“He has taken me to the banquet hall, and His banner over me is love.” (Song of Solomon 2:4)
“His pleasure is not in the strength of the horse, nor His delight in the legs of a man; the Lord delights in those who fear Him, who put their hope in His unfailing love.” (Psalm 147:10-11)
I think this is the first time I’ve ever blogged about this topic: fasting. It’s basically when you abstain from something (usually food) so that you can seek God and He can meet you in a deeper way. I won’t go into all the biblical reasons for/benefits of fasting here, but I’d like to share with you a little bit about it from my perspective.
A leader at a former church of mine used to fast a lot, and I remember him saying once that fasting was like a self-imposed trial. I like this definition. Trials are basically things that God allows in our life where He tests our character, squeezes us, and makes us go, “God, I need You! Help!” The same thing basically happens when you fast. You’re hungry, and whether you or not you say it with your mouth, you’re saying with your actions, “God, I need You more than I need food!” Sometimes I can hear Him speaking more clearly when I’m fasting, and sometimes I don’t hear Him speak very clearly until after I’m done fasting. I think the key is to just obey God, seek His face and His heart, and let Him do whatever He wants with you.
Another topic that I don’t think I’ve officially blogged about yet is spiritual abuse. It’s basically when somebody gives themselves too much spiritual authority over you, almost as if they’re God for you, and they make you think that you’re sinning when you’re not, and it makes you feel ashamed, and it makes you feel like God isn’t happy with you unless you do all sorts of “works” for God. Fasting can be one of these “works.” Phew! Spiritual abuse is terrible. It’s something that I learned about for the first time last year. I won’t go into detail about this yet, but to make a very long story very short, I’ve found out that the abovementioned church family was in a spiritually abusive environment. One of the leaders there said once, regarding fasting, “Water will get to the issue a lot quicker.” I think he meant that if you completely abstain from everything except water, God will speak to you a lot quicker. OK, yes, if God tells you you need to fast from everything except water, then that’s what you need to do. Or if you’re so desperate for God to move in your situation that as an expression of your desperation, you fast from everything except water, I’m sure God will see your heart and meet you in an awesome way. But for somebody to make you feel inferior because you can’t do a three-day water fast the way they can is just terrible. Besides -- not everyone is even medically able to abstain from food. People who have certain medical conditions need to eat and stick to their special diets. There are other things to fast from besides food.
Fast-forwarding years later, I was at another spiritually abusive church (aaagh! God is healing me from this junk, and the church I’m at now is non-abusive, honest!) where I believed that God wanted me to fast from non-work-related TV for a few days. At the time, I was working at a media-related job and had to watch TV and movies for my job. But after work, I was used to turning on the TV and watching it for fun. But not during the fast. I figured it would be much easier than fasting from food. Boy, was I wrong! I didn’t know what to do with myself during the evenings, and I would have rather given up food! Anyway, I basically told this to my lifegroup leader at the time, and she looked at me like I was crazy.
No, sorry, but I’m not crazy. If God says to do something, I need to do it. And if I’m abstaining from something, it’s probably something that my flesh is going to want all the more. It’s usually hard to do. Right now, for example, I’m fasting meats and sweets. I thought this was going to be an easy fast. WRONG! I didn’t totally realize how accustomed I’d gotten to grabbing those beautiful little bags of candy from the breakroom at work and munching on it in my cubicle. I WANT CANDY! And a couple of nights this week, I had to grab some quick deli food for dinner. I thought it would be easy to find a non-meat sandwich like pimento cheese. WRONG! I had to get a regular sandwich and eat everything but the cold cuts, which I brought home and fed later to my curiously carnivorous cats. I WANT CHEWY, BEAUTIFUL MEAT WITH SAVORY, BEAUTIFUL GREASE DRIBBLING DOWN MY CHIN! So, anyway, yeah, a meat-and-sweet fast ain’t necessarily all that easy.
But I need God more than candy and greasy meat. I need to be close to Him. I need Him so much, it ain’t even funny. I’m choking up just typing this. This morning, while I was crying on His shoulder, He showed me some important stuff related to my healing. Later that morning, He showed me even more stuff. By the time I got to my work cubicle, I was so satisfied with His food that I don’t even think I craved candy. God has been feeding me what I need, and I need to trust that He’s been squeezing out the bad junk and replacing it with His good things. I like to eat from His banqueting table.
So, if you’d like to learn how to lean on God at a deeper level, try fasting. If you want to cultivate a desperation for God at a deeper level, try fasting. If you want to practice crying out to God and expressing your need for Him at a deeper level, try fasting. Well, definitely pray about it first and make sure that it’s something He wants you to do. (Doing a meat-and-sweet fast in the middle of the summer wasn’t my idea, honest!) The most important thing is that you obey Him and seek Him and love Him.
Tomorrow morning (Thursday) when my fast is over, I think I’ll eat yogurt with chocolate syrup on toast and maybe a side of scrambled eggs. Hmm. On second thought, my tummy doesn’t like the sound of that idea. Maybe I’ll just pour some sugar in my coffee. Sorry, kitties, no cold cuts for you tomorrow!
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Eww, what’s that smell? It’s a sequel.
“For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms.” (Ephesians 6:12)
“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)
Last week, I wrote about housecleaning. This week, I found something else to talk about, and I think I can best illustrate my point by NOT sparing you the gory, disgusting details. Warning: I think I’m going to have to rate this blog post PG-13. Ready? Here we go.
Yesterday evening, I was minding my own business at the parking lot of a local grocery store. I had been driving for about 45 minutes, and I hobbled out of my car and was heading for the store entrance. Behind me, I heard a woman shout, “Nasty-lookin’ dyke! Nasty-lookin’ bitch!” It took a moment for it to register that she possibly could have been shouting at me. I felt prompted to just keep walking. I entered the store, and all sorts of things started rushing into my head. Wait -- was that woman really shouting at me? Why would she shout at me? I’m straight. I mean, I was wearing a T-shirt and baggy jeans, and I recently chopped my hair down to the same length that I wore it about 10 years ago. I thought I looked adorable. I mean, what the heck happened? So, I paced the store aisles a little bit and composed myself and prayed and forgave the shouting woman.
I would like to reiterate that I’m not gay, and I don’t want to disrespect anyone who is or who struggles with homosexuality. To read my full opinion on this issue, please refer to my blog post from a couple of years ago. I didn’t see the shouting woman, and yes, there’s a strong chance that she wasn’t even shouting at me, but I felt very unsafe during and after that weird episode. I don’t want to make light of serious situations that have seriously happened, but I think I got a tiny taste of what it’s like to be stereotyped that way or shamed that way or to even possibly be the target of a hate crime. I’m thankful that God protected me from such a thing, aside from the majorly huge, majorly ironic detail -- HELLO, PEOPLE, I’M STRAIGHT!
I forgave the shouting woman multiple times, but her words, even though they may not have been directed at me, resounded through my spirit for many hours afterwards. I spent the rest of yesterday evening and most of today working through it. I lost my self-confidence for a while. Should I not have cut my hair? Should I change the way I dress? Is this why guys don’t ask me out? Does everybody else agree with the shouting woman?
So, what it boiled down to wasn’t the shouting woman. It was her words, whether they were directed at me or not. My spirit gulped them down, I think because I have a history of abuse (long story!), and I’m used to consuming those types of toxic, deathly words inside me. I really need to get un-used to it. Proverbs 18:21 says that death and life are in the power of the tongue. The shouting woman was speaking words of death. The Bible says that the devil is the father of lies. Lying is like a language to him. Unfortunately, I think the shouting woman was letting the devil use her, and she was speaking his language. It was like a fiery dart that needed to be extinguished in the shield of faith.
If I understand correctly, God showed me that the shouting woman was looking for a fight, and she thought I was somebody else. Anyway, regardless of how or why this happened, I hope what I’ve gone through will change me for the better and help somebody else. The truth is, I’m fearfully and wonderfully made, and my soul knows it very well (Psalm 139:14). I’m probably not going to change the way I dress anytime soon. I like my style. I’m not going to try to be somebody I’m not. I’ve almost always been nerdy and dorky, and the more God frees me up, the more artsy-fartsy I get, and lately I’ve been going back to my old punk-wannabe look. Sometimes when I’m in a very good mood, I strut. I’m a girl, but I’m not a girly-girl. Dang it, I like men! (Especially when they’re older, wiser, and starting to get gray! (swooning)) I don’t want to care what people think about me. I want them to get to know me and my heart. I want them to know the One who made me and redeemed me. He loves me, He cherishes me, and He likes me.
Speaking of love, here I am with my little girl cat. Just look at that face. I dote over her. OK, if you squint a little, she kind of looks like E.T. in this picture, but I still love her. (Actually, in some lighting, she looks more like Yoda. Dang it, she’s my cat! I love her!) I believe that God healed her of a heart murmur a few years ago. I took her to the vet, who said that she heard a heart murmur during the examination. I brought my little girl cat back home and prayed and wept over her. Remember when I said that death and life are in the power of the tongue? I was so afraid of somebody accidentally speaking death over my cat that I didn’t tell anybody about her condition for an entire year. At the next vet visit, the vet didn’t hear any murmur! And no vet has mentioned it ever since! Hallelujah!
Back to the housecleaning metaphor. God showed me that the shouting woman speaking words of death was like somebody puking in my closet after I’d just cleaned it. Sometimes when I’m thinking or praying through an issue, I’ll want God to show me what I have to do to fix it, and I’ll treat it like a formula. He’s showing me that it isn’t a formula but a relationship with Him. He also showed me that one reason why I’ve taken so long to learn how to clean house (literally) was because I believed that it was hard. In the past, I was shown that the proper way to clean was to use a certain product and/or tool. But the truth is, cleaning house (literally) really isn’t that hard. Just pick up whatever product and/or tool you have available, and just go for it. If somebody pukes in your closet (literally), maybe after you clean up the actual puke and you spray stain remover on the carpet, you might need to wait for it to dry before vacuuming over the puked-on area. Hmm. I might have too much experience cleaning up puked-on carpets (literally) because I own two cats. And because of other things.
Several months ago when I blogged about equilibrium, I mentioned getting a dizzy spell, and I will now share some details of how sick I got. While I was driving home, I puked on myself. I literally lost my lunch on my car and my clothes. I gotta say, that home ec class I took in high school did NOT prepare me for this cleanup job. Hmm. How to discreetly cover up one’s soiled self while laboring up the stairs to one’s apartment... how to wipe up puke chunks from one’s car with old towels... how to scrape dried puke chunks out of one’s steering wheel a couple of days later after one is well enough to notice that the steering wheel isn’t completely clean yet... how to hope that the old puke stench will disappear by the time one offers someone a ride in one’s car. Nope, I don’t remember reading about any of this in the home ec book.
