Impaled

Now that I'm totally free from depression, the next major issue in my life that God and I have been working on is lust. And He's shown me that lust has had a bigger hold on me than depression did. So, if you're a regular reader of my blog, I think I should give you a heads-up that you're probably going to keep getting an earful/eyeful of my processing this particular issue. This particular post will be a bit graphic (in case you can't tell from the title). Again, thank you very much in advance for reading.

"Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I declare; before they spring forth I tell you of them." (Isaiah 42:9)

"And those who are Christ's have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires." (Galatians 5:24)

One major overcomer whose life is a good example to follow is Dennis Jernigan. In his book Giant Killers, he talks frankly about his lifelong battle with sexual issues, his epic freedom-encounter with Jesus, and his long, arduous time of walking out his healing. He says that since a person's sex drive is a creative drive, the devil's strategy was basically to destroy his creative calling (Dennis Jernigan is a worship leader and a very prolific songwriter) by attacking his sexuality. I found his observation to be very helpful (since I am a creative person myself).

But not everything can be blamed on the devil. Some of the stuff that trips me up is what the Bible calls my "flesh," which, from what I understand theologically, is my nature as a human being. Galatians 5 talks about how instead of walking in the flesh (which would mean having bouts of angry outbursts, jealousy, lust, etc.), I need to be walking in the Spirit (which would mean flowing in His love, joy, peace, patience, goodness, gentleness, faithfulness, kindness, and self-control).

So, I've declared war on my flesh. From what I understand, a huge part of this war is crucifying my flesh, like Galatians 5:24 says. So, lately, I've been fascinated with the concept of "crucifixion."

Dennis Jernigan shares some very helpful stuff about this in his book. He says that one day, he was having a conversation with Jesus, who told him, "Crucifixion is not an instant death; it can be long and excruciating. The flesh does not want to die. But once you have begun the process, it will be completed." Understanding that the crucifixion of my flesh can be a long process has been extremely helpful.

Regarding "crucifixion" in general, Wikipedia has some interesting things to say about it. I think one of the Greek words for "crucify" basically means "to impale." Way back in ancient times, they used to nail people or hang people to trees as punishment for committing a crime and as a warning to other people to not commit the same crime. There seems to be a variety of ways to crucify people. In some cultures, I think they disembowel the criminals before they crucify them. In Japan, in the 1800s, they would kill the criminal first and then crucify him. In some cultures, they still crucify people as a form of capital punishment.

But regardless of the culture, the reason, or the method, it seems that the basic concept of "crucifixion" is the same no matter how it's done. When you crucify somebody, you impale him/her as a way of saying, "Hey, you! You've been doing wrong, but now you must stop. You are going to stop right there until you die. You can squirm and wiggle all you want, but you are about to kick the bucket in a gruesome, excruciatingly terrible way, and then you're going to be ancient history."

Crucifixion won't always kill a person. There is at least one ancient account of a criminal who was crucified, and then I guess pardoned while he was hanging on the cross, removed from the cross, nursed back to health, and then survived.

According to Wikipedia, some people still literally crucify themselves today, I guess as a sort of penitent religious ritual. But it isn't a ritual that will kill them. What they will do is have themselves nailed to a cross I think for a couple of hours with their legs supported, and then they'll get removed from the cross and walk away alive. While this seems like a very passionate, expressive, extreme thing to do, I kinda think maybe these literal crucifiers kinda missed the whole point of Jesus dying (and resurrecting) in the first place: He was crucified so that they wouldn't have to be.

So, the fact that Jesus willingly died in my place via crucifixion -- which is quite possibly the worst, most shameful form of capital punishment in human history -- even though He didn't ever do anything wrong, means that He loves me, to say the least. He wants me so much that He allowed Himself to be sacrificed for me.

Of course, Jesus is the ultimate Overcomer whose life is the best one to follow. Jesus fascinates me. Matthew 26 says that the religious leaders who plotted to kill Him initially planned to do so by trickery. What? You can't trick Jesus. He already knows everything. So, they ended up arresting Him not because of any crime that He committed but because He was betrayed by a friend. Judas Iscariot was a greedy [bleep]hole. Or, as Jesus put it in Matthew 26:24, it would have been better if Judas had never been born. (Hmm. I wonder if "Bohemian Rhapsody" is actually Judas Iscariot's theme song. Mama, just killed a Man...)

