 1:9)

"Brethren, if a man is overtaken in any trespass, you who are spiritual restore such a one in a spirit of gentleness, considering yourself lest you also be tempted." (Galatians 6:1)

I don't usually keep up with the news unless coerced (which is ironic, because my current job is in journalism), but when I do see glimpses of headlines here and there, I remember them. One trend in the headlines nowadays is Bill Cosby's rape allegations. This is alarming on many levels, of course. I mean, it's Bill Cosby, America's favorite, funniest dad. The very idea of all the rape stuff being true about him is just eww. And the very possibility of any of it truly happening to those women is horrific.

And yet, another major truth is that you can't believe everything you read. I know. I work in journalism. I tweak words here and there all the time. Did you know that Columbus didn't really discover America in 1492? Did you know that America was actually discovered in 1244 by a Mayan warlord named Ichexthaxetl?

See what I did there? I completely made up that last part. You just now Googled it, didn't you? At least, I hope you did. Then you could have verified for yourself that I was just typing whatever the heck I wanted to type. I know. I'm creative.

I grew up in a household where lying was so acceptable that it was instructed. The unspoken rule was that you had to look good at all times, so you had to constantly cover your tracks. The spoken rule was that you had to make everyone else in the household look good at all times, so you weren't allowed to ruffle any outsider's feathers. One bad thing is that I have had to unravel a lot of deception out of my life throughout the years. One good thing is that I learned how to be quite diplomatic. Just ask Ichexthaxetl. He can tell you how great a year 1244 really was. (I'm kidding about that last part.)

And another good thing that came out of it was that I grew up to become a woman who is on a constant quest for truth. I mean, I currently work in journalism. I know. I'm powerful.

During my quest, I have discovered -- from what I have been told and from what I have experienced -- that things aren't always what they appear to be.

So, regarding Bill Cosby -- whose DVDs I own and whose comedy I will always enjoy, regardless -- there is the definite possibility that the media is simply slinging his name through the mud and that every word written against him is completely false. For everybody's sake, I hope that last part is the complete truth.

And regarding sexual sin, I have discovered firsthand that things are definitely not always what they appear to be. In fact, tracks are often covered up for the sake of looking good.

That definitely doesn't mean that we can't be diplomatic, cautious, or sensitive when we talk about sexual sin or sexual issues in general. In this post, I'd like to talk a little bit about my journey, and I'm honestly going to keep it as vague as I possibly can. I'm struggling with and working through some stuff, so it might be premature and unwise to talk openly about it at this point. And, more importantly, I don't want to be graphic and cause anybody to stumble (especially myself). "Oh, Tirzah, I would really like to discuss your struggle in more detail... at my house... with nobody else around... while I drug you and have my way with you." D'oh! I've been reading too many news headlines!

As I was saying, another thing I've learned during my quest/journey is just how freakin' EASY it can be to fall into sexual sin. I'm being 100% honest when I say that. I used to think it was so easy to resist. How wrong I was!

And how mistreated I was.

Revisiting my much-blogged topic of spiritual abuse, I 100% honestly would like to beat the crap out of my past mentor who totally shamed me when I confessed a sexual sin to her. (In retrospect, I understand now that I wasn't even sinning.) She immediately gave me the third degree and demanded to know what I had been doing leading up to it. We were at the altar at church. I cried in her lap.

Now that I am OUT of a spiritually abusive environment and surrounded by people who have a better handle on grace, I am learning that what happened at that spiritually abusive church altar on my mentor's lap was NOT supposed to be normal. (Hence my wanting to beat the crap out of her now. I know. I need to work on my forgiveness skills.)

So, all that to say... I can't believe everything I read about Bill Cosby.

I know firsthand what it feels like to cover up one's tracks. I know firsthand what it's like to be a victim. I know firsthand what it feels like to be preyed upon by a married man. I know firsthand what it's like for his wife to smile at you at church because she has no idea what's going on. I know firsthand what it's like for everybody to trust her husband except me. I know firsthand what it's like to reach out to somebody for help and to have that somebody do the equivalent of nothing. I know firsthand that sexual sin seems to blossom and grow the fastest when there is total isolation and no accountability.

And I also know what it's like to be wrongfully accused. The usual perpetrator is somebody named the devil. He's pretty much the universal expert on evil, and he hates my guts. (That last part was 100% true.)

To my knowledge, the only Person who ever walked this earth and lived a 100% sinless life was Jesus. That alone, coupled with the fact that He graciously hasn't zapped me off the face of the earth, is enough to make me want to cling to Him for life. I need to learn from Him. I need to abide in Him. I need to find out what makes Him tick. I want to know how He stayed so pure, all the while being tempted just like the rest of us are. He found the way out of it. And now He IS the way out of it.

So, that's the stuff that's zooming through my head this rainy autumn evening with no eyes except God's and my cats' to watch me writing this.

Ichexthaxetl says Hi. (I'm kidding about that last part.)

See my fist?

Through the years, I've heard several worship pastors talk about how we shouldn't come to God in anger with a clenched fist but in surrender with an open palm. And, of course, that's true. But can I be honest with you?

If I'm angry at God (and I have been in the past), I'm not going to shake my clenched fist at Him. I'm going to wave my middle finger at Him, and I'm probably going to cuss like a truckdriver at Him. I'm pretty sure I've done that to Him on multiple occasions. (I say "pretty sure" because grieving is such a vague process, and my memories of grieving are probably a bit cloudy.) So, if I worship God by raising a clenched fist at Him, it probably isn't because I'm angry at Him.