I think that’s kind of how it is when somebody pukes in your clean closet (metaphorically). Sometimes it isn’t just an unwelcome Christmas present that sits there and takes up dust. It’s a defiling mess that stinks and needs to be cleaned up right away. There isn’t necessarily a verse in the Bible with every one of my specific situations. There isn’t a “Tirzah, when somebody calls you bad names in a grocery-store parking lot, here’s what you do” verse in my Bible. I need to lean on God and let Him show me what to do. He told me to keep walking, so I did. I knew I needed to forgive, so I did. I know that I’m fearfully and wonderfully made, so I need to just be who I was created and designed to be. My relationship with God is the most important thing in my life. I want to depend on Him for everything. He speaks words of life to me all the time, and I need to listen. Sometimes He sends people to help with the cleanup. And sometimes He sends experts with professional, sophisticated, stain-removing equipment. Just as long as it gets clean, just as long as He’s in charge of the cleaning, and just as long as He’s at the center of the cleaning job, I think He’s OK with it. I think He wants the closet to be just like new, if not better than new.
So, tomorrow I plan to heavily gel and spray my hair like usual. My self-confidence is back, my shame is gone, and I might do some strutting. I feel a song parody coming on. Ha, ha, ha, ha, speaking the life, speaking the life. Ha, ha, ha, ha, better than new, better than new.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Eww, what’s that smell? an onion? Nope, a house.
“The wise woman builds her house, but with her own hands the foolish one tears hers down.” (Proverbs 14:1)
“Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain.” (Psalm 127:1)
If you’re tired of me talking about emotional healing, this isn’t the blog post for you. Yep, that’s right! I’ve unearthed plenty more to talk about! And it’s probably going to be one big metaphor!
I’ve heard several people say that healing is a lot like peeling an onion -- it happens in layers. That simile, however, isn’t a very good description for what I’ve been going through recently. Besides -- when I cook with onions, I don’t really do that much peeling. I mostly just chop and hack away.
These past several months, God has been talking to me a lot about houses. I live in an apartment, but for the purposes of this blog post, I’m going to say “house.” For me, this particular season of emotional healing has been a lot like cleaning house -- a house that’s accumulated decades worth of junk, dirt, crap, etc. Yep, that’s right! God is cleaning house.
In the actual physical “house” that I live in and pay rent for, I’ve rarely invited anybody over lately because I’ve needed to catch up on my housecleaning. (Hey, Tirzah, get off your laptop and do some cleaning!) Also because my furniture was built in 1975 and needs to be replaced, but that’s another story.
Yes, I actually did take a housecleaning break after typing that last paragraph. If you’ve kept up with my blog for the past couple of years, you know that keeping a clean house is something I’ve struggled with for some time. (And if you’ve kept up with me on Facebook for the past year, you know that I’m not the least bit domestically inclined. I don’t think my cats mind, though. I’m currently typing this with one arm under a purring feline belly.) I won’t go into the gory details now to explain why, but I’m thankful to report that my house is much cleaner than it used to be. The other night, I almost snapped a triumphant photo of an empty sink... because the dishes were all clean! (ecstatic shock) One practical thing that God has shown me is that I need to clean a little bit at a time (rather than pull an all-nighter to cram in all the cleaning at once). If you’ve ever lived alone, worked full-time, and been very involved with church and socializing, and if you don’t have it in your budget to hire a maid, you understand how truly difficult it can be to keep a clean house. (Mental note: Train cats to scrub shower tiles.)
I have what I call my File Pile, which is a pile of documents (bills, junkmail, notes, etc.) that I need to file away later. “Later” doesn’t always happen. As I was quickly going through my File Pile, I was reminded of events in my life that caused me to put filing on hold: getting laid off, getting a new job, buying a new car, working overtime to pay for the new car, etc. OK, I’ll be completely honest. I have 5 File Piles, some of which with materials that have been waiting for about 8 years to actually be filed anywhere, throughout the house. It’s tempting to just lug in a trash can and say goodbye to my File Piles forever with one fell swoop. I haven’t touched some of it in 8 years, so what have I been missing? It’s garbage, right? Well, I suppose some of it is. But I do have some important documents buried under there somewhere, and I really do need to go through it (someday). I should probably sit down for a few minutes at a time to work on it gradually.
OK, The File Piles are tame. Have you ever seen (or smelled) what happens when you go literally for weeks (or months) without cleaning something like the bathroom or the dishes? I have, and it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s something that happens when you work more than 40 hours a week and feel too tired to do anything besides park your butt on the couch and stare at the TV. You’ll be surprised at how gradually you get used to the mold and mildew that develops, and you’ll be shocked at how gradually you get used to the smell (or convince yourself that it isn’t there). I mean, if nobody comes by your place to check on you, where’s the accountability? If it’s just you and two animals under one roof, the three of you just adjust.
Then there are the closets -- the piles of forgotten junk! Some of the junk were Christmas presents given by people who didn’t know me or my tastes very well, so now they just sit there and take up valuable space. Closets can be scary. When I was moving into my current house, I was stressfully packing up my stuff at my old house; right before I left, I swung open the closet door and noticed in horror that I had completely forgotten to pack the closet. Another pile of crap! (chilling shriek)
Now for the metaphor. The good news is, I don’t own my house. It’s a temple that God owns. He’s the reason for the housecleaning. He’s the One who’s cleaning it with me. And He’s got some serious stain-removing, mold-killing, power-dusting, pile-filing equipment. Sometimes He works really fast, and other times He isn’t in a hurry.
I think I understand one reason why I got so clinically, dangerously depressed 11-12 years ago. My house was dirty. It was filthy, cluttered, dusty, and moldy. There was a stench in the air, I couldn’t quite figure out where it was coming from, and I didn’t completely understand that I was worth investigating its source. The people who frequently visited my house either didn’t smell the stench, or they’d come over with a can of air freshener to cover it up, tell me I was doing OK, and then leave. What none of us realized was that there were some closets that were desperately cluttered to overflowing with sweaty, dirty, old socks that needed laundering. The shower tiles were so mildewy that roaches were making themselves at home in the plumbing. Deep in the bottom of the kitchen sink, somebody neglected to clean a platter after cooking some raw meat, and the dish had been sitting there for so long that the thought of even going near the sink was unbearable. In a sense, it seemed much easier to just declare the house condemned and wait for the bulldozers to come finish it off.
But God is in the business of rescuing houses. He’s in the business of remodeling. He’s in the business of restoration. Sure, there were a few dishes and socks here and there that just needed to be thrown away, and there was a termite problem that’s been taken care of. You’ll be surprised how much junk can accumulate in one place in 35 years. Some of the stuff is junk I brought in myself, and some of it is junk that was given to me like unwelcome Christmas presents that just sat around, took up valuable space, and collected dust. But this house is not condemned. This house is valuable. This house is a place that God looks forward to visiting, spending time in, living in, and enjoying. And He’s more than welcome here. It all belongs to Him. He helps me clean up, tidy up, and sanitize. There are some rooms that are cleaner than others, but there are other rooms that still need lots of attention. There are File Piles that have junkmail mixed in with important documents, and I think God wants to sit down with me and work through it gradually. And yes, sometimes I don’t even feel like a house but an onion that doesn’t get peeled but chopped at and hacked at. But it’s OK. However He lovingly repairs, remodels, and restores my house, I want Him to make Himself at home here.
Back to literal stuff. I really do have company coming over soon, so I do need to catch some Zs, wake up early, and do a bit more tidying up tomorrow morning. Maybe I can bribe the cats to help me out. I’d try using tuna, but I don’t want to ruin how nice and un-stenchlike it smells in here right now. Hmm.
“Unless the Lord builds the house, its builders labor in vain.” (Psalm 127:1)
If you’re tired of me talking about emotional healing, this isn’t the blog post for you. Yep, that’s right! I’ve unearthed plenty more to talk about! And it’s probably going to be one big metaphor!
I’ve heard several people say that healing is a lot like peeling an onion -- it happens in layers. That simile, however, isn’t a very good description for what I’ve been going through recently. Besides -- when I cook with onions, I don’t really do that much peeling. I mostly just chop and hack away.
These past several months, God has been talking to me a lot about houses. I live in an apartment, but for the purposes of this blog post, I’m going to say “house.” For me, this particular season of emotional healing has been a lot like cleaning house -- a house that’s accumulated decades worth of junk, dirt, crap, etc. Yep, that’s right! God is cleaning house.
In the actual physical “house” that I live in and pay rent for, I’ve rarely invited anybody over lately because I’ve needed to catch up on my housecleaning. (Hey, Tirzah, get off your laptop and do some cleaning!) Also because my furniture was built in 1975 and needs to be replaced, but that’s another story.
Yes, I actually did take a housecleaning break after typing that last paragraph. If you’ve kept up with my blog for the past couple of years, you know that keeping a clean house is something I’ve struggled with for some time. (And if you’ve kept up with me on Facebook for the past year, you know that I’m not the least bit domestically inclined. I don’t think my cats mind, though. I’m currently typing this with one arm under a purring feline belly.) I won’t go into the gory details now to explain why, but I’m thankful to report that my house is much cleaner than it used to be. The other night, I almost snapped a triumphant photo of an empty sink... because the dishes were all clean! (ecstatic shock) One practical thing that God has shown me is that I need to clean a little bit at a time (rather than pull an all-nighter to cram in all the cleaning at once). If you’ve ever lived alone, worked full-time, and been very involved with church and socializing, and if you don’t have it in your budget to hire a maid, you understand how truly difficult it can be to keep a clean house. (Mental note: Train cats to scrub shower tiles.)
I have what I call my File Pile, which is a pile of documents (bills, junkmail, notes, etc.) that I need to file away later. “Later” doesn’t always happen. As I was quickly going through my File Pile, I was reminded of events in my life that caused me to put filing on hold: getting laid off, getting a new job, buying a new car, working overtime to pay for the new car, etc. OK, I’ll be completely honest. I have 5 File Piles, some of which with materials that have been waiting for about 8 years to actually be filed anywhere, throughout the house. It’s tempting to just lug in a trash can and say goodbye to my File Piles forever with one fell swoop. I haven’t touched some of it in 8 years, so what have I been missing? It’s garbage, right? Well, I suppose some of it is. But I do have some important documents buried under there somewhere, and I really do need to go through it (someday). I should probably sit down for a few minutes at a time to work on it gradually.
OK, The File Piles are tame. Have you ever seen (or smelled) what happens when you go literally for weeks (or months) without cleaning something like the bathroom or the dishes? I have, and it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s something that happens when you work more than 40 hours a week and feel too tired to do anything besides park your butt on the couch and stare at the TV. You’ll be surprised at how gradually you get used to the mold and mildew that develops, and you’ll be shocked at how gradually you get used to the smell (or convince yourself that it isn’t there). I mean, if nobody comes by your place to check on you, where’s the accountability? If it’s just you and two animals under one roof, the three of you just adjust.
Then there are the closets -- the piles of forgotten junk! Some of the junk were Christmas presents given by people who didn’t know me or my tastes very well, so now they just sit there and take up valuable space. Closets can be scary. When I was moving into my current house, I was stressfully packing up my stuff at my old house; right before I left, I swung open the closet door and noticed in horror that I had completely forgotten to pack the closet. Another pile of crap! (chilling shriek)
Now for the metaphor. The good news is, I don’t own my house. It’s a temple that God owns. He’s the reason for the housecleaning. He’s the One who’s cleaning it with me. And He’s got some serious stain-removing, mold-killing, power-dusting, pile-filing equipment. Sometimes He works really fast, and other times He isn’t in a hurry.