Speaking of [bleep]holes, I heard/read somewhere that people who have religious spirits often also deal quite heavily with lust. Many of them will be prudes in public but perverts in private. (I repeat: You can't trick Jesus. He already knows everything.) Hi, my name is Tirzah, and I'm an ex-Pharisee who is in the excruciatingly painful process of impaling her lustful nature and waiting for it to die forever. (Hi, Tirzah.)

While I've been processing my issues, my life, and my past, I sometimes think about a guy who used to play the piano at a church that my birth father pastored. For some reason, this guy had a hard time finding a place to live and a car to drive. So, my dad would pick him up at his apartment where he was living with a girl and drive him to church. This guy was a very good, very experienced pianist, but he would sometimes show up late on Sunday mornings. One time, he was playing the piano while chewing gum during the service.

Are you seeing some red flags? Good.

Eventually, since the piano guy was basically homeless, we allowed him to live in the church building for a while. This worked out fine until somebody was cleaning or working one day in the church building and found naked-man porn in the church bathroom. So, we asked the piano guy to move out of the church building. Years later, I read about him in the archives of the local newspaper. He was still homeless.

Red flags still waving? Yep.

So, a gay musician sins inside a church building and gets a slap on the wrist. I get baptized in the Holy Spirit and get sentenced to major deprogramming. It's official: I was raised by [bleep]holes.

BAH!!!

OK. Glad I got that out.

Anyway, years later, I still find myself appalled by the church piano-guy situation. Maybe I was traumatized about how that guy behaved badly while he was in a position of leadership. There's no telling how many bad spiritual "doors" he opened up inside that church building for all of us to have to deal with later.

I understand now how frickin' easy it was for him to have gotten tripped up by those issues. Lust is something that flourishes and grows like summer-drought wildfire when you're lonely and isolated. BELIEVE ME, I KNOW. So, maybe I've felt a bit traumatized by the whole thing, even years later, simply because I think about the church piano-guy and realize something rather huge: I don't want to become like him. I don't want to be the lone rangerette who gets entrusted with so much important stuff and then just poops on it all when she thinks nobody is watching.

I think in a way, that's kinda what Judas Iscariot did. From what I understand in scripture, Judas Iscariot -- of all people -- was the one who kept the disciples' money. From what I understand, Jesus trusted him with His treasure. Jesus was the only Person in human history who never sinned, never lied, never stole, never betrayed anyone, never did anything wrong, and Judas paid Him back by turning Him in to the religious leaders for 30 lousy pieces of silver. Esau was Isaac's firstborn son, and he willingly gave up his birthright for one lousy bowl of lentil soup. Oh, yeah. I come from a long line of [bleep]holes. I'm no better than they are.

But God, in His mercy and grace, makes all things new.

Isaiah 42:9 is often quoted out of context, which is unfortunate, because it's a fascinating context. The entire chapter is rich with paradox. The beginning of it talks about Jesus and His meekness. Verse 2 says that He won't cry out. Then verse 13 says that He will cry out. In fact, He does beginning in verse 14: "I have held My peace a long time, I have been still and restrained Myself. Now I will cry like a woman in labor, I will pant and gasp at once." All throughout the chapter, this meek God, this shouting God, this gentle God, this passionate God, is all about justice. (I don't think a God of justice would ever be cool with, say, a worship leader sinning in a church building.)

So, these sexual sins that tend to trip up (especially) us musical-creative people... well, they're just a perversion of the natural, physical-creative process that God created. Sure, sometimes while we're sinning, He quietly waits for us to repent (I honestly still don't really understand why He waits, but I think that's just the way He is). Then in due time, He explodes like a full-term pregnant woman and passionately creates something brand-new.

I'm looking forward to my brand-new thing. Metaphorically speaking, I hope it has shiny brown eyes, a kind smile, and looks just like Jesus.