"You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength." (Deuteronomy 6:5)

"Be angry, and do not sin. Meditate within your heart on your bed, and be still. Selah. Offer the sacrifices of righteousness, and put your trust in the Lord." (Psalm 4:4-5)

"Deep calls unto deep at the noise of Your waterfalls; all Your waves and billows have gone over me." (Psalm 42:7)

I'm a deep well. Sometimes that's a good thing, and sometimes that can be a major problem. I think I'm like a former classmate at missionary school. I remember the head of the school told us about my classmate, "I've usually just seen him sitting at the back of the room like he's about to fall asleep, and then he just came alive when he started to lead worship." So, my classmate ended up leading worship a lot that year.

That's what a lot of us are like. Outwardly, we may not look like we're enjoying ourselves. We may appear enormously standoffish. We are probably very socially awkward. But if you zoom into our brain activity, you might be overwhelmed... probably in a good way or probably in a disgustingly bad way. Those of us who are deep wells store a lot -- A LOT -- on the inside. And sometimes it all comes tumbling out during the most inappropriate times.

So, speaking for myself, I'm currently (re)learning how to walk in self-control. And I'm (re)learning how to submit to authority. I'm fighting a lot of private battles. (Trust me, they need to remain private.) And I'm extremely thankful to be able to unleash everything I've been storing in my deep well at Somebody who never seems to be jarred, disgusted, or surprised at the things I puke at Him.

I'm learning that when Psalm 4 says to meditate on your bed, sure, sometimes that means a literal bed. There have been many nights when a battle has been raging inside my head, I've been pouring out my heart to God in all sorts of ways, and then the next morning, everything is calm, and what seemed extremely important the night before suddenly seems trite and silly. (See Psalm 30:5.)

But I'm also learning that the "bed" mentioned in Psalm 4 also means "intimacy." If there's something raging inside my heart, I don't have to let it control me. I can work it out -- morning, afternoon, evening, on my bed, in my car, in my bathroom, in my kitchen, in my office -- with God, who wants to be my Father, my Friend, my Counselor, my Healer, my Straightener, my Surgeon, my Safe Place. One recent evening, I participated in a special event, but the morning and afternoon before, I was working through offenses that were blazing through my head. Then during the actual event, I was fine. I got home afterwards and marveled to God at how well that went. He was like, "Would you have rather worked through it during the day, or would you have rather it all come out tonight?" The former, please. Thank You.

Almost 14 years ago when I started to get free from depression, God taught me that I needed to keep the flow going by pouring out my heart to Him. (See Psalm 62:8.) Now He's teaching me that He wants my passion. He wants all of it.

So, when I'm in a corporate worship setting at church and there are other people singing around me, I'm trying to find the balance between not distracting everybody with my loudness and just letting God have it, because He wants it, and He keeps pulling it out of me. Sometimes when I'm leading worship, He tells me something to the effect of, "If you don't put your all into it, it doesn't count." What do you say when the God of the universe tells you something like that? Yes, Lord. You want me to pretend I'm all alone in my living room with nobody to hold me back? You got it.

So, that's why I worship God sometimes with a clenched fist. I hope I'm not being disrespectful when I do so. I'm not expressing anger. I'm expressing triumph. I'm worshiping Him with all my strength, which, as a human being, I tend to express with my fists. And my clenched fist usually softens into an open palm. And sometimes it turns into a pointing index finger. It really just depends on what I'm singing, because I really do like for my body to express the words I'm singing. I think usually if I'm singing to "You," I'll point at God. If I'm singing about blessing my Friend who continually rescues me, I'll raise my open palm at God in surrender and in blessing. If I'm talking about conquering sin, death, and the grave, I'll raise my clenched fist, because that's my way of saying, "I won, enemy, and you lost."

But that's just me. I also like to worship with crazy eyes... especially if I'm singing a certain Chris Tomlin song about a certain God of Angel Armies. Or maybe I really am just crazy...

Whatever I am, I think God just wants me. However I tend to express myself, I think God just wants it. He hasn't zapped me off the face of the earth for being honest with Him (believe me, He's had zillions of chances to do so). Actually, I think it hurts Him when I hold myself back from Him. I think perhaps Adam and Eve could vouch for this, too.

But that's a glimpse at where I am right now in my journey. And I look forward to continuing to cling to God during the rest of my journey. I hope I'm not being disrespectful when I say this, but maybe He's a little bit crazy, too? Hmm. I guess I'll find out. Maniacal laughter!

Anniversary

I got a small wound on my finger a little while back. In this photo, you can see it -- mostly healed up -- next to my tiny mole-freckle. It hurt when I first got it, and it took a couple of days for the swelling to go down completely. But I nursed it and kept washing it out as best I could, and now I forget that it's there. I think my finger will be completely back to normal in no time.

Wounds are funny like that. When you first get them, they hurt like crazy, and all sorts of weird things go through your head like, "Oh, my gosh, I'm going to get an infection and lose my finger!" It's irrational, but it's a real fear. (I'm a writer and a musician. I need my digits.) Enter a magical substance called hydrogen peroxide. This miracle liquid permeates the wound, ironically causing it to hurt even more for a little while, and then as it flows out of the wound, it brings all the impurities out along with it. After several of these treatments, the wound shrivels up and dies as the surrounding healthy tissue regenerates and takes over. (Actually, that might not be the accurate scientific explanation for what really happens, but I'm gonna stick with it anyway.) Yeah, that's right. Life wins... again.

"He sent from above, He took me; He drew me out of many waters. He delivered me from my strong enemy, from those who hated me, for they were too strong for me. They confronted me in the day of my calamity, but the Lord was my support. He also brought me out into a broad place; He delivered me because He delighted in me." (Psalm 18:16-19)

14 years ago today, I attempted suicide. I've written plenty about it before (especially on this previous post), and it is kind of a strange anniversary to celebrate, but I think 14 is kind of a big deal. I've been told that 7 is the biblical number for perfection and that 14 is double perfection. And in the Bible, didn't Jacob work for his father-in-law for 14 years so that he could marry Rachel? I think that's pretty darn romantic. "Baby, I love you so much that I'm going to do back-breaking labor for you, for as many years as it takes to grow a teenager."