I think I understand one reason why I got so clinically, dangerously depressed 11-12 years ago. My house was dirty. It was filthy, cluttered, dusty, and moldy. There was a stench in the air, I couldn’t quite figure out where it was coming from, and I didn’t completely understand that I was worth investigating its source. The people who frequently visited my house either didn’t smell the stench, or they’d come over with a can of air freshener to cover it up, tell me I was doing OK, and then leave. What none of us realized was that there were some closets that were desperately cluttered to overflowing with sweaty, dirty, old socks that needed laundering. The shower tiles were so mildewy that roaches were making themselves at home in the plumbing. Deep in the bottom of the kitchen sink, somebody neglected to clean a platter after cooking some raw meat, and the dish had been sitting there for so long that the thought of even going near the sink was unbearable. In a sense, it seemed much easier to just declare the house condemned and wait for the bulldozers to come finish it off.
But God is in the business of rescuing houses. He’s in the business of remodeling. He’s in the business of restoration. Sure, there were a few dishes and socks here and there that just needed to be thrown away, and there was a termite problem that’s been taken care of. You’ll be surprised how much junk can accumulate in one place in 35 years. Some of the stuff is junk I brought in myself, and some of it is junk that was given to me like unwelcome Christmas presents that just sat around, took up valuable space, and collected dust. But this house is not condemned. This house is valuable. This house is a place that God looks forward to visiting, spending time in, living in, and enjoying. And He’s more than welcome here. It all belongs to Him. He helps me clean up, tidy up, and sanitize. There are some rooms that are cleaner than others, but there are other rooms that still need lots of attention. There are File Piles that have junkmail mixed in with important documents, and I think God wants to sit down with me and work through it gradually. And yes, sometimes I don’t even feel like a house but an onion that doesn’t get peeled but chopped at and hacked at. But it’s OK. However He lovingly repairs, remodels, and restores my house, I want Him to make Himself at home here.
Back to literal stuff. I really do have company coming over soon, so I do need to catch some Zs, wake up early, and do a bit more tidying up tomorrow morning. Maybe I can bribe the cats to help me out. I’d try using tuna, but I don’t want to ruin how nice and un-stenchlike it smells in here right now. Hmm.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Tirzah’s Travel Thoughts: Oklahoma-Missouri Randomness 2011
It’s been said that variety is the spice of life. I would say, however, that randomness is the background against which I live my life. Last year, I drove through Oklahoma and Missouri to visit my very good friend Liz in Columbia. This year, I embarked on that adventure once again. I thought I would snap and post photos of the beautiful scenery I saw last year, now that I have a real digital camera. Instead, however, I thought I’d share road-trip experiences that were so random that I couldn’t just keep them all to myself.
Can anyone help me figure out why anyone would display this particular monument for all to see on a small-town highway in Oklahoma?
Behold! The rusted mailtruck! *triumphant fanfare plays*
I liked small-town Oklahoma. The people there were nice and friendly indeed. Whoever owns Braum’s was very smart in building an eatery/grocery store at nearly every town on Highway 69. During one such visit, an elderly lady who was wearing what appeared to be an antique football helmet entered the lady’s room and greeted me with “Howdy.” Perhaps she chose that particular headgear for medical reasons, but that has to be one of the most random restroom greetings I’ve ever had.
Then there was the overly excited cashier at a Love’s truck stop just past the Missouri border. “Hello, and welcome to Love’s!” he shouted in a mostly-sincere-but-with-maybe-a-dash-of-sarcasm eloquence as I scurried inside. Later, right before I purchased a Pepsi Throwback and peanuts, I heard him discussing with his coworker how much money he spends every month on cigarettes. Perhaps he owes his near-thespian performance of a greeting to nicotine.
What made me laugh out loud were billboards along Highway 44 that were advertising a Cheese Outlet. My mind was flooded, of course, will all kinds of cheese jokes. What do you do at a Cheese Outlet? Is there a line of children who are waiting to cut the cheese? No offense if you’ve ever visited a Cheese Outlet. Hopefully the cheese was delicious. Hopefully your experience wasn’t cheesy at all. *muffled snickering*
I hope you enjoyed these random tidbits from my travels. If you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to get back to the randomness I encounter in my everyday life. (Maybe someday technology will advance to where you can hear my cat purring if you put your ear to your computer monitor. Hark! Feline happiness!)
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The Carrier
My nickname for my orange boy cat is Macho. So, it’s simultaneously sad and funny when he screams like a woman. Why was he screaming? Well, all I did was put him inside the pet carrier so he could get his annual shots at the vet this morning. As usual, this freaked him out. I think Macho woke up at least one of my neighbors with his high-pitched screeches.
I tried to make the car ride as enjoyable as possible. I even played “Message in a Bottle” on my stereo as a humorous soundtrack to Macho’s melodramatic meowing. I tried to be as playful with him as possible. “You like it when Mama drives fast?” I asked as I zoomed onto the highway with The Police on my stereo. I told Macho, “I love you!” He replied, “MEOW!!!” He calmed down a tiny bit after we arrived at the vet’s office and I pried him out of the carrier. He was literally trembling and snuggled next to my arm, bosom, and tummy during the examination and injections. This was a very scary process for him. See the panicked look on his face in the photo above? (I snapped it after I brought him back home).
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)
In a previous blog post (on 8/22/10), I briefly mentioned what happened when my girl cat, nickname: Choochie, had to live in the pet carrier while she healed from her spay surgery several years ago. (Last night and this morning, she was hanging out in the pet carrier while Macho was avoiding it.) She became obsessed with her stitches and licked/scraped them so much that she gave herself an infection. I kept a close watch on her during her healing process, and I love how the two of us bonded during that time. (Perhaps you’ve seen Facebook pictures of her perching on my shoulder. Aw, I love my Choochie!)
Lately, I’ve been going through a very intense emotional healing process with God. He’s been slicing me open, cleaning out the dirt, squeezing out the infectious puss, and washing it all out with hydrogen peroxide, so to speak. I wonder if the healing process is even more painful than the initial wounding! It’s a very scary process for me. I don’t want God my Father to pick me up, while I’m kicking and screaming, and stuff me into my carrier and drag me to the spiritual doctor’s office. It’s scary to be examined, poked, and prodded. But when I’m trembling, I can nestle close to my Father and bury my freaked-out head in His arm, bosom, and tummy. He can calm me down and tell me everything is going to be OK. He can assure me that it’s all going to be over soon and that He’ll be there with me the entire time.
To clarify, I don’t want this scary process... yet I want it. Make sense? :) I don’t want to remember terrible memories or make amends where I need to or face fears or smell the stench of an old infection. But I want to get cleaned out as much as possible, and I want to be all healed up, freed up, brand-new, ready to fly and soar above whatever’s coming up next. I want to be as close to my Father as possible. I’m glad that He wants to be close to me, I’m glad that He’s patient with me, and I’m glad that He cares enough about me to take the time to heal me.
If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna go check on Macho. Sometimes he gets feverish after his shots, but he’ll be back to normal in about 24 hours or so. At least the womanish screams are only a memory now. MEOW!!!
Thursday, June 9, 2011
The Nest
Disclaimer: In this post, I may ramble a little bit, I may be weirdly metaphorical, and/or I may be in your face and stomping on your toes. Or I may just confuse you. I may say stuff that will make you go, “Well, duh,” because it’s something you’re already familiar with, but I’m articulating something that I’m experiencing for the first time or that’s clicked for me at a deeper level. Please humor me. I'm a writer. If the light bulb turns on for me, I want to communicate it in such a way that it will hopefully help other people see the light, too. :o) Maybe my cats can help me clean up after myself later. Phew.
“Even the sparrow has found a home, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may have her young -- a place near Your altar, O Lord Almighty, my King and my God.” (Psalm 84:3)
I’ve been thinking about “nests” and “feeding” lately, especially with my new church responsibilities and, well, there’s a nifty little visual aid outside my apartment now. Meet mama and daddy swallow.
...they can be demanding little cheepers. At least, I hope the photo quality enables you to see how adorable they are with their little beaks wide open at even the slightest hint of mama swallow incoming with breakfast.
It’s really something how they instinctively open their mouths: “Aaaah! Incoming food!” I even saw a yellowjacket fly by the nest once, and the baby birds did the same thing: “Aaaah! Incoming food! I don’t know if it will sting my esophagus on the way down or if it’s healthy for me at all, but I’m hungry, and this food is buzzing straight at me!”In John 21, Jesus told Peter to feed His sheep. In a nutshell, that’s basically what church leaders do for people. One of the worship pastors at my church basically said once that you have to be careful what you feed yourself, because that’s what you’ll feed your little ones. What if they’re thirsty? He said you don’t want to give them a drink of toilet water. No way. You need to give them clear, clean water.
Sometimes it helps to take a closer look at the water you’re drinking and the vessel you’re drinking from, literally and metaphorically. The other day, I wondered why my purified drinking water left a weird taste in my mouth. I took the lid off my thermos and saw that there was a paper towel soaking at the bottom. (gag)
Recently, I went through some of my old journal entries (from 1997-2000). Once the shock wore off from reading and remembering the type of crap that I used to scream at God, I read some of the stuff that one or two of my “mamas” in the Lord used to feed me. Now that I'm out of their “nests,” I can see that I wasn’t always fed good things. I believe that they loved me, their intentions were good, and they fed and cared for me the best way they knew how. But I didn’t have to swallow everything they tried to feed me. In my journal entries (for privacy’s sake, I won’t share specifics on this forum), I could see some good mixed in with the chaos. I could tell that God was peacefully feeding me Himself in the midst of the crazily confused environment that I lived in. Maybe there was a yellowjacket nest right next to mama’s nest, and in my demanding hunger, I devoured the harmful insect along with the nourishing worm.
OK, so I’m not a scientist -- maybe baby swallows really are supposed to eat yellowjackets. My point is that if the food or water is bad, I’m learning to spit it out. If I have my own swallows or sheep to feed, I have to be careful what I consume. I have to be careful to provide the best food and water that I can to whoever I’m responsible for feeding. Another thing I’m learning is that after eating bad food, well, I can expect a bad poop.
That’s another thing about nests and birds -- so much poop to clean up! (I’ve heard that it’s the same way with human children and that it involves diapers or something.) I think that’s part of life. When it’s time to eat, you eat, and when it’s time to poop, you poop. As you grow, hopefully you learn to eat better food that helps you grow healthy and strong. Hopefully, you avoid bad food. Hopefully, you’re in a nest where mama and daddy swallow are teaching you how to be a swallow who will leave the nest someday and go build your own nest and have your own baby swallows. Hopefully, mama and daddy swallow are teaching you how to fly.
The baby swallows are growing so fast! I think it’s only been two or three weeks since they’ve hatched, and they’re already stretching their wings and tumbling out of the nest. (I saw one on the ground the other day. It looked like daddy swallow was supervising and giving him a pep talk.) I think they’ll all fly away pretty soon. (sniff) Also, I did snap a miraculous swallow-pooping photo, but I’ll spare your eyes, reader. Incoming!
Friday, May 13, 2011
Reflections of the third decade, part X
It’s time for another decade contrast! This time, I thought I’d compare 1981 to 2011. I think a lot has changed since then... or has it??