But in the meantime, my flesh has been crucified. I am in the process of waiting for it to die. In a nutshell, I've communicated with it, "Hey, you! You've been doing wrong, but now you must stop. You are going to stop right there until you die. You can squirm and wiggle all you want, but you are about to kick the bucket in a gruesome, excruciatingly terrible way, and then you're going to be ancient history."

Perhaps one reason why I've struggled with lust for so long is because after crucifying my flesh, I've kept taking it down off its cross. I haven't let it fully die. Perhaps not realizing what I was doing, or perhaps deceived, or perhaps in full-blown rebellion, or for whatever reason, I've nursed my flesh back to health, and then it survived, and then it came back stronger than ever before.

I don't want to do that anymore. I want to crucify, impale, kill my "flesh" for good, once and for all, even if it means waiting for several decades for it to die completely.

And while I'm waiting, I might just write a song or two. (Goodbye, everybody. I've got to go. Gotta leave you all behind and face the truth...) 

Floored by a Favoring Non-Thief

I think I need a couple of disclaimers for this post. Firstly, I am writing this in response to the church service that I attended this evening; so if you won't attend my church until tomorrow morning/afternoon, I apologize in advance for any spoilers. Secondly, this will be one of my emo therapy posts; if I feel like cussing, I will censor myself. This blog has become like my journal, so I share some very personal things here, but you are welcome to read them. Thank you in advance for reading, and thank you always for your kindness.

"Your mercy, O Lord, is in the heavens; Your faithfulness reaches to the clouds. Your righteousness is like the great mountains; Your judgments are a great deep; O Lord, You preserve man and beast. How precious is Your lovingkindness, O God! Therefore the children of men put their trust under the shadow of Your wings. They are abundantly satisfied with the fullness of Your house, and You give them drink from the river of Your pleasures. For with You is the fountain of life; in Your light we see light." (Psalm 36:5-9)

Tonight at church, a worship pastor shared part of Psalm 36 with us (I think these were the verses, in a different version). That part about being under the shadow of God's wings particularly stuck out at me today.

Actually, all of Psalm 36 holds a special place in my heart. Speaking of being under somebody's wing, several years ago, for a very brief period of time, I was being mentored by a lady while I was beginning my crazy-explosive, extensive season of healing. One thing she instructed me to do was to meditate on scripture. The truth of the scripture is supposed to replace whatever lie you've been believing. So, for some reason, I decided to "meditate" on Psalm 36 while I was driving my car on a holiday road trip. I had one of those little Gideon New Testaments/Psalms/Proverbs with me, and I held it open on my steering wheel while I was reading and highway-driving simultaneously.

That was a very unwise thing to do. Yes, I was safe, and yes, I was very happy, and yes, I was having a great time, but anytime I read anything, I need to do so while I'm NOT driving, ya know? But that was a special road trip for me nevertheless.

Unfortunately, I found out later that the lady who was mentoring me was a first-class [bleep]. She ended our mentor relationship quite abruptly, and she rejected me quite overtly and quite mean-spiritedly, even though I couldn't see at the time that she was treating me badly.

Now I understand why. But at the time, she was basically puking junk into my soul, and God had to spend some time scraping it out later.

Please pardon my graphicness, but I'm not sure how else to explain this. Also several years ago, I had what seemed to be a really crazy-long episode of vertigo. (Yes, of course I blogged about it.) When that dizzy spell hit, I was at work, so I had to leave early that day because I was suddenly incapacitated. Miraculously (and with a ton of emergency prayer), I drove myself home. I was about to turn into the parking lot of my apartment complex when I puked all over myself. Also miraculously, I cleaned up after myself -- my clothes and my car. Sometime after that incident, I was still cleaning bits of dried-up puke out of my car (in the steering wheel, etc.). Honestly, I can still see a tiny flick of dried-up puke in my car today, but it's waaaaay up the dashboard on the windshield near the wiper blades, and I'm short, and I keep procrastinating cleaning it up. Or maybe I've just left it there for really weird sentimental reasons. Hmm. I might have to think about that for a while...

Yes, I actually might have to think about whether or not I want to clean a tiny little piece of dried-up puke out of my car. That's just the way I am. I mull over things in my mind quite repeatedly and quite constantly. I'm always thinking about something. That's how I thrive. I'm a meditator. God made me that way. I have to be careful about what I focus on, because I could truly damage myself if I meditate on the wrong thing. He wants me to meditate on Him and His truth. When I do that, it changes my life.