So, in 14 years, I've learned a lot. Pardon my French, but I've learned a hell of a lot. Or rather, perhaps I've learned a lot from hell?

"The thief does not come except to steal, and to kill, and to destroy. I have come that they may have life, and that they may have it more abundantly." (Jesus talking in John 10:10)

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour. Resist him, steadfast in the faith, knowing that the same sufferings are experienced by your brotherhood in the world." (1 Peter 5:8-9)

"Blessed be the Lord my Rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle -- my lovingkindness and my fortress, my high tower and my deliverer, my shield and the One in whom I take refuge, who subdues my people under me." (Psalm 144:1-2)

I heard a pastor teach once that the Bible says the devil comes to steal, kill, and destroy -- not to annoy or bother. She's right! The devil is serious about stealing, killing, and destroying, and he doesn't play by any rules. He doesn't care if God is about to break through or if God is about to "use" you for something big or that he's so scared about God's plan for your life. You can try to analyze the devil's activities if you like, but my experience has been that the devil doesn't care about any of that. I don't even think he waits for us to accidentally open any doors for him. I think maybe he tries to pry doors open unless they're cemented shut or unless we allow God to use explosives and blow up the door to smithereens. I think maybe sometimes the devil tries to build a trap door and attack from below. I think maybe sometimes he disguises himself as a damsel in distress, like the villains sometimes do in the movies. I think he's an expert at any type of evil you can think of, any type of evil that hasn't been invented yet, any type of anything that will steal, kill, and/or destroy anything that moves. He just plays dirty, period. I think he just attacks us because he hates us, and he's the devil, period.

Take my life, for example. I was a victim of adultery while I was inside a church building. I attempted suicide while I was in missionary school. And I was bombarded with suicidal thoughts for the first time in years as soon as I came home from Kairos (in 2010). Seriously, what the heck kind of slimeball attacks a chick with atheistic, suicidal thoughts while she's minding her own business, worshiping God on her guitar, right after she's returned home from a Freedom ministry event? The devil, that's what kind of slimeball.

I hate demons. I hate the devil. I hate his guts so bad, and I hope people get saved just from reading this.

Spiritual warfare used to creep me out, but it doesn't so much anymore because I've had lots of practice slapping my armor on (or whatever type of weapons I could find on extremely short notice) and charging into battle... or at least swinging my fists at the demonic forces that were belching in my face. As a result, I'm a very sloppy fighter. I pray very sloppily. But it's sink or swim, ya know?

And yet, I probably shouldn't give the devil all the credit for the misery I endured. I had plenty of issues, made plenty of bad decisions, and experienced plenty of pain that kept me plenty weighed down, depressed, and struggling to surface for air. Sometimes when you're drowning, you don't really have time to analyze why you're drowning. You just need help. I repeat: Sink or swim.

But I digress. Over the years, my healing process has had SO many ups and downs. I think perhaps my issues took root very gradually and very deeply, so my healing process also had to be very gradual and very deep. In my particular case, God strongly urged me to not rush anything. He is definitely the most patient Person in the entire universe. I had many close calls along the way, as you have perhaps read about. But God has been faithful... no. Well, yes. But "faithful" isn't a big enough word to describe God, in my opinion. Faithful? More like Stubbornly, Lovingly Insistent On Never, Ever Letting Go Of His little girl Who Often Has Trouble Knowing Which Way Is Up And who Is Usually Way Too Weak To Walk On Her Own; He Props her Up, Holds her Together, Covers and Protects her, Clears The Air For her, And Refuses To Stop Pursuing her, Because He Knows That she Is 100% Helpless Without Him. There. If you can smush all that together into one brand-new adjective, I think that might be able to describe Him a teeny-tiny bit.

So, during this long, gradual process of healing the wounds that drove me to suicide 14 years ago, God has been nursing those wounds in a similar way that I was nursing my finger. Enter a Powerful Being called the Holy Spirit. I think He can sometimes operate like hydrogen peroxide. He flows through the wounds and stirs them up, ironically causing them to hurt even more for a little while, and then as He flows out of the wounds, He brings all the impurities out along with Him. There were several occasions where, after I would internally writhe in agony, God would smile, pat me on the shoulder, and be like, "Feel better?" Oh, my gosh. He doesn't use anesthesia when He operates.

But it works! His ways are the best ways!

Over time, the wounds shrivel up and die as the surrounding healthy spiritual tissue regenerates and takes over. (Metaphorically speaking in my artsy-fartsy way.) Yeah, that's right. Life wins... again. And again. And again. And again. Times fourteen.

"And we know that all things work together for good to those who love God, to those who are the called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28)

In my opinion, it's way too trite and, frankly, immature to say that when bad things happen, it's God's will, or when trauma occurs, it's because God has a purpose for it. "God wanted you to be molested so that you could have a wonderful ministry to victims of sex trafficking later on." Um, really? Um, no.

In my opinion, it's more like my life is a junkyard. God is walking through it and looking for stuff that He can "use." Maybe He'll find something disgusting, raunchy, and unrecognizably defiled, pick it up, smile, weep, and say, "This is terrible. This is horrendous. I don't like to look at this. And yet, I can't take my eyes off it. I want to take this thing home with Me and recycle it. I want to make something beautiful out of it. Maybe someday, My little Tirzah will be able to see My handiwork in the finished product."

God didn't hurt me. But I think He has used many of my hurts to help me understand how His heart beats and how to help other people. I can accept other people because I know what it's like to be rejected. I can be kind to other people because I know what it's like to be abused. I can avoid "the appearance of evil" like the plague because I know what it's like to participate in evil secretly while people in the other part of the building were trusting you. I can treat people like human beings because I know what it's like to be treated like an object. I can walk deeply with a person because I know what it's like to be ignored and blown off. I can love and protect people because I know what it's like to be hated and attacked. I can honor other people because I know what it's like to be shamed. I can relate to a person who is mentally tormented and confused because I know what it's like to endure a living hell inside my head... and I know what it's like to survive it.

