The beasts

Early this morning, I dreamed that I took Macho to some sort of vet clinic (which, unfortunately, was a frequent occurrence toward the end of his life). Either the technician or the vet explained that they would need to surgically remove Macho's lips, and they were surprised and almost angry that I didn't understand that the operation needed to happen. (I suppose it never really occurred to me that cats actually had lips.) Then I woke up.

What an absurd dream. I don't think it had any meaning other than how God explained it to me: Macho used to invade my lap in real life, and this morning he invaded my dream. Then I sort of cried.

 

Before Macho was my lap cat, he was my roommate's cat. (He's the humongous orange one in this photo.) Last night, I was randomly thinking about something that happened when Choochie and I lived with Macho and my roommate.

We lived in my roommate's family's old 1940s house. She had noticed a small caved-in spot in the bathroom floor; so one night after a lifegroup met at the house, she asked one of her friends to venture under the house and examine the spot. (I may have told this story before on this blog, but I think it bears repeating.) The crawlspace door was located in the floor of my closet, so we moved some stuff out of the way, opened the door, and let our friend examine the spot under the bathroom. When he was done, we closed the door. Everybody left, and my roommate and I proceeded with our getting-ready-for-bed routines.

Meahwhile, Choochie suddenly decided to snuggle closely to me, as if she were saying, "You're my best friend."

The next day was a normal day until my roommate came home from work that evening. She was frantically calling out Macho's name, looking outside for him and everything. She said she hadn't seen him since we opened the crawlspace door and that she kept hearing some ominous meowing afterwards and didn't know where it was coming from. She suspected that Macho was trapped under the house.

Sure enough, she opened the crawlspace door in my closet again and pulled him out. He was shaky, spastically meowing, and had a little ring of dirt around his tail. If you've ever seen a cartoon where a cat freaks out, the scene looked kind of like that.

Choochie snuggled closely to Macho, as if she were saying, "You're my best friend." (Perhaps if she could have talked, she also would have told us the night before, "Um, in case you haven't noticed, that giant bum is trapped under the house.")

In hindsight, I don't think my roommate was a true cat person. If she were, I don't think she would have allowed herself to go to sleep until she knew where her baby was. "I thought he was with you," she explained to me. Nope. Not until I took full custody of him some time later. Then it was till death do us part.

At any rate, being stuck under the house for 20 hours changed Macho forever, in a good way. He became much more assertive. Shortly after the incident, I was in the living room talking to a friend on the phone (it was a landline that was plugged into the wall, so I was sitting down during the conversation). Macho sauntered up to me; I believe he was carrying a toy in his mouth, and he dropped it on the floor when he reached me. After staring at me for a few seconds, he demanded, "MEOW!!!" I suddenly felt compelled to tell my friend, "Sorry, I have to go now. My roommate's cat wants to play."

So, my humongous lap cat had quite a loud meow for the rest of his life.

 

Macho is long gone, but now the cat with the big personality in my life is MeepMeep. A couple of days ago, she went into heat again (after a three-month break). I've learned that there's nothing I can do to stop it. I just need to let it run its course.

Fortunately, I can have a bit of fun with it now. I realized that her little exotic dance matches the rhythm of the song "Macarena," so I downloaded it onto my phone, and I play it for her sometimes when the mood hits her. Heh, heh.

Sometimes when I interact with her, the words that come out of my mouth remind me of the way that God talks to me. Yesterday, I heard myself tell her while I was holding her anxious little body in my arms, "Your adorable little agony will be over soon."

Macho was forever changed while he was trapped under a house. I wonder how MeepMeep will change while she's experiencing another hormonal hurricane.

"Thus my heart was grieved, and I was vexed in my mind. I was so foolish and ignorant; I was like a beast before You." (Psalm 73:21-22)

Last night, I was angry-blubbering to God during my "quiet" time. My language wasn't pretty, and I'm very glad no other humans were in the room with me while I was fuming. But God didn't swat me away. Instead, I felt like He grinned and said gently, "Tell Me more." The entire conversation was like that. After I finished and was winding down for the night, I sighed with relief. I felt like He basically said, "Didn't that feel good?" Why, yes, it did indeed.

Psalm 62:8 says that we should pour out our hearts before God and that He is a refuge for us, and that's exactly what happened. His presence is the safest place for a meltdown to occur.

Frankly, I think the best example I've had in my life of how to respond to a person who's falling apart, raging angrily, or having a meltdown has been God Himself. He rebukes me when I need it, but He mainly just listens and lets me puke it all out. He lets my little moment run its course.