When people puke junk into my soul, sometimes God takes a while to scrape it all out.

I'm a deep person. (The more God heals me up, the deeper I become.) Sometimes when I get hit with major revelations, they have to permeate through multiple layers inside me; they have to soak through multiple layers; they have to echo through multiple inner caverns; they have to brand themselves in multiple places; are you getting the idea? Well, I had one such revelation tonight.

The sermon tonight was about giving -- money, yes, but also about being generous with your time, etc. My pastor talked about God changing our hearts regarding money and regarding generosity, and I had heard that sermon several years before. This year, he said that we would be starting a churchwide giving initiative, and they had printed out ideas -- on fliers that we could pick up after the sermon -- about how to give to your community. So, I thought about my bank account, and I braced myself for God to tell me to give away a whole lot of my money. Instead, God gently reminded me, "I don't want to rob you."

I walked out of the sanctuary and picked up a flier, and I expected it to have a whole lot of money-giving ideas like give $20 to your neighbor just for the heck of it, give $100 to your coworker or something like that. I glanced over the flier, and I was floored. What? No money-giving ideas? Just simple ideas like volunteering at church? I already do that. While I walked to my car, I thought about how humongously gracious God really is compared to what I had thought He was like for many years.

So, I got inside my car -- the one that still has that tiny flick of dried-up puke waaaaay up the dashboard -- and I closed the door and asked God, "You're not a thief?" And I just sat there for several minutes and repeated the question. "You're not a thief?" I think I had believed for many years that He was a thief. The truth, of course, is that He isn't. But I still sat there, in shock, asking, "You're not a thief?"

I drove out of the parking lot, and I played Queen, and I happened to play my favorite Queen song to sing to God during a quiet time, the one that goes, "My money / That's all You want to talk about," and I began to cry. And I was still blubbering, "You're not a thief?"

I think it was a good thing I was alone during this meditative layer-permeating truth episode, because being around other people while this type of thing is happening isn't conducive to a normal conversation. I sound like a 2-year-old during these episodes. But God -- being the Perfect Father that He is -- listened to my obsessive, tear-filled 2-year-old chanting while the truth soaked down into all the layers that it needed to soak into.

Heck, it's still soaking. God is not a thief? Wow.

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

Of course, the thief/killer/destroyer that scripture refers to is the devil. God is not only the complete opposite of the devil. God is also a neverending Source of truth, grace, and love that I won't be able to duplicate anywhere else. And He's my Friend. And He's my Helper. And He's my Father.

Tonight, I was thinking about how abusers are basically thieves. An abuser will steal something -- like dignity, innocence, or peace -- that he or she doesn't have any right to take from you.

One way that my birth father abused me was spiritually. He would corner me and puke all kinds of junk into my soul for very extended amounts of time. Of course, God has spent a very extended amount of time scraping it out. Or maybe He's just been healing me by flooring me and pouring His truth into my soul for very extended amounts of time.

Seriously, God is not a thief? Wow.

Another way that my birth father abused me was emotionally. He overtly favored my younger sister instead of me. What really messed me up was when I tried to tell my parents (technically, my birth mother) that they loved her more than they loved me, but this claim was denied. What happens when you see something happening right in front of your eyes, but somebody denies that it's actually happening, even though you actually saw it happen? You wonder if something is wrong with you, and then you go crazy.

Perhaps I was too young to remember this, but I was told that when my younger sister was a baby, my birth father's schedule was so busy that as soon as he would come home from work, my birth mother would put the baby in his arms so that he could bond with her. (Um, hello, what about me?)

Well, he bonded with her, all right. What I do remember, a few years after that, was him tucking her into bed at night on a regular basis. I think he would read the Bible and pray with her. But I don't remember him doing that with me. My birth mother would tell me that these nightly scenes were wrong, but I don't remember my birth father doing anything to make them right. I don't blame my younger sister. She wasn't doing anything wrong. My birth father was just a major [bleep]hole.