And I know I didn't do it alone. God was with me every step of the way, just like He's with me now, just like He will be throughout eternity. He's the One who reshapes how I think, how I feel, how I exist.

Yes, it is kind of a strange anniversary to celebrate, but I think 14 is kind of a big deal.

"I sniff your eyeball"

On mornings when I sleep in, I often see something kinda like this: Macho's orange face sniffing my eyeball. (This photo doesn't quite do it justice. It's more of a giant white chin with gigantic whiskers about to devour my eyeball.) Macho is about 15 years old. He's officially been my cat for almost 13 years now. Why does he keep sniffing my eyeball? Doesn't it smell exactly the same every time he sniffs it?

And what kind of thoughts go through his head? "I sniff your eyeball; now you will feed me breakfast." "Oh, my gosh, you're still alive!" "Wait. Do I know you?" "Um, in case you were wondering, you promised me last night that you were going to feed me tuna today... lots and lots and lots of tuna."

Nice try, Macho.

"You crown the year with Your goodness, and Your paths drip with abundance. They drop on the pastures of the wilderness, and the little hills rejoice on every side." (Psalm 65:11-12)

A major motif this year in my relationship with God has been intimacy. I've been learning and re-learning about intimacy in general and just how exciting and scary it can be simultaneously. God knows everything about me -- even before I ever existed -- and yet He still wants me to pour out my heart to Him. He still wants us to communicate with each other as closely as possible, because He and I are friends. We're family. He's always there for me. I need Him, or I'll die. He feeds me. He quenches my thirst. He satisfies my inner aches, and then He revs up my curiosity for more.

I watched and videotaped an interview a few years ago on a Christian TV special. A pastor or just a host guy interviewed a worship leader and asked her about her relationship with God. "Do you have a routine?" he asked. Wait. Did he want to know about her relationship with God, or did he want to know about her quiet time? Those are two different things. I think that would be sort of like saying, "Hey, I'd like to know if you're a good driver. What kind of car do you drive?" Um...

God isn't just an ethereal Being that you interact with during your quiet time routine, and then that's it. However, He is a Mystery who's worth pursuing, digging into and, quite frankly, obsessing over.

So, this God who feeds me from Himself, this Author of the most alive Book in the entire universe, has dropped little mysteries for me to find all over His word. It's sort of like a treasure hunt.

While I was unemployed, I was zipping through Ezra, Nehemiah, Esther, and Job, but when I got to the Psalms, I skidded to a molasses-slow halt. I got to Psalm 18, and I've been stuck there ever since. Did you know that Psalm 18 is almost identical to 2 Samuel 22? Why did David change certain phrases and add certain things to his psalm between the time he gushed it out in 2 Samuel and the time it was published in the songbook of the Israelites? Or was it the other way around? And did you know that Psalm 68 is based on Judges chapter 5? (according to one commentary?)

"She stretched her hand to the tent peg, her right hand to the workmen's hammer; she pounded Sisera, she pierced his head, she split and struck through his temple. At her feet he sank, he fell, he lay still; at her feet he sank, he fell; where he sank, there he fell dead." (Judges 5:26-27)

Hmm. I wonder if Deborah was headbanging with an electric guitar while she was leading that song.

And have you ever seen Psalm 65? Whoever heard of a path dripping with abundance? And whoever heard of a drippy-abundant path dropping on a pasture in the wilderness??

Apparently God did. I think it was His idea. And I think He does it all the time. But He's definitely revved up my curiosity to find out more.

Earlier this week, I voted. In case you can't tell from the Facebook pages that I "Like," I'm a Republican. But I don't like to vote straight ticket. I like to reserve the right to vote for a Democrat (or a member of any other party, for that matter) in case the Republican in a particular race is being a total dork, or in case a race is uncontested because a Republican couldn't get off his/her butt to actually run against a Democrat (or a member of any other party, for that matter). But that is just my personal preference/quirk.

Perhaps it's because I'm lazy or uninterested, or perhaps it's because I'm burned out from years of having politics crammed down my throat -- whatever the reason, I just haven't been keeping myself informed with political issues during the past several years hardly at all. During this particular election, I discovered that I was almost completely uninformed. So, voting was pretty fun. I showed up at the booth, and to my surprise, another Bush was on the ballot. I got to vote for another Bush! Sweet!

Perhaps I'm a terrible example of how to vote, but I hope all the candidates I voted for appreciate the fact that I actually got off my butt and voted for them. I may not have spent hours of preparing or studying for the election, but I did something extremely important: I showed up.

In my struggle with friendships and relationships in general, I've learned that actually getting off your butt and showing up is extremely important. Forget the five love languages. Forget the personality tests. Forget everything you thought you knew about friendships and relationships in general. If you don't make some sort of effort to actually show up -- and if you don't keep showing up -- you and I certainly won't become intimate friends, and we may not even have any kind of relationship at all in the end.

Don't you appreciate it when God "shows up"? I think He appreciates it when you show up, too. And, of course, when I say "you," I mean "me."

Speaking of cats who sniff your eyeball, years ago I was kitten-sitting for a friend. I was alone in my friend's living room when the baby cat randomly walked up to me and started licking my eyelid. I'm not exactly sure why she did this, but I think it was one of the most innocent expressions of affection that an animal has ever given me. (And I think it was also heartbreaking when my friend told me I could have her kitten and then changed her mind.) I don't think I needed to have my eyelid exfoliated that day, but I was definitely blessed to have a kitten get close enough to me to say Hi in a very special way that day. (Maybe it was also her way of thanking me for feeding her?)