I hope I'll be able to follow His example someday, because sometimes people just need a safe place to unravel.

But for now, I'm hoping that this season -- in which I feel like I'm temporarily trapped, and in which I'm caught in a desert storm that I can't control -- will change me for the better. Maybe I'll become more assertive like Macho. Or maybe I'll become more attached to my Provider like MeepMeep. Or hopefully both.

 

In the meantime, maybe MeepMeep will give my heavily scabbed arm a chance to heal while she, uh, is obsessed with other pursuits. (Or while she silently plots to steal my pillow.)

Casserole3

I'm learning a lot of interesting things during this season that can definitely come in handy later. For example, creditors are a lot like Pharisees. They seem very interested in you as long as you do things their way (e.g., making a minimum payment every month), and if you go above and beyond (e.g., making a one-time really big payment), they'll send you a birthday card and call you "family."

But if you fall behind, there's pretty much zero grace (well, maybe just for one month). If you fall very behind, they'll lecture you like a child and hunt you down like a criminal (kind of like a preacher behind a pulpit during a witch hunt). They'll harass you over the phone (like a spiritually abusive church lady) until you pay up. They'll make ridiculous demands like, "Hey, we can cut your debt in half! All you have to do is pay $2,600... in 90 days." (Like a delusional pastor who makes everyone in his church win one person to the Lord every six months.) Um, yeah, I can't even afford to buy coffee creamer.

Or when you're finally able to make a real payment, and you feel good about yourself... it's still not enough. The harassing phone calls start all over again, in addition to the snail mail letters and the registered letters, because you're still behind. And when you finally call them back and explain that you can only afford to pay a tiny little amount every month... they're like, "Oh, well," and completely drop you out of their thoughts. (Like a bunch of "church" people who kick you to the curb while you're going through a rough patch.)

K, fine. I don't need this in my life, anyway. I'm just looking forward to maybe buying coffee creamer again someday.

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I've been revisiting the idea of getting a tattoo. Then I look down at my mauled arm and realize that MeepMeep already gives me little tattoos every day. (For free!)

My little cat is ferociously affectionate. It can be painful for me, but I know that she's only expressing love in the way that she knows how. And I wouldn't have her any other way.

Every cat that I've owned (including *Puff, the angry kitten who ran away when I was four years old) hasn't been a huge fan of human affection... except for MeepMeep. She actually lets me hold her sometimes for extended periods of time. So, if her little affection-package includes a few scabs on my arm(s), and if I know that those are like little love-pats, I will take them.

*I normally don't use my pets' real names on my blog, but Puff really was his name. And he was insane.

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About 20 years ago, I was sitting in a small-group type of setting, and the icebreaker question was, "Which one of the 12 disciples do you most feel like right now?" I said Nathanael, the guy who was under the fig tree. If you'd ask me that question now, I'd say Peter.

I like how the Bible gives some people privacy, and yet it airs out other people's dirty laundry. Reading and learning about Peter's dirty laundry gives me hope. I mean, Peter was the only disciple who 1) rebuked Jesus and got "Get behind me, Satan" in reply 2) chopped off somebody's frickin' EAR out of zealousness for Jesus 3) ended up denying that he even knew Jesus 4) was totally forgiven and restored by Jesus and 5) ended up becoming an expert in shepherding.

Yeah, that's right. The overly passionate, gruff fisherman guy ended up authoring 1 Peter, the epistle in the Bible that we go to when we want to know how to lead people at church: "Shepherd the flock of God which is among you, serving as overseers, not by compulsion but willingly, not for dishonest gain but eagerly" (1 Peter 5:2).

From wild zealous guy to meek no-nonsense pastor. That is Peter's story. That is my current inspiration.

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Early this morning, I woke up from a dream in which somebody came into my house and started shooting people. (I know I dreamed this as a result of reading too many news articles.) From what I can remember, my birth family was in the house. I went back to sleep and dreamed a follow-up dream in which I got shot, and I was very grieved that I didn't get a chance to tell my grandfather something (from what I can remember, he was in the house as well). My birth parents basically escorted the shooter around the house and let him have his way. At the end of the dream, I was crying to my birth mother like a toddler. Then I woke up.

I know what the dreams mean. (I have dreams like this every once in a while.) The people who raised me were abusive. John 10:10 says that the devil is a thief who steals, kills, and destroys. Abusive parents basically just hand over their children to the devil and let him have his way with them.