Something bad clicked inside me during those nights when my father would spend sweet intimate time with my sister instead of me. He was enjoying time with her in her room, but I was in my room in the dark by myself. This was around the time when I was hitting puberty. I think my soul got the message that if I want deep intimacy with a man, I'm going to have to generate it myself. I believe this was when a certain sin first began to trip me up. (Yes, of course I've blogged about it since then.) Still keeping it vague on purpose, I will say that I'm still fighting it.

Today at church, I was thinking that maybe one way I could fight this sin would be to simply run to my Father, Psalm 36:7-style, and let Him hold me until the temptation goes away. That sounds like such a simple solution. Why hadn't I thought of that before?

Perhaps because I thought God was a [bleep]hole thief who loved on His other children in the other room while I was left alone to deal with life my own way, in the dark.

Seriously, He's not a thief? Wow.

When I think about all that time I spent with all those [bleep]hole people, I feel robbed. There was no reason for me to stick around those first-class jerks. Now I know that I can hang around people who actually love me instead. The One who loves me more than anyone, of course, is God.

I think one reason why He actually allowed me to sin in the first place was so that I could see what He was really like. He's never cornered me to lecture me, and He's never pushed me away. He is not a thief. He is not an abuser. He is not a tyrant.

He is firm, yes. He disciplines, yes. He has extremely high standards, yes. But He is so full of grace that I possibly may never comprehend all of it. Even in our sin, He loves us, He wants us, and He favors us. The Bible says that even while we were still sinners, Christ died for us (Romans 5:8). If anyone has the right to overtly, mean-spiritedly reject us, it's God. But when He adopts us as His children, He's stuck with us for life, and we're stuck with Him for life, and He's our Source of life. He's been showing me that the sins that trip me up are really just symptoms of the wounds that He's in the process of healing anyway. When I sin, yes, I hurt God. But when I repent, we can work on fixing me together. It amazes me how He still wants relationship with me even after I sin. He doesn't want to punish me for falling short. He wants to help me. He just wants me.

Well, He can have me. For life.

Seriously, He's not a thief.

Idle vs. Park

I snapped this photo at my parking lot almost a couple of years ago. Heh, heh, heh. Yeah, I know. My neighbors have a sense of humor.

Last weekend at church, the sermon was about Sabbath and resting. So, I thought I would share my two cents on the subject here. As was observed during the sermon, celebrating the new year tends to be a time when people naturally analyze how they spend their time. Perhaps this post could also be titled "Confessions of a Former Workaholic."

"Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor and do all your work, but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord your God. In it you shall do no work: you, nor your son, nor your daughter, nor your male servant, nor your female servant, nor your cattle, nor your stranger who is within your gates. For in six days the Lord made the heavens and the earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the Lord blessed the Sabbath day and hallowed it." (Exodus 20:8-11)

"At that time Jesus went through the grainfields on the Sabbath. And His disciples were hungry, and began to pluck heads of grain and to eat. And when the Pharisees saw it, they said to Him, 'Look, Your disciples are doing what is not lawful to do on the Sabbath!' ... 'But if you had known what this means, "I desire mercy and not sacrifice," you would not have condemned the guiltless. For the Son of Man is Lord even of the Sabbath.' " (Matthew 12:1-2, 7-8)

"Now it happened, as He went into the house of one of the rulers of the Pharisees to eat bread on the Sabbath, that they watched Him closely. And behold, there was a certain man before Him who had dropsy. And Jesus, answering, spoke to the lawyers and Pharisees, saying, 'Is it lawful to heal on the Sabbath?' But they kept silent. And He took him and healed him, and let him go. Then He answered them, saying, 'Which of you, having a donkey or an ox that has fallen into a pit, will not immediately pull him out on the Sabbath day?' And they could not answer Him regarding these things." (Luke 14:1-6)

My birth mother was a slothful, lazy woman, and my birth father was a mega workaholic supreme. So, I basically grew up with two examples of how NOT to work and rest. When I would get sick as a child (which was often), my mother would usually keep me home from school an extra day so that I could "rest," even though I was well enough to return to school, and even though I had already done nothing but rest for a couple of days. After I moved back home as an adult, my father was involved in projects that would occupy his time pretty much 24/7, even on Sundays after he would return home from church. On one such Sunday, while I was taking a shower, he yelled at me through the bathroom door to ask me how much it would cost to mail something to a customer via FedEx. I wish I could tell you that I was gracious to him when I turned off the shower and yelled back a reply, but I was not.