I think maybe in the same way that Macho sometimes sniffs my eyeball in pursuit of breakfast, I need to sniff God's metaphorical eyeball in pursuit of His feeding my metaphorical belly, quenching my metaphorical thirst, and satisfying my inner aches. I mean, it's not like I've never sniffed His metaphorical eyeball before. Maybe it smells exactly the same as it did the last time I sniffed it.

Or does it?

If He really is full of grace and truth, what does His eyeball smell like after He's been grieving over humanity? What makes Him tick? Why does He love? Why did He choose me? Why hasn't He ever zapped me off the face of the earth? Why wait until I die and get to heaven to ask Him my deepest, most itching questions?

I don't think He wants me to wait. I think He wants me to be comfortable enough around Him to walk right up to Him and say something like, "I sniff Your eyeball; please feed me, because I am starving." He'll probably reply something like, "I thought you'd never ask." I'd probably reply, "Wait; if You're God, what do You mean You thought I'd never ask, even though You already knew that I would ask?" He'd probably reply, "You got a problem with Me talking to you like a Friend?" I'd probably say, "Please don't burn me to a crisp." He'd probably say, "Never." I'd probably sigh, "Daddy, please hang out with me today." He'd probably whisper, "Of course, little girl."

Why did David re-publish 2 Samuel 22 as Psalm 18? Why did he base Psalm 68 off Judges 5 (according to one commentary)? And how the heck can a God who's so gentle with His children be so gory in battle?

This inquiring mind wants to know. This little girl wants to know her Daddy as intimately as He will let her. Maybe tomorrow morning... or maybe even later tonight... He'll let me show up, walk right up to Him, and sniff His eyeball all over again.

Rejection revisited

I've blogged about rejection before (for example, here and here), but I hope you don't mind me jotting down a few extra thoughts here.

I haven't always been a cat person. When I was a kid, I used to think cats were snobs. I mean, they look like snobs. Sometimes they act like snobs. But when you get to know them, they're actually not snobby at all. God designed them to be very regal animals. In fact, He describes Himself as the Lion of Judah. A lion is a type of cat -- the ultimate king of the cats.

God also designed cats to sleep... and sleep... and sleep... a lot. In the photo I shared at the beginning of this post, Choochie isn't being snobby. She isn't ignorning me. She isn't punishing me by turning her back on me. She isn't acting haughtily. She's just asleep. She's napping. Cats have 3 different pairs of eyelids (whereas we humans only have 2), so their eyes are designed to be extra covered while they are sleeping. It takes a lot to wake up a cat.

But if you didn't know this about cats, perhaps this photo would accidentally offend you. If I never spent time with my cats, and if I never took the time to get to know them, perhaps I would be constantly offended by them. Earlier today when I was leaving the apartment to go to the beautiful coin laundromat, Macho was napping in the living room, and he didn't make eye contact with me or say goodbye or acknowledge my presence or my departure at all. I think maybe he was just in dreamland. I think maybe he was just being a cat.

Cats are incapable of smiling, so they're incapable of showing delight in that manner. But they are equipped with a motorcycle-like purring apparatus that expresses delight in a way that only a regal animal could get away with. I repeat: Cats are not snobs.

For the record, God isn't a snob, either.

"He is despised and rejected by men, a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. And we hid, as it were, our faces from Him; He was despised, and we did not esteem Him." (Isaiah 53:3)

"And Moses went up to God, and the Lord called to him from the mountain, saying, 'Thus you shall say to the house of Jacob, and tell the children of Israel: "You have seen what I did to the Egyptians, and how I bore you on eagles' wings and brought you to Myself. Now therefore, if you will indeed obey My voice and keep My covenant, then you shall be a special treasure to Me above all people; for all the earth is Mine." ' ... Now all the people witnessed the thunderings, the lightning flashes, the sound of the trumpet, and the mountain smoking; and when the people saw it, they trembled and stood afar off. Then they said to Moses, 'You speak with us, and we will hear; but let not God speak with us, lest we die.' " (Exodus 19:3-5, 20:18-19)

I'm not sure exactly why the Israelites freaked out and rejected God's offer of intimacy at the beginning of their wilderness journey. Perhaps the thunderbolts and lightning were very, very frightening them. (Please pardon my references to "Bohemian Rhapsody." Didn't mean to make you cry. If I'm not back again this time tomorrow...) Perhaps God was the first Deity who actually expressed wanting to fellowship with them, and they didn't know how to take it. Or perhaps they were simply ex-slaves who had been mistreated all their lives, and they just expected everybody to keep mistreating them, including God.

Using my imagination, I wonder if maybe God's feelings were a bit hurt. I mean, after going through all the trouble of hearing their cries of distress, calling Moses and teaming him up with his brother Aaron, sending locusts, sending frogs, turning the Nile River into blood, slaying Egyptian firstborns, etc. -- after going to all that trouble to show the Israelites that He really cared about them, that He really wanted them, and that He really loved them, they were like, "Eh, that's OK. You can just talk to Moses for us. You can just keep all your cool God-stuff to yourself. We'll be content to stay clueless and worship golden calves later on." I mean, gosh.

And of all the human beings who ever walked this earth, Jesus (who is fully Human and fully God) is the least deserving of rejection. And yet, I think He's the One who gets rejected the most. If anyone knows how to handle rejection the right way, it's Him.

And if anyone has ever accepted me, it's definitely Him.

One thing I've noticed about rejection is that it's sort of like a software program on your computer with annoying updates that are hard to control. One minute, you log on and mind your own business, and the next minute, you notice that 200+ MB of something has downloaded on your computer, and you're like, Um, I don't remember downloading anything. Dang, I hope I don't exceed my allotted kilobytes for the month. So much for that movie I wanted to watch on YouTube! Then you start typing up a blog post, and you realize your computer has been completely taken hostage by a benevolent software update that will require a reboot in a few hours.