Then their children grow up and become badasses. And God wields them like little weapons and points them right back at the devil.

I've felt like God has been talking to me a tiny bit about the year 2019. He's said, "I'm going to take back what is Mine." So, I'm very much looking forward to 2019 (even though this year still has quite a way to go), because I think it's going to be a royally awesome year.

In the midst of it

In case you haven't noticed, I'm a very ceremonious person -- a sentimental pile of ooze. Every time I either start or end something big, I like to commemorate the occasion with something tangible like a blog post. (Or at least a Facebook post.) In days of yore before the internet existed, if I were rich, perhaps I would invite friends over to my mansion for a dinner party and offer a toast.

But today, I am neither starting nor ending anything big. Today, I am still living in the midst of an extended trial which, in the grand scheme of things, is still a relatively short season. And I wanted to write some stuff down before I forget it.

 

Almost every Monday through Friday, I eat lunch in my car. I like to park in the same spot, in front of the same tree, whenever possible. (So I won't forget where I park, and so I'll know that my car will be OK.) This is a picture of my view at lunchtime. This is significant because in the middle of my day, I sometimes need to unload a little bit. So, I'll eat my bologna or pickle loaf sandwich and chitchat with God. How's it going? He never changes. Maybe I'll vent to Him about something. Maybe I'll ask Him if I'm doing everything right or if I need to change anything. Maybe He'll encourage me. Or maybe He'll just stay quiet and let me talk or let me think. (Which, frankly, is something that my earthly father rarely did.)

In order to snap this photo that I've shared, I lifted up my car's visor (which I usually keep down). I noticed after I took the picture that that newly planted little tree has really grown since I've started working at my current job.

I hope I've been growing, too.

"Then they said to Moses, 'Because there were no graves in Egypt, have you taken us away to die in the wilderness? Why have you so dealt with us, to bring us up out of Egypt?' " (Exodus 14:11)

"And you shall remember that the Lord your God led you all the way these forty years in the wilderness, to humble you and test you, to know what was in your heart, whether you would keep His commandments or not. So He humbled you, allowed you to hunger, and fed you with manna which you did not know nor did your fathers know, that He might make you know that man shall not live by bread alone; but man lives by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord." (Deuteronomy 8:2-3)

When I adopted MeepMeep seven months ago, I was unemployed and living on eggs, oatmeal, and popcorn. So, she doesn't love me for my money. I've made a home with her. She inherited everything that used to belong to Choochie and Macho, and I've made some adjustments according to her needs, preferences, and personality.

She doesn't really need much. I mean, she used to live outside. She plays with her tail. (While I was writing this post, she was hunting a lizard through the window.) All she really needs from me is food, water, litterbox, items to scratch on, places to sleep on, time, space, and lots of love. She has everything she needs with me.

And we've bonded. Maybe in the future if/when I become financially better off, and I'm able to buy her more cat accessories... will she really need them? I think she really just needs ME.

It's kind of the same way with God, of course.

Maybe in the future if/when I become more prosperous financially, emotionally, or even socially, and I'm able to participate in more church events, be a part of more ministries, or become more of an influence in the body of Christ... will any of that really matter to me? I guess it would all be fun and cool, but I really just need GOD.

I hope I never forget this season. And I hope I never forget the lessons I'm learning. Here are a few of the big ones.

1) The people who you thought would be there for you may end up abandoning you. This is kind of sad, but Jesus experienced it, too, when He went to the cross. And I'll never be any better than Him.

I think I already learned this lesson years ago, but it's been interesting to have it reinforced in this season. Especially when "Christians" kick you to the curb in the name of a higher cause. But on the other hand...

2) The people who are there for you during your deepest, darkest days are the people who you'll probably be able to count on for the rest of your life. That's how you can identify faithfulness in a person: They show up ESPECIALLY when it's hard for them to do so.

3) Sometimes God lets you experience something so that you'll know firsthand how NOT to treat somebody. Which I've learned before but am learning again in another context. I've been having yet another lesson in how NOT to manage people -- a lesson learned by not being managed well. In my current job, we are encouraged to work independently, but we are rarely checked on, so we often have to fend for ourselves. This results in laziness, gossip, rule-breaking, and a generally poor work ethic. (Which I think is one reason why God told me beforehand to tighten up my own work ethic.)