When I finally ventured out on my own permanently as an adult, I identified more with the workaholic side of my gene pool than with the slothful side. I feel very alive when I have something to do. Even if I'm fighting an illness, I get a real rush from getting ready for the day, walking out the door, and driving to work. It's exhilarating. It makes me feel human. Honestly, I think all human beings should feel healthy just from getting out of bed and being human.

But I noticed the unhealthy aspect of my workaholic tendencies a few years ago. I was working at a job that did not pay much at all, but it offered many opportunities for overtime. I had just bought a new car, and I needed to work overtime to make the payments. I would show up for work on Saturday mornings with nobody else around, and I remember thinking that since I didn't have people to spend time with over the weekends, I might as well just go to work. I was covering up my aching loneliness with work.

After a while, an opportunity for freelance writing came along, and I took it. For six months, in addition to working overtime at work whenever it was offered, I was also working a freelance writing job at home until very late at night. I believe I pulled an all-nighter on a couple of occasions. During those six months, I would often work seven days a week straight. I would go to church, but I wouldn't take a Sabbath. That was a mistake. At the end of those six months, I was completely exhausted, and I even blogged here about my exhaustion that New Year's Eve.

When I finally started observing a Sabbath intentionally, God took me through a period where He was training me to rest. Apparently, I didn't know how. I remember on Sunday afternoons, He would instruct me to do nothing for two hours. That was hard for me. It was hard for me to recline on my couch, turn on some reruns of I Love Lucy, and enjoy them for two straight hours. I guess I was feeling guilty about not doing anything. That was pretty extreme.

But sometimes God has to be extreme when He squeezes stuff out of you.

"We hear that some among you are idle and disruptive. They are not busy; they are busybodies. Such people we command and urge in the Lord Jesus Christ to settle down and earn the food they eat." (2 Thessalonians 3:11-12)

I used to have a friend who would call me once or twice a week and talk for at least 45 minutes at a time. She was definitely an idle gossip. By that, I mean that she would talk incessantly about everybody, and she would download every frickin' detail of her life to me over the phone. She would give me way too much information. And I participated in this by listening to it all. But by the time I realized that her behavior was unhealthy, it was too late. The only way to stop her from calling me was to end the friendship.

I was lonely and naïve, so I allowed her to leech off me (and eat up all my time) this way. She was being treated for multiple types of mental illness, so she probably didn't realize how unacceptable her behavior was. She was also very intelligent, but she was on disability because she supposedly couldn't focus on a work task long enough to hold down a job... and yet, she didn't have a problem focusing on 90-minute phone monologues with me.

Going back to the subject of rest, God told me awhile back something that helped me a lot. He said that there is a difference between "idle" and "park." If my car is "idle," it's running, and it's supposed to be taking me somewhere, but it isn't. It's just sitting there running, and it's using up the battery, it's using up my gas, and it's emitting pollutants into the atmosphere. "Idle" is unhealthy. My 90-minute-phone-calling former friend was idle.

On the other hand, "park" is healthy. My car was specifically built with a capability to "park." If my car is parked, that means the engine is off, the battery is resting, my gas is being saved up for the next time I need to use it, and I can take a deep breath and enjoy sitting quietly in my car before I leave it, lock it, and go to work. People have built acres of lots specifically for the purpose of me "park"ing my car in them. Some people even profit from parking lots. Parking your car when you're not using it is very important. If you don't park your car properly, you could endanger yourself and other people. Anytime I observe the Sabbath, I put myself in "park."

So, recovering from being a workaholic has involved me wrestling through the concepts of work and resting. Now I guard my Sabbaths, holidays, and rest time very fiercely.

For example, this past New Year's Eve, my boss planned to close the office at 3:00 p.m. for the holiday. That also happened to be a deadline for us to finish a certain task at work. (I've noticed that we're very laidback about meeting deadlines, which isn't a problem at all because of the nature of our business.) On New Year's Eve at 2:30, one of my supervisors came into my office and announced that her boss had found more deadline-sensitive work that needed to be done. I replied matter-of-factly, "As long as everyone understands that I'm leaving at THREE, I'm OK with that." She laughed and said that the work could wait until Monday.