Rejection is kinda the same way, especially if it's still a stronghold in your life. (And when I say "you" and "your," I mean "me" and "my.") One minute, you're living your life and minding your own business. You decide to start something new at church, work, school, etc., that requires meeting new people and adapting pretty much your entire schedule to hanging out with these new people for the long haul. Then somebody says something like, "We hope we didn't scare you away!" or "Yay, you came back!" and it's cute and funny the first couple of times. But then you begin to wonder if perhaps there are some red flags that you need to be aware of. You're like, Um, I don't remember noticing anything wrong with these people. Is there stuff going on behind the scenes that I should know about? Dang, I should probably start looking for new people to hang out with. So much for trying to get to know these freaks! Then you maintain your social caution, and you gradually distance yourself until the new relationships die altogether and you move on to the new something at church, work, school, etc.

Rejection is sort of like a virus. If you've caught enough viruses and have become deathly ill multiple times, you'll probably get a bit paranoid anytime anyone sneezes and/or complains about feeling feverish. You feel one little sneeze, or you hear one little remark, and then the software update starts downloading and suddenly demands a reboot. "OH, MY GOSH, IT'S ALL OVER! I'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE!!" Then you spend the rest of your life trying to live like the boy in the plastic bubble, feeling like you have no immunities and that, in some form or fashion, you are doomed for an early death.

At some point, however, you've gotta put your foot down and say that enough is enough.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ... to the praise of the glory of His grace, by which He made us accepted in the Beloved." (Ephesians 1:3, 6)

My pastor's sermon from this weekend got me thinking a little bit about the verses I just quoted above. Ironically, in Jesus -- the Beloved who has been continually rejected -- I am accepted. The only One who will always, always accept me, the only One who has never, ever let me down, the only One who has totally, completely been there for me, is God. The only One who will forever keep me from falling apart during rejection is God, in His infinite acceptance of me and His faithful friendship with me.

And yet, even though rejection has a terrible reputation, I personally have found rejection in general to be a very powerful thing, for better or for worse. Rejection can send a person spiraling down into a crippling depression. Rejection can get an employee fired from a job. Rejection can separate a victim from an abuser for life. And I daresay that rejection can isolate a person from God forever. I mean, how can a person be accepted in the Beloved if he/she has never, ever received the Beloved?

Just because one of my cats -- or a human being, for that matter -- has his or her back turned to me, or neglects to make eye contact with me, or seems to be completely ignoring me, doesn't mean that he/she is rejecting me. He/she may be occupied with other things. Or he/she may just be shy. Or just asleep. During mealtimes, I know my cats will give me their undivided attention. That is for sure.

"The eyes of all look expectantly to You, and You give them their food in due season. You open Your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing." (Psalm 145:15-16)

I'm sure God understands. When trouble hits people, they tend to come running to Him. The mobs who rejected Him are suddenly on their knees seeking His face. I think He's used to it. I think He's extremely patient with the human race. A few months ago, I don't remember His exact words, but He basically told me, "I don't want you to talk to Me just when you're asking for stuff." He's interested in 24/7/365 friendship with me, and He isn't one of those friends who gushes flattery and then isn't there for you when you need Him. He's serious, He's sincere, and He'll stick with you forever if you'll let Him.

If God seems to have His back turned to me, or if He seems to be ignoring me, or if He seems to be all-out rejecting me, I'm probably just misinterpreting His behavior. Perhaps He's just being a Gentleman, and gentlemen are often comfortable with silence. Perhaps He's just waiting for me to finish processing life so that it can sink in through all those skull-layers of mine and my revelation can finally click. Or perhaps He's crying over me, and He doesn't want me to hear. Regardless, He hasn't rejected me. On the contrary, He has continually proven His acceptance of me.

The more I get to know Him, the more I understand this about Him. He isn't just a presence that shows up during a quiet time. He isn't just a Name that's powerful enough to slice through strongholds in a single bound. He isn't just a holiday. He's a Person, a Faithful One who's big enough and strong enough and gentle enough to heal all the ways that dinky little human beings have sliced through my soul in a single bound. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy? Hmm. Well, if you're talking about God, it's the former for sure. Open your eyes. Look up to the skies and see.

Unemployment, part 12

Yay, this is the finale of my Unemployment blog-post series! I finally get to write about my new job! I'm processing a few different things in my head right now, but I'll try to compile them all here, and hopefully I can get them to flow together nicely. Perhaps this post could also be titled "Who you listen to makes all the difference."

"And the Lord restored Job's losses when he prayed for his friends. Indeed the Lord gave Job twice as much as he had before." (Job 42:10)

Last night after work, I had some time to kill before a church service, so I decided to go to PetSmart and browse, e.g., stare at the cats. A couple of them stared back. One of them, I think, was hallucinating (or perhaps he was vision-impaired?), because he wouldn't look right at me, but his eyes were following something that seemed to be buzzing around his cage. Another one was hiding under his bedding, and I saw one of his eyes peering out at me from under his covering. Scenes like these melt my heart and move me with compassion.

This morning while I was hanging out with my cats, I remembered that Macho was a PetSmart cat. (His previous owner acquired him that way.) While I was holding him in my arms this morning, I told him that I think I understand his issues. Perhaps sitting in a cage all day while strangers come by and stare at you will really mess with your head. Macho was store merchandise. But he isn't anymore. Now he's my baby.