Me at 5: I don’t remember this event, but I have a cool snapshot of me wearing khaki bellbottoms.
Me at 35: I like my khaki pants or my corduroy pants even more than I like blue jeans.
Me at 5: My family used to put me on stage at church, make sure I had a mic in my hand, and make me sing for everybody.
Me at 35: I would really like to try out for the worship team at church.
Me at 5: I used to listen to my mom’s Oliver record.
Me at 35: I bought The Best of Oliver on cd a couple of years ago.
Me at 5: I would watch cool TV shows like The Great Space Coaster and The Kid Super Power Hour with Shazam!
Me at 35: I recently finished working at a job where I would watch cool and not-so-cool TV shows.
Me at 5: I watched the world premiere of Gimme a Break! on my parents’ TV.
Me at 35: Hmm. It might be time once again to whip out my Gimme a Break! Season One DVD set to enjoy while I’m washing dishes. (“There ain’t no Julio here!” Wait. That wasn’t from Season One. Who cares? Such a delightful TV quote!)
Me at 5: After being disappointed and somewhat traumatized by my hostile, scratching white male kitten named Puff who ran away from home, I welcomed a new puppy named Wendy into my life. (I have a somewhat nice memory of marching around the garage and singing while holding onto Puff. He abandoned me and our family. I wonder if this had anything to do with all those years I spent hating cats??)
Me at 35: I’m thoroughly enjoying my fuzzy white/black/gray mixed Siamese girl cat who is crouching beside me while I type this. (My favorite form of exercise is marching around my living room and dancing (usually to disco) while holding onto my orange boy cat. He’s such a good dance partner! He usually lets me lead.)
Me at 5: I didn’t know God yet. I depended on my parents for everything.
Me at 35: I know God. I depend on Him for everything.
Me at 5: I walked around the house telling stories while my family took dictation.
Me at 35: I sit around and type up blog posts so the world can read my stream-of-consciousness.
Me at 5: I don’t remember this event, but I have a cool snapshot of me wearing khaki bellbottoms.
Me at 35: I like my khaki pants or my corduroy pants even more than I like blue jeans.
Me at 5: My family used to put me on stage at church, make sure I had a mic in my hand, and make me sing for everybody.
Me at 35: I would really like to try out for the worship team at church.
Me at 5: I used to listen to my mom’s Oliver record.
Me at 35: I bought The Best of Oliver on cd a couple of years ago.
Me at 5: I would watch cool TV shows like The Great Space Coaster and The Kid Super Power Hour with Shazam!
Me at 35: I recently finished working at a job where I would watch cool and not-so-cool TV shows.
Me at 5: I watched the world premiere of Gimme a Break! on my parents’ TV.
Me at 35: Hmm. It might be time once again to whip out my Gimme a Break! Season One DVD set to enjoy while I’m washing dishes. (“There ain’t no Julio here!” Wait. That wasn’t from Season One. Who cares? Such a delightful TV quote!)
Me at 5: After being disappointed and somewhat traumatized by my hostile, scratching white male kitten named Puff who ran away from home, I welcomed a new puppy named Wendy into my life. (I have a somewhat nice memory of marching around the garage and singing while holding onto Puff. He abandoned me and our family. I wonder if this had anything to do with all those years I spent hating cats??)
Me at 35: I’m thoroughly enjoying my fuzzy white/black/gray mixed Siamese girl cat who is crouching beside me while I type this. (My favorite form of exercise is marching around my living room and dancing (usually to disco) while holding onto my orange boy cat. He’s such a good dance partner! He usually lets me lead.)
Me at 5: I didn’t know God yet. I depended on my parents for everything.
Me at 35: I know God. I depend on Him for everything.
Me at 5: I walked around the house telling stories while my family took dictation.
Me at 35: I sit around and type up blog posts so the world can read my stream-of-consciousness.
Saturday, April 23, 2011
No comprendo
Hello, reader. It’s time once again for Here’s What It’s Like To Be Single Theater. [Easy listening trumpet solo plays in background.] In today’s episode, we’ll have a crash course on marital status diversity training. (For previous “episodes,” see my previous blog posts from 2/13/11 and 6/30/10.)
I love my church. It has, in my opinion, one of the best, life-giving singles ministries I’ve been honored to be a part of. My church makes sure we singles have a place to be planted and thrive the way God wants us to. Yet even in a place where singles are wanted, valued, and not treated like outcasts, we are sometimes accidentally singled out by married people. I can’t speak for everybody, but what I have experienced is that my singlehood is sometimes spotlighted accidentally by married people. They don’t mean to do it, and I know they love me, but let me give you an example. I recently received an email encouraging me to get the “man in my life” to attend a men’s retreat. Do you know who the man in my life is? Let me show you his picture.
This is my orange cat. I snapped photos of him last spring because I wanted to capture how he marks his territory on my tuna cans. This is a bird’s-eye view of him jumping up and wiping his cheek on an unopened can. Yes, he is completely missing my hand and exclusively paying attention to the tuna. Good thing he isn’t my boyfriend. Our relationship would be in serious trouble!
I kid around. But in all seriousness, I’m OK with being single right now. That doesn’t mean I’m “dating Jesus.” That means I understand that God has me single right now because He hasn’t given me a man yet (not a cat, an actual man). Yes, I would much rather be married. I’ve never been married, and I’ve gone approximately 17 years without a date, and none of this has been my choice. God has been healing me, especially from rejection, etc. I’m content with my marital status right now, meaning that I don’t want it, but I’ll take it, and if I’m where God wants me, I’m OK with it. Yet sometimes, out of nowhere, a wave of pain will slap me in the face. It will remind me, “You’re alone. You’re husbandless. You’re boyfriendless. You’re dateless.” This is a painful truth. I take my pain to God, and He lets me cry on His shoulder. I get closer to Him. I appreciate that. Unfortunately, what I don’t appreciate is the wave of pain that slaps me in the face. That email I received about the “man in my life” is one such example. The married people (at least, I assume they’re married) who sent that email were just doing some clever advertising. They weren’t trying to hurt me.
I know that the married people in my church love me because they try to give me metaphorical examples of what God’s character is like. Unfortunately, they give me examples that I really can’t relate to -- for example, “God loves and accepts His children in a similar way that I love and accept my children.” Um, good for you. Uh, what were we talking about again? Or even worse -- “Such and such is a lot like dating. Remember when you went on your first date and you were nervous about what the other person would think of you?” Um, no, and I don’t have time to go into detail and explain why. Uh, dating -- I’m not sure the rewind button in my brain can even travel back that far!
You’re speaking to me in a foreign language. I’m sorry, but no comprendo. That means, “I don’t understand.” If you want me to grasp what you’re trying to communicate, please speak a language that I understand. Otherwise, I may tune you out. ¿Entiendes lo que estoy diciendo? Yeah, I didn’t think so. :) Perhaps you should try translating your message into cat-lady. “What? You mean the way I feel about my cats is a teensy little fraction of how humongously much God loves me? Because He made me, redeemed me, and wants me?? Wow! I get it!!” See? Transmission received and understood. :) Or you could try speaking in general-truth terms. “God loves you and wants the very best for you.” See? I understand that language, too! :)
Let’s go back to the diversity training for a bit. I’m not quite sure how to go about this, but I’m just gonna get it all out there. If you’re married and/or have children, just because I’m single and live alone doesn’t mean that my time isn’t as valuable as yours. Being single doesn’t mean that my life is meaningless or useless. Do you know what it’s like to live alone? Do you know what it’s like to have to pay all your living expenses, clean your entire apartment, carry all your groceries and luggage up several flights of stairs on a regular basis, work full-time, have a social life, and juggle all of the above, constantly having to manage your time and tweak your schedule -- alone? Just because I’m alone doesn’t mean that I’m bored, unhappy, empty, or pathetic. To clarify, I belong to Jesus, and He’ll never leave me or forsake me, so even though I’m alone, I’m technically not by myself. :)
My being single might not necessarily be my fault. Singlehood is a season of life. It is not a problem that needs to be solved. However, I think a relationship would be an extremely delicate equation that God will need to balance. I’m only one variable in the equation. My future man is another important variable. Even my therapist confirmed this for me about 10 years ago. After he helped me through some depression issues, during our last session, I thought he could help me figure out the mystery of how to get a guy. He looked at me like I had asked him a dumb question. I don’t remember his exact response, but he replied blankly, “If you like him and he likes you, then go out with him.” Easier said than done, doc! I’m not the One who’s in control here.
Some things in life were just meant to be a mystery. Some mysteries need to be respected. I can’t speak for everybody, but for myself I can say that I’m beginning to believe that singlehood isn’t some crazy punishment that God has given me. For me, I believe that God has kept me single because He’s been protecting me from some bad things and preserving me for some good things. And I’m OK with that now. And even if He never gives me a husband or a boyfriend or a date or children or a family, I need to be OK with that, too. I need to be OK with belonging to a good God who loves me. Reader, I hope you can be OK with that, too.
Mil gracias por estar aquà conmigo en Here’s What It’s Like To Be Single Theater. [Flamenco music plays in background. Cat lady dances, twirling around wildly while clutching her surprised-looking feline.]
I love my church. It has, in my opinion, one of the best, life-giving singles ministries I’ve been honored to be a part of. My church makes sure we singles have a place to be planted and thrive the way God wants us to. Yet even in a place where singles are wanted, valued, and not treated like outcasts, we are sometimes accidentally singled out by married people. I can’t speak for everybody, but what I have experienced is that my singlehood is sometimes spotlighted accidentally by married people. They don’t mean to do it, and I know they love me, but let me give you an example. I recently received an email encouraging me to get the “man in my life” to attend a men’s retreat. Do you know who the man in my life is? Let me show you his picture.
This is my orange cat. I snapped photos of him last spring because I wanted to capture how he marks his territory on my tuna cans. This is a bird’s-eye view of him jumping up and wiping his cheek on an unopened can. Yes, he is completely missing my hand and exclusively paying attention to the tuna. Good thing he isn’t my boyfriend. Our relationship would be in serious trouble!
I kid around. But in all seriousness, I’m OK with being single right now. That doesn’t mean I’m “dating Jesus.” That means I understand that God has me single right now because He hasn’t given me a man yet (not a cat, an actual man). Yes, I would much rather be married. I’ve never been married, and I’ve gone approximately 17 years without a date, and none of this has been my choice. God has been healing me, especially from rejection, etc. I’m content with my marital status right now, meaning that I don’t want it, but I’ll take it, and if I’m where God wants me, I’m OK with it. Yet sometimes, out of nowhere, a wave of pain will slap me in the face. It will remind me, “You’re alone. You’re husbandless. You’re boyfriendless. You’re dateless.” This is a painful truth. I take my pain to God, and He lets me cry on His shoulder. I get closer to Him. I appreciate that. Unfortunately, what I don’t appreciate is the wave of pain that slaps me in the face. That email I received about the “man in my life” is one such example. The married people (at least, I assume they’re married) who sent that email were just doing some clever advertising. They weren’t trying to hurt me.