God has been pretty fierce about guarding my rest time, too, and He's helped me set some major boundaries to separate my rest time from my work time. For instance, my previous job offered one work-from-home day per week (and usually frowned upon you NOT taking it). Working from home chafed my soul like crazy. (I mean, when you're at work, you're supposed to work. When you're at home, you're supposed to rest. Right?) So, after I lost that job and prayed about finding a new one, God very clearly said, "No more of this work-from-home nonsense."

Regarding the Sabbath, I think the Bible is pretty clear that as long as you set aside one day a week for the specific purpose of resting, the way you do so is between you and God.

For me, in this season of my life, it's most natural to observe my Sabbath on Saturday, when I'm exhausted from the work week and don't really feel like doing anything, anyway. What rejuvenates me the most on the Sabbath is getting to spend time with people who I'm close to, but if they're unavailable, I've found other ways to entertain myself. I play my piano keyboard, or I watch opera videos on YouTube, or I watch a music DVD, or I read a Charles Dickens book to myself out loud, and I definitely feed my babies some catnip, and I most definitely go to church. For me personally, the goal during the Sabbath is to do absolutely nothing, and the fact that this goal will be met in a different way every week is very thrilling.

I also still wrestle with being legalistic when observing my Sabbath (because I used to be a fun-killing Pharisee), so I talk to God a lot about what counts as "work" for me to avoid during my Sabbaths. Again, each Sabbath looks a little bit differently to me, but in general, I don't do housework unless it's absolutely necessary. (I save that for Sunday.) And sometimes, depending on what's going on, I'll take my Sabbath on a Sunday instead.

One thing that God instructed me to do on weekends when I'm singing in the choir at church is to take a "double Sabbath." In other words, I guess you could consider practicing music, rehearsing with the choir, and standing for hours on the church platform to be "work," but as soon as I get home, my goal is to do absolutely nothing. That happens two days in a row. And my feet are happy to oblige.

And as I end this particular post, my large cat is idly parked on my arm while I am typing. Heh, heh, heh.

Tight

Perhaps this post could also be titled "A year in review."

"I will extol You, O Lord, for You have lifted me up, and have not let my foes rejoice over me. O Lord my God, I cried out to You, and You healed me. O Lord, You brought my soul up from the grave; you have kept me alive, that I should not go down to the pit." (Psalm 30:1-3)

I snapped this photo about a month or so ago, after I got a nice paycheck and restocked my pantry. Heck yes, I celebrate the contents of my pantry. I think it's nice to be able to afford to eat something besides peanut butter.

I think I've blogged about this before, but around the beginning of this year, I felt like God said 2014 was going to be "a tight year," at least for me. When He said that, I was like, "Oh, I'm going to get fired." And I did.

This was definitely a tight year financially. It was interesting getting to practice what I preach about tithing. ("So, the One who has the power to send people to hell gets paid first. Everyone else, too bad, so sad, you're gonna have to wait 'til next month to get paid.") I hadn't been in this tight of a financial situation in a long time, and it was awesome getting to see God take good care of me. Yes, at one point, I was living on peanut butter and raisin bran, I lost weight involuntarily, and on a couple of occasions I felt myself get a little lightheaded. But I'm still alive. God definitely made sure of that. (And I rediscovered the versatile, wonderful world of toast. Need breakfast? Soup crackers? Dessert? A new cat toy? No problem! It's toast to the rescue! Cheesy theme music playing.)

This was also a tight year emotionally. I had no idea that I would need to get into psychotherapy again, but I'm glad I did. (And I'm glad I blogged about it.) It was good to have professional validation that I'm not crazy. (Even though I did just write a public service message for toast. Cheesy theme music continues.) I had no idea that I would need to work through some depression issues and suicidal thoughts YET again, but I sure am glad I did. Hey, when you gotta poop, you gotta poop.