People need guidance and leadership. People need somebody to go to when they have questions or feedback. People need an atmosphere in which they can healthily express their concerns, instead of constantly having their concerns invalidated or squelched. This can lead to putting on a fake smile and pretending/believing in faith that everything is OK, when it's not, and you're applying for jobs behind your boss' back. (I became somewhat of an expert at this whitewashed sort of behavior while I was growing up in a Pharisee's house.)

If I ever become a manager again someday, I hope I can be the kind of person that people can appropriately lean on.

4) I might not need as much as I thought I did. During these past few months, money has been extremely tight. I've been watching my bank account like a ravenous hawk. I've made many adjustments, and I've had some close calls. One week, all I had left was $1.94; and what a glorious $1.94 it was! I haven't been overdrawn at the bank. God has been taking extremely good care of me.

He told me awhile back that someday I would look back on this season and laugh. I gotta say, some of the things I've been doing to scrimp and pinch have been hilarious. Just to name a few, I've reused dryer sheets, I've ripped paper towels in half, and I've prepared cold ramen soup for dinner in my car.

And I haven't died. I'm still alive and kicking.

In this season, I haven't really been playing my guitar or my piano, and I sometimes wonder if it's been wrong of me to neglect that part of my life. (I've been singing, but the guitar sometimes hurts my wrist, and the piano doesn't always fit into my schedule.) Then God reminds me that I'm in a season of survival. Right now, the tasks I need to focus on are earning money, staying alive, and being ready for God to move me or promote me when it's time for Him to do so. Musical pursuits will always be there for me to tackle in the future.

Not to mention, I'm learning that MANY musicians live this type of starving-artist lifestyle, even in an affluent church, so I think I'm in good company. (Why, yes, of course I'll be able to serve on the platform that day. There will be free food, right? I mean, um... I love Jesus.)

5) God is even more caring and loving than we sometimes give Him credit for. Yesterday, I got the oil changed in my car, which is a big deal because I'd been praying that I would have enough money to pay for it. Some time later, I told God thank You, and He said quietly, "I did it for you. I didn't do it for My glory."

Yes, when we go through trials, etc., an important goal is to make sure that God is glorified through it. But what it all boils down to is that He's just a good Father, period.

He continued our conversation today: "When you feed your cat, do you do it because you love her, or do you do it so that you'll be glorified as a good cat mama?" Well... I do it because I want her to have everything she needs.

And that's why God provides for me, too. That's why He does it for all of us.

I know I won't always get to eat lunch in my car in the same spot, in front of the same tree. But I'll remember the times I shared with Him there. I hope I'll never forget the ways that I've bonded with Him during this time in my life. I'll remember this crazy-short yet crazy-long season when He kept me alive during a famine, when He held my hand through the wilderness, and when He slowly helped me cross the Red Sea on dry land... on my way to my promised land.

Similar heart

Lately, MeepMeep has been kneading on my arm and nestling into my bosom like a kitten. (In this photo, I believe she's nestling her little head into my couch while crouching on top of my arm.) Sometimes she responds very passionately to my voice. When I sing or talk, sometimes she gets so excited that she sinks her teeth into my arm or leg (a feline form of affection, believe it or not), grips onto me, and purrs. Other times, she just suddenly roar-meeps and decides to latch on out of nowhere.

Not to be crude or inappropriate, but I've often wondered if she really thinks I'm her biological mama and is trying to nurse, but I'm always relieved to discover that she isn't interested in milk. (In this photo, you can see her teeth gripping my T-shirt sleeve.) I think she just knows that she belongs with me. If I end up restoring her kittenhood in the process, then... bonus.

"He who dwells in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." (Psalm 91:1)

I was recently reminded of something crazy-random that happened to me about 20 or so years ago. (Not sure if I've shared about this already on this site.) One day while I was either in college or had recently graduated from college, I got the idea in my head that I needed to read the Bible more. (Which is interesting, because at that point in my life I was kind of already reading the Bible a ton.) In my mind, the best way to make time to read the Bible more was to wake up about 30-60 minutes earlier than I had already been waking up. My routine at the time was to take a brisk quiet-time walk on the trail near my apartment, but one morning I woke up INSANELY early and hit the walking trail in the dark.

This story is actually rated R, but I'll try to keep it as rated G as I can.

A middle-aged man carrying a takeout coffee cup ended up joining me on the walking trail. (I'm assuming he had just come from a nearby convenience store.) I think perhaps he initiated the conversation; but I was a friendly person back then, so it's possible that I was the one who began the conversation with a simple smile and a hello. He quickly took over the conversation and, uh, started sharing things with me that he really should have shared with another middle-aged man.