"But You have seen, for You observe trouble and grief, to repay it by Your hand. The helpless commits himself to You; You are the helper of the fatherless." (Psalm 10:14)

" 'For the oppression of the poor, for the sighing of the needy, now I will arise,' says the Lord; 'I will set him in the safety for which he yearns.' " (Psalm 12:5)

Several days ago, I caught part of a TV show. A preacher said, "God doesn't respond to poverty." Um, yes, He does. It says so right there in my Bible; the verses I quoted above are just a couple of examples. (I heartily disagree with a lot of what that TV preacher said.) I'm made in God's image. I think He responds to poverty and dire circumstances in a similar way in which I responded to the cats at PetSmart: with compassion. And God is the most powerful Being in the universe, so when He helps people, He does it mightily, classily, and in the best way imaginable. And He's gentle, too.

I think Job can vouch for this. And, incidentally, I don't think it was an accident that I was reading the Book of Job while I was looking for a job. (Get it? Job, job? Heh.) Not to say that one little job loss compares to the life-torture that Job endured. But it was interesting, helpful, and timely to read about how Job lost everything that was important to him (family, resources, physical health), attracted really bad advice while he was grieving ("Hey, Job, this is probably all your fault because you sinned"), and got the lecture of his life from the God of the universe ("Oh, so you think you know all the answers, little man? Let Me tell you a thing or two").

About 2 years ago, I heard a loud, booming voice tell me to update my resume. I didn't think it was God until the stuff hit the fan at my previous job and I realized that I needed to find new job. Then about a year after that, I got fired, and God began to lead me very gently through the unemployment minefield. As I blogged previously, I thought God had told me that I would only be unemployed for 3 months. This "word" was inaccurate. (I was unemployed for 6 months.) When I asked God about it afterwards, He explained, "I let you hear things." Indeed He does. Tweaking my ability to discern His voice out of the other noises that fly through the airways has definitely been an adventure. I would like to share a few "messages" that I've heard throughout the years, some spiritual and some physical:

1) "Just do what's in front of you." This is something that God taught me during these past 6 months of unemployment. This is consistent with Matthew 6:34, where Jesus basically says to just take care of the stuff you need to take care of today, instead of freaking out about stuff that may or may not happen tomorrow. For example, I wondered if I should drop what I was doing and set up an online portfolio (instead of using the hardcopy one that I compiled during my last semester of college, back in the dark ages) so that I could use it in my job search. God gently showed me that setting up an online portfolio wasn't a task that was directly in front of me. What was in front of me was applying for jobs, period, so I did that. Turns out, I didn't need to set up an online portfolio. I got a job with my dark-ages hardcopy portfolio. This is one example of God teaching me basically to get into the discipline of tackling my tasks one day at a time.

2) "Don't give up looking for a full-time writing job." This is something that God gently kept nudging me to do this past summer when the job market was looking very bleak and my chances of finding anything in my degree field weren't looking good at all. But it sounded like He believed in me, so I went for it. Speaking of people who believe in me...

3) "You'll never make any money." This is something that my birth father told me in high school when I told him that I wanted to become a writer instead of a pharmacist. (Becoming a pharmacist was my birth mother's idea. There's nothing wrong with that idea except... well... it's not me.) I guess I was naively expecting him to be excited for me, but perhaps instead I got an earful of what was really in his heart. Um, thanks for believing in me? Um, thanks for speaking a poverty curse over me? Um, I'm not going to listen to that guy anymore.

4) "You don't get your own office." My previous boss told me this when I was complaining to her about the noisy, distracting work environment. Sometimes a chick just needs some peace and quiet in order to get some work done. My boss scoffed at me when I tried to appeal to her authority. All I asked for was quietness. She explained, "If I don't get my own office, you don't get your own office." Some time after that, she fired me. Now I have my own office. Non-toxic work environment, check. Peace and quiet, check. Vindication, check.

5) [insert very gentle nudge here] During my last week of unemployment, after I had already made all my required work-search contacts for the week, I felt an extremely gentle prompting that I should check an online job board one more time. I did, and I was very surprised to see a certain job listed there. I'm not sure why I had missed it previously, but I'm convinced that it was God who prompted me to check that job board, because that was the job I ended up getting. Less than 12 hours after I applied for the job, I was contacted for an interview, then I proceeded with my temp job, and then the day after I finished my temp job, I was offered my current job. I started 2 days ago. This entire process definitely has God's fingerprints all over it.

Some time before I was offered the job, God reminded me how He restored to Job double everything that he had lost. I don't remember the exact words of our conversation, but God was like, "Would you like Me to do that for you, too?" So, I was like, "Sure." Voilà, instant restoration.

And that's just a job. Psalm 23:3 assures me that God is interested in restoring more than just a stupid little job. He's interested in restoring my entire soul, and He's interested in doing so for His name's sake. During this entire unemployment season (which wasn't my first, but it sure was a doozy), I learned a lot of extremely important lessons. For instance, God is more interested in my life than I am. Psalm 33:19 assures me that God will keep me alive during a famine. This time around, I wasn't exactly living in the lap of luxury in the middle of a desert. I was mainly just kept ALIVE. Alive is pretty darn important. I'll take it.

And it was very sweet to see Him vindicating me. I went on several job interviews. At first, I was very insecure about explaining how/why I got fired from my previous job. But towards the end, it was eerily satisfying to see the compassionate/indignant looks on people's faces when I would explain what my previous job was like. "I'm sorry that that happened to you." "Well, if they put your desk in front of a breakroom and a stairwell, no wonder you couldn't get any work done."

So, Tirzah is back. Life isn't perfect, but the most perfect Being in the universe is in charge of my life, so I'm good to go.

It has been a lot of fun to see God answer all those crazy prayers that I prayed during the past 6 months (and even before then). I asked Him to play employer-employee matchmaker, and He did. I wanted to stand on His feet while He danced, and He let me do that.

During my unemployment, I was very desperate, so I cried out to Him very desperately. Yeah, that's right. God responded to my poverty. He did so gently, with compassion, with love, with power, with class, and in a better way than I could have imagined for myself. I'm very thankful for my brand-new job. I know I won't be there forever, but I know it will be an excellent place for me to be, hopefully for a very long while. Sometimes a chick just needs a full-time job in order to save up to go back to school.