I know that the married people in my church love me because they try to give me metaphorical examples of what God’s character is like. Unfortunately, they give me examples that I really can’t relate to -- for example, “God loves and accepts His children in a similar way that I love and accept my children.” Um, good for you. Uh, what were we talking about again? Or even worse -- “Such and such is a lot like dating. Remember when you went on your first date and you were nervous about what the other person would think of you?” Um, no, and I don’t have time to go into detail and explain why. Uh, dating -- I’m not sure the rewind button in my brain can even travel back that far!
You’re speaking to me in a foreign language. I’m sorry, but no comprendo. That means, “I don’t understand.” If you want me to grasp what you’re trying to communicate, please speak a language that I understand. Otherwise, I may tune you out. ¿Entiendes lo que estoy diciendo? Yeah, I didn’t think so. :) Perhaps you should try translating your message into cat-lady. “What? You mean the way I feel about my cats is a teensy little fraction of how humongously much God loves me? Because He made me, redeemed me, and wants me?? Wow! I get it!!” See? Transmission received and understood. :) Or you could try speaking in general-truth terms. “God loves you and wants the very best for you.” See? I understand that language, too! :)
Let’s go back to the diversity training for a bit. I’m not quite sure how to go about this, but I’m just gonna get it all out there. If you’re married and/or have children, just because I’m single and live alone doesn’t mean that my time isn’t as valuable as yours. Being single doesn’t mean that my life is meaningless or useless. Do you know what it’s like to live alone? Do you know what it’s like to have to pay all your living expenses, clean your entire apartment, carry all your groceries and luggage up several flights of stairs on a regular basis, work full-time, have a social life, and juggle all of the above, constantly having to manage your time and tweak your schedule -- alone? Just because I’m alone doesn’t mean that I’m bored, unhappy, empty, or pathetic. To clarify, I belong to Jesus, and He’ll never leave me or forsake me, so even though I’m alone, I’m technically not by myself. :)
My being single might not necessarily be my fault. Singlehood is a season of life. It is not a problem that needs to be solved. However, I think a relationship would be an extremely delicate equation that God will need to balance. I’m only one variable in the equation. My future man is another important variable. Even my therapist confirmed this for me about 10 years ago. After he helped me through some depression issues, during our last session, I thought he could help me figure out the mystery of how to get a guy. He looked at me like I had asked him a dumb question. I don’t remember his exact response, but he replied blankly, “If you like him and he likes you, then go out with him.” Easier said than done, doc! I’m not the One who’s in control here.
Some things in life were just meant to be a mystery. Some mysteries need to be respected. I can’t speak for everybody, but for myself I can say that I’m beginning to believe that singlehood isn’t some crazy punishment that God has given me. For me, I believe that God has kept me single because He’s been protecting me from some bad things and preserving me for some good things. And I’m OK with that now. And even if He never gives me a husband or a boyfriend or a date or children or a family, I need to be OK with that, too. I need to be OK with belonging to a good God who loves me. Reader, I hope you can be OK with that, too.
Mil gracias por estar aquà conmigo en Here’s What It’s Like To Be Single Theater. [Flamenco music plays in background. Cat lady dances, twirling around wildly while clutching her surprised-looking feline.]
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Sparky Friendship!
I realize that I may offend people by what I say in this post, but if that needs to happen, I’m not afraid of it. Hey, it’s Windowbrawl! I’ve got something to say, so I’m just gonna go for it.
Proverbs 27:17 (NKJV) says, “As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend.” People get warm fuzzies from that verse. Awww, my friend. I love friendship. But do you know what happens when iron sharpens iron? Sparks fly. Clang, clang, clang, bzzzt, bzzzt, bzzzt! Hear that? That’s the sound of conflict. I’m not the first writer to make this observation. I looked online to try to find an official psychological study or something, but I couldn’t find anything that supported my real-life findings. So, I would like to give you my perspective on sparky friendship.
I consider myself a detail-oriented, friendship-oriented person, but I haven’t always been this way. I was very antisocial as a preteen (I was afraid of people, I didn’t know how to interact with people, and I tried to avoid other human beings whenever possible), so these observations on friendship that I’m sharing with you now have mostly occurred in my 20s and 30s. And it’s just an analysis. People are neither objects nor machines. They’re beautifully unpredictable, and I think friendships develop the best when they happen naturally. I’ve discovered that some people like it when friendships develop quickly, and other people like it when friendships take a very long time to develop. I think I fall somewhere in between. I usually like friendship to develop quickly, but I prefer it when both parties in the friendship stick around long enough to make the friendship work.
1) During the beginning stage of a friendship, there are usually warm fuzzies. “Awww, my new friend. I love my new friend.” 2) Then comes the iron-sharpening stage -- the conflict stage. “Hey, you hurt my feelings. Oh, yeah? Well, you hurt my feelings, too.” I think this stage is pretty crucial, because one or both parties may decide to leave the friendship or just let it die. And that’s a perfectly legitimate, perfectly OK thing to do. I’ve learned in the past year or so that friendship is voluntary. (Yes, for some weird reason, I didn’t even know that it was supposed to be voluntary. Long story. And I’ll talk more about this later.) 3) And then there’s the countenance-sharpening stage -- the post-conflict stage. “Hey, I’m glad we worked through this. I know you a lot better now.” Have you ever seen a couple of friends give each other this knowing, inside-joke kind of look? I believe it’s because they’ve sharpened each other’s countenances. They’ve been through stuff together, and they’re starting to understand each other. They’ve helped each other through some things. Proverbs 27:9 (NIV) says, “Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of one’s friend springs from his earnest counsel.” In my opinion, that’s what friends do. They love each other, enjoy each other’s company, help each other, and give each other advice. 4) Finally, there’s the deep-friendship cultivation stage. “I love you as my friend, and I want to be friends with you forever.” In my opinion, this is the most delicate stage, because it’s the one where the entire friendship can be taken for granted. What do you do when you’re trying to grow a plant? You water it, you give it sunlight, and you give it plant food. But if you stop feeding and nurturing it, it could die. Friendships can die in this stage, even after surviving the conflict stage. Is this friendship worth it to you? is it something you want to keep? If so, then feed it. Nurture it. Take the time to care for it. I also think these 4 stages (warm fuzzies → iron-sharpening → countenance-sharpening → deep cultivation) can be repeated in cycles the longer a friendship exists. I also believe a friendship can die during any of these stages. And it’s just an analysis. If you and your friend haven’t gone through all 4 of these stages in order, it certainly doesn’t mean your friendship isn’t legit. Perhaps it’s just beautifully unpredictable.
Going back to the “friendship is voluntary” concept, sometimes you might meet somebody who is unhealthy to have in your life. This is also something I’ve learned recently. If somebody treats me like crap, I don’t have to be their friend. God wants me to love them and be at peace with them, and they might even be my brother or sister in Christ. But if they’re abusive, I certainly don’t need to nurture any kind of friendship with them. Do I believe in second chances? Sure. I’ve totally messed up in my past, too. But I think I choose my friends more cautiously now than I used to (see Proverbs 12:26).
I hope you understand that I’m talking about platonic friendship. Non-sexual, non-weird friendships can go deep and last for a lifetime. One Bible verse that I believe has been misquoted big-time is 2 Samuel 1:26, when David mourns for his deceased friend Jonathan. (I think in modern-day terms, we’d call them BFFs.) David says, “Your love for me was wonderful, more wonderful than that of women.” David and Jonathan were not gay. (To read what I believe about homosexuality, please see my blog entry “Disagreeing with Miley Cyrus” from 4/29/09.) They had a pure, holy friendship. If my friend Liz (if you’re reading this, Ih. :D) were to toast me at my wedding and say, “Tirzah, your love for me is more wonderful than that of men,” I’d probably smile and say, “Right back at ya, chickie.” She wouldn’t be flirting with me. She’d be saying, “Hey, you and I have been through some real stuff together. Iron sharpened iron. Sparks flew. We’ve really gotten to know each other’s hearts. I appreciate your love and your friendship.”
I’ll tell you whose love and friendship I appreciate more than anyone else’s. In John 15:13 (NIV), Jesus says, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” Jesus wanted to be my friend before I ever even knew Him. He lay down His life for me. He died in my place, taking the penalty of my sin on Himself. This was the only way for me to be saved from hell, it was the only way for me to be reconciled to my Father, and it was the only way that He and I could be close friends. Yet He gave His life for me voluntarily. For the record, I consider Jesus to be my Best Friend. The One who will never leave me or forsake me? my Refuge? my Comforter? Yep, He’s the Best. :)
Yeah, that’s right. Clang, clang, clang, bzzzt, bzzzt, bzzzt!
Proverbs 27:17 (NKJV) says, “As iron sharpens iron, so a man sharpens the countenance of his friend.” People get warm fuzzies from that verse. Awww, my friend. I love friendship. But do you know what happens when iron sharpens iron? Sparks fly. Clang, clang, clang, bzzzt, bzzzt, bzzzt! Hear that? That’s the sound of conflict. I’m not the first writer to make this observation. I looked online to try to find an official psychological study or something, but I couldn’t find anything that supported my real-life findings. So, I would like to give you my perspective on sparky friendship.
I consider myself a detail-oriented, friendship-oriented person, but I haven’t always been this way. I was very antisocial as a preteen (I was afraid of people, I didn’t know how to interact with people, and I tried to avoid other human beings whenever possible), so these observations on friendship that I’m sharing with you now have mostly occurred in my 20s and 30s. And it’s just an analysis. People are neither objects nor machines. They’re beautifully unpredictable, and I think friendships develop the best when they happen naturally. I’ve discovered that some people like it when friendships develop quickly, and other people like it when friendships take a very long time to develop. I think I fall somewhere in between. I usually like friendship to develop quickly, but I prefer it when both parties in the friendship stick around long enough to make the friendship work.
1) During the beginning stage of a friendship, there are usually warm fuzzies. “Awww, my new friend. I love my new friend.” 2) Then comes the iron-sharpening stage -- the conflict stage. “Hey, you hurt my feelings. Oh, yeah? Well, you hurt my feelings, too.” I think this stage is pretty crucial, because one or both parties may decide to leave the friendship or just let it die. And that’s a perfectly legitimate, perfectly OK thing to do. I’ve learned in the past year or so that friendship is voluntary. (Yes, for some weird reason, I didn’t even know that it was supposed to be voluntary. Long story. And I’ll talk more about this later.) 3) And then there’s the countenance-sharpening stage -- the post-conflict stage. “Hey, I’m glad we worked through this. I know you a lot better now.” Have you ever seen a couple of friends give each other this knowing, inside-joke kind of look? I believe it’s because they’ve sharpened each other’s countenances. They’ve been through stuff together, and they’re starting to understand each other. They’ve helped each other through some things. Proverbs 27:9 (NIV) says, “Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of one’s friend springs from his earnest counsel.” In my opinion, that’s what friends do. They love each other, enjoy each other’s company, help each other, and give each other advice. 4) Finally, there’s the deep-friendship cultivation stage. “I love you as my friend, and I want to be friends with you forever.” In my opinion, this is the most delicate stage, because it’s the one where the entire friendship can be taken for granted. What do you do when you’re trying to grow a plant? You water it, you give it sunlight, and you give it plant food. But if you stop feeding and nurturing it, it could die. Friendships can die in this stage, even after surviving the conflict stage. Is this friendship worth it to you? is it something you want to keep? If so, then feed it. Nurture it. Take the time to care for it. I also think these 4 stages (warm fuzzies → iron-sharpening → countenance-sharpening → deep cultivation) can be repeated in cycles the longer a friendship exists. I also believe a friendship can die during any of these stages. And it’s just an analysis. If you and your friend haven’t gone through all 4 of these stages in order, it certainly doesn’t mean your friendship isn’t legit. Perhaps it’s just beautifully unpredictable.