He talked about how he and his wife were having problems and about how his wife had begun getting certain needs fulfilled with a certain habitual sin. He expressed his disappointment in this situation and that he had told her, "Aw, baby, I can do that to you." I was a lifegroup leader at the time, so I was naively in compassionate-listening mode. Then after a while, he focused the conversation on me. He asked me if I had a boyfriend and declared, "I'll treat you real good."

I believe I was wearing a watch, noticed the time, and declared, "I need to meet Somebody back at my apartment." (Technically, I wasn't lying; I needed to have my quiet time and meet with Jesus.) I took my leave as politely as I could -- in the opposite direction. I'm not a jogger, but it's possible that I ended up jogging all the way back to my apartment. I don't think I used that method of creating extra Bible-reading time ever again.

It's OK to laugh.

A few days ago, I was driving home from work, and I started thinking about my current life season and how God can use situations to humble a person. For some reason, the thought flashed across my mind that I could have a car wreck and God could use that situation to shape my character. Then I heard God tell me something to the effect of, "I won't do you like that." Then He reminded me of the crazy-random story that I told you several paragraphs ago.

The tone in His voice was the same tone I heard in the middle-aged man's voice. Minus the perversion, minus the adultery, I think the tone and the heart were the same: a Husband who wants to take good care of His lady. Maybe a touch of disappointment, definitely a ton of love and desire: a Bridegroom who insists on taking good care of His bride.

I'm learning some pretty raw, pretty basic truths during this crazy season of my life.

I think it was several months ago, during my 10-minute iPhone quiet time, that God spoke something very simple yet extremely profound: "I want to provide for you."

His words cut through layers that had hardened through years of living in an abusive, guilt-ridden home where, as an adult, my dire financial situations were often thrown in my face. Where I was treated like a burden. Where I was shamed, lectured, and even denied eye contact.

So, I sat there during my quiet time and babbled like a toddler, "You WANT to provide for me?" I just sat there for a long time and repeated the words while the truth sank down inside and the tears streamed outside. My earthly father didn't want to provide for me, but my Heavenly Father does. And He didn't lecture me for not getting the truth right away.

Basic things like THAT. A Father wanting to take care of His child. A Husband wanting to take care of His bride. A God wanting to take care of His creation... because He didn't bring her out into the wilderness to die. He's miraculously providing for her, just like He miraculously provided manna and water for His people in the desert -- where there naturally isn't any food or water.

Today, I attended a special event at my vet's office -- the place where I obtained MeepMeep. I was able to get a little more information from the person who found her and brought her to the clinic. MeepMeep lived at an apartment complex, and she had some kittens with her, and she was used to people feeding her. (Her rescuer thought she was pregnant with more kittens when the clinic took her in, but, um... apparently she was just a little chunky. It's OK to laugh.)

What's a mystery is whether or not she actually had previous owners. Did she used to live with somebody, inside an apartment, and they just abandoned her? I've heard of people leaving their pets behind when they move -- as in, just leaving them there without a replacement caretaker -- but I can barely grasp this concept.

So, when I came home today, I had a little heart-to-heart with my MeepMeep and explained, "I won't do you like that." I hope you can hear that familiar tone in my voice.

Here's the deal. I adopted MeepMeep permanently. I chose her. I brought her in to my home, to live with me, on purpose. I want her. She's mine. I'm hers. We're stuck with each other for life -- till death or Rapture do us part.

Maybe this is one reason why God spoke to me several years ago and told me that He wanted me to choose a cat for myself. (Because Macho and Choochie were given to me.) I picked her, I don't regret picking her, and I think with each passing day I'm increasingly glad that I picked her.

And she needs me. I'm possibly the only human on earth who understands her.

Of course, it's very similar to the way that God relates to us -- or the way that He WANTS to relate to us. (Because He will never, ever force us to want Him.) He wants us to let Him adopt us, let Him take care of us, let Him keep us under the shadow of His wings, and enjoy Him forever.

"Can a woman forget her nursing child, and not have compassion on the son of her womb? Surely they may forget, yet I will not forget you." (Isaiah 49:15)

Popcorn and bronze

Last summer/fall while I was unemployed, a friend blessed me by cleaning out her pantry and giving me its contents. One of the free-food items was a container of popcorn. Since I don't have a popcorn popper, I use a saucepan and a glass lid. I pop 1/4 cup of kernels with about 1 1/2 tablespoons of oil (give or take), which yields about three servings or so. I've enjoyed this snack so much that I've been making it on a regular basis and have kept buying popcorn kernels at the grocery store. (I just add salt, no butter, and it's cheaper than microwave popcorn.)