I've never been trapped inside a cage at PetSmart, but I'm glad God chose me, rescued me out of my eternal trap, and adopted me. Providing a way out of my sin was infinitely more important than providing a teeny little job. But I sure am glad He did both.

"Be happy in your work"

This week, I've had a temp job. I've been working at a call center (basically, that's the place where they answer the phone anytime you call customer service). I've worked call-center jobs before (inbound and outbound calls). This is why I hate call-center jobs. Yes, I hate to talk on the phone, especially when I get paid to do so. Yes, I would rather dissect camel dung for a living in Afghanistan.

I don't mean any disrespect if you work at a call center. In fact, thank you for all that you do, and I truly appreciate everything that you put up with. I am definitely thankful for my temp job's paycheck, and the job has been a good experience overall. It's just that... well... it's at a call center. I've met very few people who actually enjoy call-center jobs. Sitting at a phone and taking customer-service calls is usually the type of job that people take because they are desperate for money (ahem), and it is usually the type of job that people only keep until they can find something better.

I think having a call-center job long term usually requires a specific type of person. I've noticed that long-term call center people usually don't take things personally, they are very focused, they are very steady, they are very consistent, and they are very willing to serve.

So, I've learned that working at a call center is sort of like boot camp. It's a crash course in working hard, maintaining your focus, and polishing your confidence. And it's kind of a sink-or-swim way of learning how to love unlovable people (by that I mean being nice to people who are yelling at you). Maybe when Jesus talked about "the least of these," He was partly talking about people who think they can say whatever they want just because they don't have to face you in person. Hmm. I wonder if Jesus dealt with irate customers when He was a carpenter. And I wonder if their dispositions were nastier than Judas Iscariot's. Hmm.

But working at a call center isn't for everybody. For example, it isn't really for me long term because I'm very analytical and have a tendency to overthink everything. Also, I talk really fast, and whenever I feel nervous or insecure, I talk even faster and chirpier. ("Corporate accounts payable. Nina speaking. Just a moment.") And as somebody who is designed to be a pastor, it's sort of like a torture because after callers tell you their life story, you can't follow up on them. Oy vey!

So, Daddy has been teaching me excellent cubicle lessons like how to not second-guess myself. He's reinforcing seasonal lessons like how to simply do what's in front of me (instead of worrying about 50 million other details). And I'm getting a crash refresher course in depending on Him for everything.

And working at a call center is a great way to get your focus off yourself. I've noticed that I end up getting a call-center job anytime I'm coming out of a really emotional and/or desert-y season. I don't think that's an accident.

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

Years ago, I was working at a call center when I met a very interesting coworker whom I'll call John. John was a very nice guy, an older gentleman with a slow, even articulation in his speech. He was a new employee, but he would preach at us: "Be happy in your work. That's our motto." Um, I don't really remember reading any company mottos in the training manual, but OK. He would repeat his "motto" every once in a while, I guess perhaps whenever any of us would complain about something/somebody or just let off a little of bit of steam (which you have to do when you have a call-center job, trust me).

So, it was sort of a shocker when John, mister "Be happy in your work," suddenly quit his job one day after he had some sort of conflict with a manager.

I've thought of John this week (in my overly analytical way). Why did he come up with that "Be happy in your work" motto, anyway? Did he just not like to hear us complain? Was he trying to psych himself up to do his call-center job? Or was he just lying to himself?

I hope John understood this, but if you're unhappy in your work, it's OK to be honest about it. In fact, if you try to trick yourself into thinking that you're happy when you're actually miserable, you could harm yourself in all sorts of invisible ways. (Take it from the chick who spent 4 1/2 days in a psych hospital.)

I think one of the main reasons why I hate talking on the phone (besides the fact that the person on the other line could quickly take you hostage on the airwaves as they talk incessantly about the weather and politics and do you know what happened last night? Well, I was in the middle of feeding my cats when I decided to multitask. So, I put Choochie in the bathroom like I always do, and I left the light on while she ate her food, and then I closed the door so that Macho wouldn't come and eat her food. She's on a special diet for her hyperthyroidism, you know. It costs me about $48 a bag. And you know, that reminds me, I need to go and clip my babies' nails, clean their ears, and give them their heartworm medicine sometime this weekend. Hahaha! It's kind of like wrestling a miniature puma. So, anyway, I was feeding Choochie while I was making my lunch and fixing myself a snack. I put on one of my Duck Dynasty DVDs, and I started eating, and then after a few minutes, I noticed that I still had the light on in the bathroom. Bless her heart! I had completely forgotten that Choochie was in there! I felt so bad. After I let her out, I apologized profusely, and I gave her lots and lots of hugs and kisses. You know, I just love her so much. OH, MY GOODNESS, I JUST LOVE MY LITTLE KITTY!!!)...

Ahem. As I was saying, I think one of the main reasons why I hate talking on the phone is because it's so easy to manipulate your voice when the person on the other line can't see you. Anytime I work a call-center job, what you hear in my voice is "I am ready, willing, and able to help you," but what I really feel is "I really don't want to be here, I just need a paycheck, please don't yell at me." (One of my all-time favorite comic strips is the Dilbert strip from February 18, 2001.)

I'm not exactly sure what John's deal was. Maybe he was desperate for a paycheck just like the rest of us, so he fooled himself into thinking that he was OK with working at our call center. I just think it's ironic that mister "Be happy in your work" left unhappily.

Meanwhile, I've got a few days left in my temp job, and I'm happy to be working. I'm happy to be learning all the lessons that I'm learning. And I'm happy that it's just a temp job.

Choochie and I are OK. She's currently purring next to me. And my tummy is currently gurgling. And now I get to eat. That definitely makes me happy.