Going back to the “friendship is voluntary” concept, sometimes you might meet somebody who is unhealthy to have in your life. This is also something I’ve learned recently. If somebody treats me like crap, I don’t have to be their friend. God wants me to love them and be at peace with them, and they might even be my brother or sister in Christ. But if they’re abusive, I certainly don’t need to nurture any kind of friendship with them. Do I believe in second chances? Sure. I’ve totally messed up in my past, too. But I think I choose my friends more cautiously now than I used to (see Proverbs 12:26).
I hope you understand that I’m talking about platonic friendship. Non-sexual, non-weird friendships can go deep and last for a lifetime. One Bible verse that I believe has been misquoted big-time is 2 Samuel 1:26, when David mourns for his deceased friend Jonathan. (I think in modern-day terms, we’d call them BFFs.) David says, “Your love for me was wonderful, more wonderful than that of women.” David and Jonathan were not gay. (To read what I believe about homosexuality, please see my blog entry “Disagreeing with Miley Cyrus” from 4/29/09.) They had a pure, holy friendship. If my friend Liz (if you’re reading this, Ih. :D) were to toast me at my wedding and say, “Tirzah, your love for me is more wonderful than that of men,” I’d probably smile and say, “Right back at ya, chickie.” She wouldn’t be flirting with me. She’d be saying, “Hey, you and I have been through some real stuff together. Iron sharpened iron. Sparks flew. We’ve really gotten to know each other’s hearts. I appreciate your love and your friendship.”
I’ll tell you whose love and friendship I appreciate more than anyone else’s. In John 15:13 (NIV), Jesus says, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.” Jesus wanted to be my friend before I ever even knew Him. He lay down His life for me. He died in my place, taking the penalty of my sin on Himself. This was the only way for me to be saved from hell, it was the only way for me to be reconciled to my Father, and it was the only way that He and I could be close friends. Yet He gave His life for me voluntarily. For the record, I consider Jesus to be my Best Friend. The One who will never leave me or forsake me? my Refuge? my Comforter? Yep, He’s the Best. :)
Yeah, that’s right. Clang, clang, clang, bzzzt, bzzzt, bzzzt!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Shmalentine’s Fray
Well, one good thing about being laid off from my job recently is that it’s distracted me from how much I hate Valentine’s Day. (To read my previous opinions, please check out my blog entries “Valentine, Shmalentine” from 4/12/10 and “Singlehood” from 6/30/10.) Yes, God has been healing my heart, restoring my soul, and repairing my spirit, so it has been easier to take VDay with a grain of salt, but if I may speak freely, it still sucks. It’s a “holiday” that I can’t ignore, no matter how hard I’ve tried. I think it’s healthiest to just deal with it head-on and get it over with. Like getting a shot at the doctor. Grr. I hate shots.
I get the impression that people mainly see the point of VDay as giving material things like flowers and candy to their significant others. I see it as a day -- nay, an entire season -- when it’s in my face more than ever that I have no significant other to share the day with. Forget the stupid flowers and candy. You can have them. I’d rather have a man. Hmm. Perhaps I should use a smiley here so the reader won’t think I’m depressed. :) I’m OK. I’m just passionate about this dumb subject. I’m OK with being single. This is a difficult yet very sweet season of life for me. I just don’t like having it thrown in my face that I’m single. I’m not really lonely. I’m angry. OK, another smiley face. :) And an LOL. Yes, even when I’m ticked off, I can have a sense of humor!
It’s been 17 years since I’ve had a significant other to observe VDay with. (I wonder if that’s a record. Where’s Guinness when you need them?) I believe that VDay is a time to celebrate couples’ romantic love. If you don’t have somebody, you’re left out. That’s just the way this particular holiday is set up, in my opinion. There are some who say that you can celebrate how much God loves you and how much you love God. But I think you’re supposed to do that every day. (And if you want a holiday for it, there are already two -- Christmas and Easter.) Then there are some who say that you can celebrate how much you love your children. Again, thank you for the painful reminder that I don’t have children of my own.
For some reason, I’ve noticed that what really ticks me off is when people think I’m with somebody and I’m not. For instance, a few years ago when I was visiting family for Christmas, my dad went to the ER, and my sister and I were debating whether or not to stay in town an extra day to support my mom. One of the well-intentioned nurses gave her two cents and told me I should stay. But I wanted to get home (to my cats). She asked me with a wry grin, “What’s his name?” Look, lady, there’s no man that I’m in a hurry to rush home to. But thank you for the painful reminder! Then this past summer, after a church service was over and I was filing out of the sanctuary with everyone else, I think there was a guy and his family or something sitting next to me, and they entered the aisle, and I offered a lady who was standing in line behind me to go ahead of me. She looked kind of surprised and said, “Oh, I thought you were with him,” and gave me this pursed-lips look -- the same one that one of my aunts gave me when she first met my brother-in-law and thought he was married to me. Um, no, BUT THANK YOU FOR THE PAINFUL REMINDER that I am not with anybody!
Sigh. OK, Tirzah, breathe. Don’t punch anybody in the face today. Ahem. Smiley. :) So, basically, that’s what VDay is for me -- a painful reminder. Not gonna sugarcoat it. You know who else didn’t sugarcoat pain? The psalmists of the Bible, including David. You know what he says in Psalm 62:8? Pour out your heart to God, because He’s a refuge. That’s the safest place to take pain -- to God. He’s the One who fixes it. Incidentally, if you’ve heard me talk about how God set me free from depression, that was one of the main things He taught me -- to keep the flow going. (Gonna use arrows now.) Pour out your heart to God --> receive His love --> pour it out --> receive His love. That way, the pain doesn’t stagnate and fester, which was a very unhealthy thing I allowed to happen in the past.
In my opinion, VDay highlights or even causes a pain that is pretty much inconsolable, except for the God of all comfort. In my journey, I’ve found that kind, encouraging words don’t really help. In terms of coping, just agreeing with me that VDay sucks and/or getting my mind off it with something funny is pretty much the only thing that helps. But in my opinion, the most helpful and effective way of dealing with the VDay-related pain is to just pour it out to God, have a really good cry, and let the God of all comfort hold you while you pour it all out. VDay is a painful reminder of the rejection and the temptation to believe that there is something wrong with me. (Psalm 139 says there isn’t anything wrong with me, and my soul knows it very well.) I need Him to remind me of who I really am. I believe that because I know Jesus, I belong to God. I belong with Him. John 14:23 says that the Father and Jesus make Their home with me. So, after time passes and I actually get a significant other, will VDay still suck? Maybe, but hopefully not. In the future, if I get married, will God the Father and Jesus still make Their home with me? Heck yes, and I need Them to stay as close to me as possible for the rest of my life. (That goes for the Holy Spirit, too. :)) Will I still be OK, even if I never get married? If God is with me, then yes. I don’t want to do anything without Him, anyway (including remaining single involuntarily). :)
Speaking of who I belong to, the above photo is a snapshot of me taking Isaiah 44:5 literally, just for the fun of it. I am the Lord’s. :) And as my purring cat perches on me while I type this, I’m reminded of how I had to take her to the vet today to get her annual shots. Grr. She hates shots, too. It hurts her, and going to the vet’s office once a year makes her very uncomfortable. But today, after several days of psyching her up for the visit, it seemed very helpful and effective to take her out of the pet carrier and hold her close to me when it was time for her examination. I even danced a little bit with her while we were waiting for the doctor. After she received her shots, I held her close to me again. If we weren’t in a public place, I would have sung to her. Hmm. I should try that next year. :) :) Double smileys! And Tirzah is no longer angry. Ha! Much better than flowers and candy.
I get the impression that people mainly see the point of VDay as giving material things like flowers and candy to their significant others. I see it as a day -- nay, an entire season -- when it’s in my face more than ever that I have no significant other to share the day with. Forget the stupid flowers and candy. You can have them. I’d rather have a man. Hmm. Perhaps I should use a smiley here so the reader won’t think I’m depressed. :) I’m OK. I’m just passionate about this dumb subject. I’m OK with being single. This is a difficult yet very sweet season of life for me. I just don’t like having it thrown in my face that I’m single. I’m not really lonely. I’m angry. OK, another smiley face. :) And an LOL. Yes, even when I’m ticked off, I can have a sense of humor!
It’s been 17 years since I’ve had a significant other to observe VDay with. (I wonder if that’s a record. Where’s Guinness when you need them?) I believe that VDay is a time to celebrate couples’ romantic love. If you don’t have somebody, you’re left out. That’s just the way this particular holiday is set up, in my opinion. There are some who say that you can celebrate how much God loves you and how much you love God. But I think you’re supposed to do that every day. (And if you want a holiday for it, there are already two -- Christmas and Easter.) Then there are some who say that you can celebrate how much you love your children. Again, thank you for the painful reminder that I don’t have children of my own.
For some reason, I’ve noticed that what really ticks me off is when people think I’m with somebody and I’m not. For instance, a few years ago when I was visiting family for Christmas, my dad went to the ER, and my sister and I were debating whether or not to stay in town an extra day to support my mom. One of the well-intentioned nurses gave her two cents and told me I should stay. But I wanted to get home (to my cats). She asked me with a wry grin, “What’s his name?” Look, lady, there’s no man that I’m in a hurry to rush home to. But thank you for the painful reminder! Then this past summer, after a church service was over and I was filing out of the sanctuary with everyone else, I think there was a guy and his family or something sitting next to me, and they entered the aisle, and I offered a lady who was standing in line behind me to go ahead of me. She looked kind of surprised and said, “Oh, I thought you were with him,” and gave me this pursed-lips look -- the same one that one of my aunts gave me when she first met my brother-in-law and thought he was married to me. Um, no, BUT THANK YOU FOR THE PAINFUL REMINDER that I am not with anybody!
Sigh. OK, Tirzah, breathe. Don’t punch anybody in the face today. Ahem. Smiley. :) So, basically, that’s what VDay is for me -- a painful reminder. Not gonna sugarcoat it. You know who else didn’t sugarcoat pain? The psalmists of the Bible, including David. You know what he says in Psalm 62:8? Pour out your heart to God, because He’s a refuge. That’s the safest place to take pain -- to God. He’s the One who fixes it. Incidentally, if you’ve heard me talk about how God set me free from depression, that was one of the main things He taught me -- to keep the flow going. (Gonna use arrows now.) Pour out your heart to God --> receive His love --> pour it out --> receive His love. That way, the pain doesn’t stagnate and fester, which was a very unhealthy thing I allowed to happen in the past.