 

Watching popcorn pop is a mesmerizing activity. The kernels sit there for a few minutes in the oil, then they start to sizzle, and then they finally begin to pop. (I've attached a short video of what this looks like.) After about a minute of popping, voilà. All that preparation and waiting for a few seconds of glory. But the kernels need to spend some time soaking in the hot oil first.

Yes, the popcorn-popping process particularly reminds me of trials.

I've noticed that many trials often begin gradually, with a doom cloud floating over your head. (However, some trials begin quite suddenly and, voilà, your life is never the same again.) Say, for example, that you know that you could lose your job. The CEO has announced that some layoffs are inevitable, the accountants are running around like chickens with their heads cut off, and morale is swirling around like a nasty cesspool. You're waiting... waiting... waiting... expectant and ready for anything, but you're not exactly sure what is going to happen or when it will happen. Then suddenly, POP! The axe has fallen, and you're jobless. There's no turning back to the way things were. Now everyone around you can see what you're made of, because what's inside you has suddenly popped on the outside for everyone to enjoy. And it's nice and salty.

That's a silly example of something serious that happens to people every day (myself included), but I still think it's a fascinating concept. Something hard gets placed in a situation where it's forced to respond, and voilà, it becomes soft enough to enjoy.

There's no shame in letting people see your heart during a trial, whether you've worked through your issues or not. 

As I've mentioned before, I've felt like God has said that my word for 2018 is "brazen." Yes, I've taken that to mean that I'm going to be more fearless and brash than I've ever been before (so I've been watching myself, and I've abstained from acting out on all sorts of outlandish thoughts that sail through my head sometimes). And yes, I've taken that to mean that I'm going to get to be strong this year (because brass, where we get the word "brazen," is a strong material). I've also obsessed a little bit about brass versus bronze (from what I understand, brass is more malleable; bronze is stronger and has more additives).

But God has shown me that it's all of the above. And He's also had to point out the sentimental obvious: What do you do when you want to remember something extremely special? You have it bronzed.

He's shown me that this year -- the year of shaping, the year of the "suddenly" -- has basically been My Life In Review. Another phrase He keeps using is My Life Before My Eyes. That latter one concerned me for a little bit. Um, Lord, am I dying? No, but wouldn't my tiny little lifespan of 80 years or so only be like a year, or a fraction of a year, on God's timeline? So, 2018 has been a strange, unique series of events that keeps reminding me of the life I've led so far.

I guess 2018 is like the Greatest Hits album of my life. So far, I've written short stories, sold items on eBay, redefined friendships, led groups of people at church events, agonized on how to pay bills, worked at a job that I no longer love, worked through some loneliness issues, burned and organized music CDs, etc.

I even became depressed for a week or two and came eerily close to suffering an emotional breakdown. The way I broke out of it was by saying out loud, "Screw it. I'm going to enjoy my life, no matter what it looks like."

"My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be perfect and complete, lacking nothing." (James 1:2-4)

Today, I watched some YouTube videos and saw people creating bronze items from scratch. It's a much longer, more dangerous-looking process than I thought it would be. A mold must be created in the shape of the item that you wish to create. This involves packing sand into the mold so that it forms around the model that you wish to copy. Then a crucible needs to heat a metal, such as copper, to 2,000 degrees Fahrenheit and melt it down. I believe several batches of copper are melted into the mixture before another metal, such as tin, is added. Then the molten metal mixture is poured into the mold. After it forms, the sand is brushed off and the new creation is polished.

The entire process has several steps that require a bit of time to complete. And the metalworker really needs to know what they're doing, or they could get hurt. During one of the videos that I was watching, a guy was creating a bronze axe and accidentally sliced his leg open during the polishing process. But he's OK, and he made a very strong piece of equipment that will probably last for years to come.

I was also fascinated at how crucibles aren't really permanent. After being heated to extremely hot temperatures and cooled, and the process is repeated many times, the crucible will wear out, maybe crack, and more than likely be replaced.

I guess maybe that's why God takes us through more than one trial during our lifetime: The vehicles God uses to shape us into the image of His Son might not be able to take all those fires. 

But we can take them. Otherwise, He wouldn't be putting us through them.

For this particular season that I'm in, I feel like God has been telling me to not rush it. During a time when I was thinking about walking away, He said, "Stay in the kitchen." In other words, it's hot during this meal preparation, but it's worth pushing through and waiting for the process to end.