In my opinion, VDay highlights or even causes a pain that is pretty much inconsolable, except for the God of all comfort. In my journey, I’ve found that kind, encouraging words don’t really help. In terms of coping, just agreeing with me that VDay sucks and/or getting my mind off it with something funny is pretty much the only thing that helps. But in my opinion, the most helpful and effective way of dealing with the VDay-related pain is to just pour it out to God, have a really good cry, and let the God of all comfort hold you while you pour it all out. VDay is a painful reminder of the rejection and the temptation to believe that there is something wrong with me. (Psalm 139 says there isn’t anything wrong with me, and my soul knows it very well.) I need Him to remind me of who I really am. I believe that because I know Jesus, I belong to God. I belong with Him. John 14:23 says that the Father and Jesus make Their home with me. So, after time passes and I actually get a significant other, will VDay still suck? Maybe, but hopefully not. In the future, if I get married, will God the Father and Jesus still make Their home with me? Heck yes, and I need Them to stay as close to me as possible for the rest of my life. (That goes for the Holy Spirit, too. :)) Will I still be OK, even if I never get married? If God is with me, then yes. I don’t want to do anything without Him, anyway (including remaining single involuntarily). :)
Speaking of who I belong to, the above photo is a snapshot of me taking Isaiah 44:5 literally, just for the fun of it. I am the Lord’s. :) And as my purring cat perches on me while I type this, I’m reminded of how I had to take her to the vet today to get her annual shots. Grr. She hates shots, too. It hurts her, and going to the vet’s office once a year makes her very uncomfortable. But today, after several days of psyching her up for the visit, it seemed very helpful and effective to take her out of the pet carrier and hold her close to me when it was time for her examination. I even danced a little bit with her while we were waiting for the doctor. After she received her shots, I held her close to me again. If we weren’t in a public place, I would have sung to her. Hmm. I should try that next year. :) :) Double smileys! And Tirzah is no longer angry. Ha! Much better than flowers and candy.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Equilibrium: The Sequel
Slippery winter weather inspired me to write about equilibrium again. (For reference, please see my blog entry from 12/14/10.) For now, at least between my home and my job, the roads are mostly dry and travelable. However, many of the sidewalks and parking lots are not. Last night after work, while I was carefully walking from my car to my apartment on some iced-over grass, I fell on my knee. It smarted at first, but my thermals cushioned the fall nicely. This morning on the way to work, while I was carefully walking from my apartment to my car, I fell on the side of my butt. It still smarts a tiny bit, but not badly. Actually, the second fall happened barely a few feet away from the original fall, and I’m pretty sure I exclaimed, “Not again!” on my way down.
After I got to work and removed my gloves, I noticed a bruise on the palm of my hand. It’s almost an inch long; you can see me displaying it in the picture above. I’m guessing my hand thwacked on the icy pavement during my fall, because I don’t remember it hurting at first. If I push on it really hard, it hurts, but otherwise it doesn’t bother me at all. What bothers me is that every time I look at it, I’m reminded, “Dang, I fell! Crap, I fell! Aw, man, I can’t believe I fell!” And it’s on the palm of my hand, so it’s not like I can easily avoid looking at it throughout the day. I don’t even think I’ve got bruises on my knee or butt, but this hand bruise -- which is really like an innocent bystander in this whole thing -- is frequently reminding me of something I’d like to forget.
I’m reminded yet again of Psalm 145:14 -- God upholds ALL those who fall and lifts up ALL who are bowed down. We live in a fallen world. As a Christian, I don’t belong to it, but there’s slippery ice -- metaphorically speaking -- all around me. There are so many opportunities in my walk with Christ to get distracted by something and fall. Sometimes, I’m walking along as carefully as I can, things are going just fine, but I mess up, anyway. I don’t want to, but sometimes it happens. And sometimes, I beat myself up for it, staring at the bruise on my hand and going, “Dang, I fell! Crap, I fell! Aw, man, I can’t believe I fell!”
I understand now why my church emphasizes keeping your focus on God and His Kingdom instead of on sin and demonic stuff. I think for most of my Christian life, I’ve been taught, “Don’t sin! Don’t sin! Don’t sin! Aw, look at you! Now you’ve sinned!” Um, hello, that’s because my focus was on the sin. LOL! I’m pretty sure God wants to teach us instead, “You live in My house now. Stick with Me. Eat all you want from My banqueting table. Drink as much as you want from My river of pleasure. Enjoy!”
Psalm 3:3 says that God is my shield and the lifter of my head. He’s the One who basically says, “Yes, you fell, but repent and get up. Don’t be ashamed. Hey, look up at Me. I’m right here. I’ll help you up. Keep going. Keep walking.” I follow Jesus. He’s my Big Brother who’s walked ahead of me and knows how to avoid the slippery places. He’ll show me where to step. He’ll show me where to walk. He’ll show me how slowly or how quickly I should go. If I fall, He’ll pick me up, dust me off, let me cry on His shoulder, and fix my bruises. He encourages me, leads me, and teaches me. I need Him! I love Him!
Speaking of learning, I did feel myself get a bit dizzy yesterday and today (not ice-fall related) because of cold-weather sinus stuff. Not wanting to repeat my 2010 vertigo insanity, I popped a few decongestants. Not again! :)
After I got to work and removed my gloves, I noticed a bruise on the palm of my hand. It’s almost an inch long; you can see me displaying it in the picture above. I’m guessing my hand thwacked on the icy pavement during my fall, because I don’t remember it hurting at first. If I push on it really hard, it hurts, but otherwise it doesn’t bother me at all. What bothers me is that every time I look at it, I’m reminded, “Dang, I fell! Crap, I fell! Aw, man, I can’t believe I fell!” And it’s on the palm of my hand, so it’s not like I can easily avoid looking at it throughout the day. I don’t even think I’ve got bruises on my knee or butt, but this hand bruise -- which is really like an innocent bystander in this whole thing -- is frequently reminding me of something I’d like to forget.
I’m reminded yet again of Psalm 145:14 -- God upholds ALL those who fall and lifts up ALL who are bowed down. We live in a fallen world. As a Christian, I don’t belong to it, but there’s slippery ice -- metaphorically speaking -- all around me. There are so many opportunities in my walk with Christ to get distracted by something and fall. Sometimes, I’m walking along as carefully as I can, things are going just fine, but I mess up, anyway. I don’t want to, but sometimes it happens. And sometimes, I beat myself up for it, staring at the bruise on my hand and going, “Dang, I fell! Crap, I fell! Aw, man, I can’t believe I fell!”
I understand now why my church emphasizes keeping your focus on God and His Kingdom instead of on sin and demonic stuff. I think for most of my Christian life, I’ve been taught, “Don’t sin! Don’t sin! Don’t sin! Aw, look at you! Now you’ve sinned!” Um, hello, that’s because my focus was on the sin. LOL! I’m pretty sure God wants to teach us instead, “You live in My house now. Stick with Me. Eat all you want from My banqueting table. Drink as much as you want from My river of pleasure. Enjoy!”
Psalm 3:3 says that God is my shield and the lifter of my head. He’s the One who basically says, “Yes, you fell, but repent and get up. Don’t be ashamed. Hey, look up at Me. I’m right here. I’ll help you up. Keep going. Keep walking.” I follow Jesus. He’s my Big Brother who’s walked ahead of me and knows how to avoid the slippery places. He’ll show me where to step. He’ll show me where to walk. He’ll show me how slowly or how quickly I should go. If I fall, He’ll pick me up, dust me off, let me cry on His shoulder, and fix my bruises. He encourages me, leads me, and teaches me. I need Him! I love Him!
Speaking of learning, I did feel myself get a bit dizzy yesterday and today (not ice-fall related) because of cold-weather sinus stuff. Not wanting to repeat my 2010 vertigo insanity, I popped a few decongestants. Not again! :)
Sunday, January 9, 2011
Eyes on the Conductor
Today, I looked out the window and saw some magic snow! (That’s the kind that falls but doesn’t stick, at least according to my definition (see my blog entry from 12/29/09).) I was concerned that the roads were going to be too terrible to travel on this evening but am relieved they don’t seem all that terrible for now. I have a friend who is going to get baptized tonight, and I don’t want to miss seeing it. It’s winter. It’s supposed to snow. God is the One who brings it. Psalm 147:16 says He spreads snow like wool. Yet He knows that there are important events, at least in my life right now, that some pesky weather conditions shouldn’t hinder. Even as I type this, the sun has even begun to shine.
God’s ways and plans are so much higher than our ways and plans. (See Isaiah 55:8-9.) His timing is impeccable, and I don’t usually understand it, especially when I’m going through some tough stuff, but it blows my mind. He orchestrates things just right. For example, this winter, I’ve got the opportunity to work on some writing projects that I don’t think would go so smoothly if God hadn’t just brought me through some emotional healing. He’s squeezed out some fear that used to be lurking in my soul, and now I’m more freed up to do things like take risks and experiment creatively. That’s something I need to do as a creative writer. I can’t be who God created me to be if I’m weighed down by something like fear of failure or hiding behind something old like fear of rejection. He wants me to soar, like the eagles in Isaiah 40:31, above all the storms, all the odds, and anything that might discourage me from forging ahead. He wants me to fly.
When I played the French horn in junior-high band, I remember the band directors always harping on us to keep our eyes on them. We needed to keep our music stands raised at eye level so we could read our music while constantly glancing at the director, who would constantly signal important things like tempo and dynamic changes. They would often get frustrated with us if we weren’t watching them and missed something important.
God is much more patient with us than my band directors were (no offense to any who might be reading this), but I think He conducts life in His Kingdom in a similar way. It’s almost as if we’re the musicians in His giant orchestra, each with a different instrument and part to play. It’s almost as if He’s the Conductor who knows the plan, knows which part of the music is coming up next, and cues each instrument to come in at the exact time they need to. If we don’t keep our eyes on Him, we could miss something important. If I’m in His orchestra with my French horn waiting for my chance to play, and I get distracted by something (maybe someone in the audience is mocking the orch dorks or the band nerds and making faces), I could miss it. What if I’m supposed to play a solo? I wouldn’t want to mess up something huge like a solo that my Conductor entrusted to me, something that I’ve been practicing and preparing for months ahead of time.
In recent months, as I’ve been praying through decisions and anxieties, God keeps reminding me, “Eyes on Me.” I think as long as I keep following my Conductor, He’ll make sure I play my part when it’s time. He knows the perfect time.
Sigh. The Nutcracker plays quietly on my computer, and memories of the magic snow hang heavily in the crisp air!
God’s ways and plans are so much higher than our ways and plans. (See Isaiah 55:8-9.) His timing is impeccable, and I don’t usually understand it, especially when I’m going through some tough stuff, but it blows my mind. He orchestrates things just right. For example, this winter, I’ve got the opportunity to work on some writing projects that I don’t think would go so smoothly if God hadn’t just brought me through some emotional healing. He’s squeezed out some fear that used to be lurking in my soul, and now I’m more freed up to do things like take risks and experiment creatively. That’s something I need to do as a creative writer. I can’t be who God created me to be if I’m weighed down by something like fear of failure or hiding behind something old like fear of rejection. He wants me to soar, like the eagles in Isaiah 40:31, above all the storms, all the odds, and anything that might discourage me from forging ahead. He wants me to fly.
When I played the French horn in junior-high band, I remember the band directors always harping on us to keep our eyes on them. We needed to keep our music stands raised at eye level so we could read our music while constantly glancing at the director, who would constantly signal important things like tempo and dynamic changes. They would often get frustrated with us if we weren’t watching them and missed something important.
God is much more patient with us than my band directors were (no offense to any who might be reading this), but I think He conducts life in His Kingdom in a similar way. It’s almost as if we’re the musicians in His giant orchestra, each with a different instrument and part to play. It’s almost as if He’s the Conductor who knows the plan, knows which part of the music is coming up next, and cues each instrument to come in at the exact time they need to. If we don’t keep our eyes on Him, we could miss something important. If I’m in His orchestra with my French horn waiting for my chance to play, and I get distracted by something (maybe someone in the audience is mocking the orch dorks or the band nerds and making faces), I could miss it. What if I’m supposed to play a solo? I wouldn’t want to mess up something huge like a solo that my Conductor entrusted to me, something that I’ve been practicing and preparing for months ahead of time.
In recent months, as I’ve been praying through decisions and anxieties, God keeps reminding me, “Eyes on Me.” I think as long as I keep following my Conductor, He’ll make sure I play my part when it’s time. He knows the perfect time.
Sigh. The Nutcracker plays quietly on my computer, and memories of the magic snow hang heavily in the crisp air!
Wednesday, January 5, 2011
Bible verses that make you go, “Aw, snap”
I would cheerfully like to offer you some scriptures that, uh, might not be all that encouraging right away.
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Seldom set foot in your neighbor’s house, lest he become weary of you and hate you. (Proverbs 25:17, NKJV)
My friends and companions avoid me because of my wounds; my neighbors stay far away. (Psalm 38:11, NIV)
You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend. (Psalm 88:18, NIV)
The poor are shunned even by their neighbors, but the rich have many friends. (Proverbs 14:20, NIV)
Even in laughter the heart may ache, and joy may end in grief. (Proverbs 14:13, NIV)
Open rebuke is better than love carefully concealed. (Proverbs 27:5, NKJV)
Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful. (Proverbs 27:6, NKJV)
Let a righteous man strike me -- it is a kindness; let him rebuke me -- it is oil on my head. My head will not refuse it. (Psalm 141:5, NIV)
A rebuke impresses a man of discernment more than a hundred lashes a fool. (Proverbs 17:10, NIV)
Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is counted prudent. (Proverbs 17:28, NASB)
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Uh, I’ll shut up now. LOL
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Seldom set foot in your neighbor’s house, lest he become weary of you and hate you. (Proverbs 25:17, NKJV)
My friends and companions avoid me because of my wounds; my neighbors stay far away. (Psalm 38:11, NIV)
You have taken my companions and loved ones from me; the darkness is my closest friend. (Psalm 88:18, NIV)
The poor are shunned even by their neighbors, but the rich have many friends. (Proverbs 14:20, NIV)
Even in laughter the heart may ache, and joy may end in grief. (Proverbs 14:13, NIV)
Open rebuke is better than love carefully concealed. (Proverbs 27:5, NKJV)
Faithful are the wounds of a friend, but the kisses of an enemy are deceitful. (Proverbs 27:6, NKJV)
Let a righteous man strike me -- it is a kindness; let him rebuke me -- it is oil on my head. My head will not refuse it. (Psalm 141:5, NIV)
A rebuke impresses a man of discernment more than a hundred lashes a fool. (Proverbs 17:10, NIV)
Even a fool, when he keeps silent, is considered wise; when he closes his lips, he is counted prudent. (Proverbs 17:28, NASB)
----------
Uh, I’ll shut up now. LOL
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
Reflections of the third decade, part IXA
I thought of something that I should add to my previous list -- another important thing I learned about myself in 2010. Did I mention I can be really obsessive? LOL!
4) God made me superabsorbent. I’m a lot like a sponge, or maybe a roll of paper towels. I like to spend lots of time thinking about, chewing on, and digesting things. (This kind of fits with something I learned about myself after I graduated from college -- I’m a kinesthetic learner. I learn by doing. I need repetition and trial and error, and I need to be able to ask questions.) I like to absorb ideas and atmosphere and soak it all in. If I hang around people long enough, I can pick up their good habits and their bad habits. I think the trick is to absorb the good and catch myself before I absorb the bad. (Or better yet, let God show me what I should or shouldn’t be absorbing!) Also, for lack of a better phrase, I can really take a beating. For example, if somebody is having a bad day and they vent crazily or spew emotionally at me, I can usually take it -- I’ll absorb it. In the past, this was bad because I was a doormat. I allowed myself to be people’s punching bag, on a regular basis, and this was unhealthy for me. (This contributed to my past depression.) Now I’m learning to draw boundaries and basically tell people, “OK, that’s enough. Please stop spewing on me.” A few months ago, I took a spiritual gifts test for church, and it surprised me to find out that I’m gifted in martyrdom. This means that I’ll probably be one of the first ones to speak up and say, “Excuse me, but this is right” or “This is wrong, and I don’t care how badly you beat me up. I need to speak up.” Hmm. Another reason why I’m glad I named this blog Windowbrawl. When it’s time to do so, I’ll put up my dukes. Uh-oh, I just thought of something else.
5) I’m a fighter, not a lover. Dang it, no wonder I’m still single! LOL!
Thanks again for reading. :)
4) God made me superabsorbent. I’m a lot like a sponge, or maybe a roll of paper towels. I like to spend lots of time thinking about, chewing on, and digesting things. (This kind of fits with something I learned about myself after I graduated from college -- I’m a kinesthetic learner. I learn by doing. I need repetition and trial and error, and I need to be able to ask questions.) I like to absorb ideas and atmosphere and soak it all in. If I hang around people long enough, I can pick up their good habits and their bad habits. I think the trick is to absorb the good and catch myself before I absorb the bad. (Or better yet, let God show me what I should or shouldn’t be absorbing!) Also, for lack of a better phrase, I can really take a beating. For example, if somebody is having a bad day and they vent crazily or spew emotionally at me, I can usually take it -- I’ll absorb it. In the past, this was bad because I was a doormat. I allowed myself to be people’s punching bag, on a regular basis, and this was unhealthy for me. (This contributed to my past depression.) Now I’m learning to draw boundaries and basically tell people, “OK, that’s enough. Please stop spewing on me.” A few months ago, I took a spiritual gifts test for church, and it surprised me to find out that I’m gifted in martyrdom. This means that I’ll probably be one of the first ones to speak up and say, “Excuse me, but this is right” or “This is wrong, and I don’t care how badly you beat me up. I need to speak up.” Hmm. Another reason why I’m glad I named this blog Windowbrawl. When it’s time to do so, I’ll put up my dukes. Uh-oh, I just thought of something else.
5) I’m a fighter, not a lover. Dang it, no wonder I’m still single! LOL!
Thanks again for reading. :)
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Reflections of the third decade, part IX
Here are some random/shocking things I learned about myself in 2010.
1) I am not a social butterfly. And I’m OK with that. I’ve noticed that I usually bond with one person at a time. During social gatherings, I’ll usually be content having a long, deep conversation with one person rather than chitchatting with everybody. What’s especially fun for me is having a conversation with a group of people that I’ve already had one-on-one bonding with. (That happened frequently when I lived in Waco!) I am not an extrovert, meaning that I do not recharge when I’m around people. I am an introvert, meaning that I recharge when I’m by myself. I’m usually not good company during social gatherings if I haven’t had some introverted recharge time beforehand. What might happen is I’ll float away on the magic carpet of being in my own little world. Polka-dot kitties sing nutcracker-suite lullabies while baking chocolate trains.
2) I can be really obsessive. I can be really obsessive. I can be really obsessive. I can be really obsessive. I can be really obsessive. Which can be a bad thing -- for example, if I’m thinking about something depressing. Or it could be a good thing -- for example, if I’m thinking about God’s truth or if I find out that a friend needs prayer. It’s a trait that can come in handy -- for example, when I’ll put the finishing touches on my novel, polishing up details and tying up loose ends.
3) I’m a much pickier eater than I thought I was. I used to tell people, “I’ll eat anything except a baked potato.” Nope, it’s more complicated than that now. I won’t eat food that’s way too spicy, cooked vegetables that taste bitter (i.e., nopalitos, even with egg and salsa), or food that’s way too sweet. Burritos filled with rice offended my taste buds severely this year. Perhaps the most shocking tidbit that I’ve learned is... I don’t like cake. Insert screaming here. I like to celebrate people’s birthdays, but now I dread the distribution of cake. If I take a piece, I’ll usually kind of eat around the icing. One year, my coworkers were kind enough to fulfill my request to not give me a cake for my birthday, so they gave me a cookie buffet instead. Now, THAT was fun. Maybe next year, I should request angel food cake. That stuff’s pretty good, because it isn’t too sweet and doesn’t require icing. (Just as long as I don’t get a baked potato for my birthday. Insert gagging here.) Uh-oh. Now I’m making myself hungry.
Maybe I should check with the kitties to see if the chocolate trains are ready. Then there’s this spot on my magic carpet that needs to be removed. Please excuse me while I board my rice-powered baked potato car to go to the cleaners. Insert chuckling here.
1) I am not a social butterfly. And I’m OK with that. I’ve noticed that I usually bond with one person at a time. During social gatherings, I’ll usually be content having a long, deep conversation with one person rather than chitchatting with everybody. What’s especially fun for me is having a conversation with a group of people that I’ve already had one-on-one bonding with. (That happened frequently when I lived in Waco!) I am not an extrovert, meaning that I do not recharge when I’m around people. I am an introvert, meaning that I recharge when I’m by myself. I’m usually not good company during social gatherings if I haven’t had some introverted recharge time beforehand. What might happen is I’ll float away on the magic carpet of being in my own little world. Polka-dot kitties sing nutcracker-suite lullabies while baking chocolate trains.
2) I can be really obsessive. I can be really obsessive. I can be really obsessive. I can be really obsessive. I can be really obsessive. Which can be a bad thing -- for example, if I’m thinking about something depressing. Or it could be a good thing -- for example, if I’m thinking about God’s truth or if I find out that a friend needs prayer. It’s a trait that can come in handy -- for example, when I’ll put the finishing touches on my novel, polishing up details and tying up loose ends.
3) I’m a much pickier eater than I thought I was. I used to tell people, “I’ll eat anything except a baked potato.” Nope, it’s more complicated than that now. I won’t eat food that’s way too spicy, cooked vegetables that taste bitter (i.e., nopalitos, even with egg and salsa), or food that’s way too sweet. Burritos filled with rice offended my taste buds severely this year. Perhaps the most shocking tidbit that I’ve learned is... I don’t like cake. Insert screaming here. I like to celebrate people’s birthdays, but now I dread the distribution of cake. If I take a piece, I’ll usually kind of eat around the icing. One year, my coworkers were kind enough to fulfill my request to not give me a cake for my birthday, so they gave me a cookie buffet instead. Now, THAT was fun. Maybe next year, I should request angel food cake. That stuff’s pretty good, because it isn’t too sweet and doesn’t require icing. (Just as long as I don’t get a baked potato for my birthday. Insert gagging here.) Uh-oh. Now I’m making myself hungry.
Maybe I should check with the kitties to see if the chocolate trains are ready. Then there’s this spot on my magic carpet that needs to be removed. Please excuse me while I board my rice-powered baked potato car to go to the cleaners. Insert chuckling here.
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