So, God is having my life bronzed, like an adorable little pair of toddler shoes on a proud Papa's fireplace mantel.

He keeps showing me that this season of intense preparation -- where my heart is placed in fiery situations all over again, left to melt there for a while, and additional ingredients are added, only to await the molding and polishing process -- is the prerequisite for something very special. Something is coming, but I need to let the Master do His work. He's fashioning His little weapon for a very specific purpose, and He knows exactly what He's doing. He's a Pro.

And the waiting... waiting... waiting... POP! will all be worth it.

If Cinderella were Tirzah

Once upon a time, a young-looking maiden named Cinderella slaved on a dirty, grungy floor. Day and night she worked while her evil stepmother cracked her whip and her ugly stepsisters lazed about.

Ironically, Cinderella didn't really mind the work so much. Have you lost weight? people would ask her. Yep, she would reply, hoping they would change the subject. If you worked as hard as I do, and you only got paid peanuts, you'd probably lose weight, too, she thought. Heh, heh. I like to keep people guessing.

"Stop thinking so much!" cried her evil stepmother. She was about to crack her whip again when Meepthuselah's deep growl caused her to cautiously exit the room with her whip behind her back.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Cinderella remarked under her breath while she continued to scrub.

Meepthuselah was Cinderella's wildcat who once latched hold of the evil stepmother's foot and attempted to gut it with her long back claws. The evil stepmother had kept her distance from the animal ever since.

"Good girl," Cinderella told her pet with her singing voice.

Suddenly, Meepthuselah leapt onto Cinderella's arm and latched onto it with her fangs. Her high-pitched meep-growl reverberated through the room. Instinctively, Cinderella grabbed a nearby dustbunny and flicked it across the room. Meepthuselah unlatched from her arm and chased the dustbunny.

"Someday my prince will come?" Cinderella remarked under her breath and wondered if perhaps she were in the wrong fairy tale. She rubbed the fresh welts that her wildcat had created on her arm and pretended to not feel the pain.

Suddenly, ugly stepsister #1 sauntered over to Cinderella's scrubbing spot on the floor. "I've been told that you're doing it wrong," she declared while standing over Cinderella.

Ugly stepsister #2 kicked some dirt in Cinderella's face. "If you were doing it the right way, you would have finished already, rookie."

Cinderella stopped scrubbing and scowled at ugly stepsister #2. "Who are you calling a rookie? I've been working down here for nearly six months, and you've only been here for a few weeks. If either of you two would pull your own weight, we wouldn't have so many dustbunnies around here." She spotted one nearby and flicked it away. Meepthuselah suddenly appeared to play with it. Her very presence frightened the ugly stepsisters, who shrieked and scurried out of the room.

"Good girl," Cinderella whispered.

Later that day, at high noon, there was a knock at the door. A royal messenger sounded a trumpet and read a royal message: "Hear ye, hear ye, peasants young and old. The royal prince has decided to marry a few of you in the next few months, if the budget allows, if he hasn't mismanaged his kingdom to the ground, and if he feels like it."

"We're polygamists?" Cinderella remarked under her breath.

"The way that the prince has chosen to identify the stars in the kingdom -- the ones who work especially hard and make an especially focused effort in kissing his butt -- will be based on a shoe test," the messenger continued.

"Shoe test?" asked ugly stepsister #1. "We weren't told to study for a shoe test."

"Don't interrupt," retorted the messenger. "The prince only has one pair of glass shoes and has decided that his future wife or wives will wear it."

"Who in their right mind would wear glass shoes?" asked ugly stepsister #2. "What if they break?"

"I said don't interrupt. The prince will come by sometime this afternoon, if the budget allows, if he hasn't mismanaged his kingdom to the ground, and if he feels like it. He will administer the test at that time."

"How much time will my daughters have to study for the test?" asked the evil stepmother while clutching her whip.

The messenger sighed and shook his head. "Thank you for your time and attention to this matter." He did an about-face and marched away.

"Well, don't just stand there, servant," the evil stepmother barked at Cinderella. "Get back to work! We might be having company this afternoon!"

Instead of rolling up their sleeves to help Cinderella, the two ugly stepsisters gossiped about the messenger's proclamation.

"This story is all wrong," Cinderella muttered while she slaved away. "I don't get a fairy godmother or nothin'."

"What's that you're complaining about?!" cried her evil stepmother.

Cinderella sighed in frustration. "With all due respect, please make up your mind. Do you want me to think, or do you want me to share my thoughts out loud?"

Meepthuselah growled deeply. The evil stepmother cautiously exited the room with her whip behind her back.

That's right, hotshot, Cinderella thought while she scrubbed faster.

Later that afternoon, there was a knock at the door. The evil stepmother and ugly stepsister #2 ran to open it. The women grimaced at the sight of a strange-looking character in the doorway.

"Um, your majesty?" asked ugly stepsister #2.

The strange-looking character -- who was dressed in a monk-like robe with a hood over his head -- slowly nodded. He entered the room and asked quietly, "With whom shall I begin first?"

The evil stepmother groaned. "I wish you could begin with my elder daughter, but as usual, she's late! Please begin with my younger daughter."

Ugly stepsister #2 excitedly grabbed the glass shoes out of the prince's hands and tried them on. The shoes were only half the size of her feet, so she nearly sliced her feet on the glass.

"My apologies, m'lady," said the prince sophisticatedly while he yanked the shoes off her feet.

"Let us all keep calm and stay positive," said the evil stepmother while clutching her whip. "My elder daughter is AWOL, my younger daughter has giant feet, and so, eh, where do we stand now?"

The prince pointed a sinister finger at Cinderella. "What about her?"

"Well, she's only a temporary servant, but I suppose you are welcome to test her as well."

Cinderella pointed her callous right foot into the right shoe and slipped it inside without incident. She did the same thing with her left foot into the left shoe. "Whoa. They fit."

Ugly stepsister #2 kicked a nearby dustbunny and stormed out of the room. Visibly suppressing tears, the evil stepmother covered her face with her whip and scurried away.

"What now, studmuffin?" Cinderella asked boldly.

With a royal gallantry that made Cinderella feel as if she were about to live happily ever after, the prince slowly removed the hood from his head. But underneath the hood -- instead of a hip-looking young prince -- was a shriveled-up old man.

Cinderella groaned so loudly that she awakened Meepthuselah from her deep afternoon slumber. "Oh, you have GOT to be kidding me!"

"Don't be mad at me," said the old man. "I'm not the one who's writing this fairy tale parody."

Cinderella crossed her arms. "No, I'm not mad at you. I respect you. This is just a frustrating situation." She removed the shoes from her feet and handed them back to the old man. "I think I understand what's happening now."

The old man received the glass footwear and asked, "Eh?" with a confused gleam in his eye.

"See, up until this point in the story, everything about this messed-up fairy tale has been symbolic of the author's employment situation: the quota, the management, the uppity coworkers who are trying to kiss up so they can get hired, the peanuts -- "

"And who is she supposed to be?" asked the old man while pointing at the newly napping Meepthuselah.

"Oh, she's a fictional version of the author's real cat. Methuselah is a Bible character who lived to be 969 years old, so the author based her cat's satirical name off of that -- because she wants her cat to live forever."

"And who am I?" asked the old man with a chuckle. "A prince?"

"Yeah, you were at first, but at this point in the story you symbolize something else: The author's calling."

The old man rolled his eyes. "This author chick is mighty weird."

"She knows. See, you have the tools in your hand, and they're a perfect fit for her, but it's just not time for her to wear them yet."

"Then why am I here? And why am I so old and eccentric?"

"Because the timing is off. Also because you've been inside the author since forever."

The old man ran his wrinkled fingers through his thinning, balding hair. "So, eh, you're saying you're attracted to octogenarians?"

"Pffffft, no. But nothing personal; I've sworn off men forever. Ain't no one on this earth man enough for me." Cinderella suddenly used her magic powers to shrink the old man and his glass shoes, enclose them inside a glass jar, and set them up on a nearby shelf.

Shocked and frightened, the old man pounded on the jar and shouted, "Get me out of here, you cheeky heifer!"

Cinderella chuckled. "No, sir, you need to stay there for safe keeping. If God is going to keep me in a holding pattern for a while, I might as well have some fun with it." She added in her thoughts, Shucks, this ain't no fairy tale. This is fantasy fiction. Anything can happen.

"I heard that!" cried the evil stepmother from the next room.

Meepthuselah growled deeply.

Cinderella grabbed her scrubbing bucket, rolled up her sleeves, and squatted on the floor to resume her work. "Good girl," she told her pet with her singing voice.

Suddenly, Meepthuselah leapt onto Cinderella's arm and latched onto it with her fangs. Her high-pitched meep-growl reverberated through the room. Cinderella sighed.