I discovered a huge wad of bitterness inside me that God had to uproot. I asked Him to suck out all the poison, just as if it were a venomous snakebite (which, metaphorically speaking, it probably was, multiple times). He encouraged me to just let Him draw it out. In the process (which I still need to participate in), I noticed that I had been using a forgiveness prayer (that one of my church's classes taught us to pray) like a formula. That formula wasn't working for me anymore. So, I just started kinda puking out forgiveness prayers however naturally they felt to me -- whatever seemed necessary to unclog the junk that was hurting me inside my heart. That seemed to work a lot better.

I guess you could say that waves of issues started charging toward me like a tsunami, and I just kinda surfed through them as best I could. God did say that I would find freedom by riding the waves that would come, and He was right.

And, of course, I'm still learning how to surf my way through life (because there are SO many things that just won't work with a formula), and there's still more work to do. And I'm very OK with that.

Speaking of work, hopefully without giving away too much information, I found a job nearly three months ago at a magazine that serves the metalworking industry. I've never worked in a machine shop, so I have to do quite a bit of research to edit and write materials at my job. In the process, I've learned a lot.

I didn't realize how huge the metalworking industry was all over the world. And I've learned that there is a huge variety of ways that you can cut metal. But the idea of it is pretty basic: All you need is a tool that's strong enough to cut through a hard hunk of metal, something to hold it down with, and a reliable computer-controlled machine to do it with. These machines can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, and they can use very sophisticated technology, but when you think about how many metallic parts a machine shop needs to produce in a given day, the cost is understandable... especially considering that all of the metallic parts usually need to look exactly like one another. And the unending quest for efficiency and productivity is also understandable.

An interesting thing happens when you cut a hard hunk of metal with a hard metallic tool: Your tools can break, if you're not careful, because of all the friction. It can get dangerous if you don't know what you're doing. So, these machines are equipped with specialized liquid that cools the hard hunk of metal while it's being cut.

The process is so automated that you don't always need a human being to do the job. Sometimes, you can just program a robot to do your metalwork for you, perhaps over the weekend or after you've gone home for the day (which I learned is called "lights-out manufacturing," a process that is often used in the automotive industry).

So, modern-day metalworking is pretty much everywhere, and it's a pretty big deal. And I'm really glad the technology wasn't around during biblical times.

"But now, O Lord, You are our Father; we are the clay, and You our potter; and all we are the work of Your hand." (Isaiah 64:8)

For me, in addition to having a "tight" year, I felt like God told me that themes in 2014 would be "fun" and "flexible." I did have fun this year. I relearned how to have fun this year. And I had to constantly be flexible for all the changes that would occur. I mean, it's hard to ride waves if you're not flexible.

I think the concepts of "tight" and "flexible" seem contradictory, but God recently showed me how both concepts are at work at a potter's wheel. The clay needs to be flexible, and it also needs to be ready for the potter to squeeze it tightly in His hands so that He can shape it into whatever He wants. (At least, I'm assuming that there is "tight"ness involved while working at a potter's wheel. Hmm. Maybe I need to do some more research. Or I could make some toast! Cheesy theme music resumes.)

But one thing is for sure. God is a potter. He isn't a manufacturer who entrusts lights-out, hands-off creation to a heartless robot. If I want Him to reshape me into something new, I need to be soft like clay. I can't be hard and cold like a hunk of metal. I'm not really talking about that iron-sharpens-iron concept that Proverbs 27:17 talks about. I'm talking about presenting myself to the Potter who insists on taking His time to restore me, reshape me, and re-create me into something original -- not manufactured, not copied, not mass-reproduced at a factory. God is a Potter. He isn't a factory owner.

I really think this is a huge misconception that Pharisees have. I know because I used to be one.

" 'How is it you do not understand that I did not speak to you concerning bread?--but to beware of the leaven of the Pharisees and Sadducees.' Then they understood that He did not tell them to beware of the leaven of bread, but of the doctrine of the Pharisees and Sadducees." (Matthew 16:11-12)

Leaven is dangerous. It makes bread rise. It makes things puffy. What if you were making bread, you mixed leaven into the dough, and then you suddenly realized that you were supposed to be making unleavened bread (i.e., tortillas or crackers (NOT toast)) instead? That would be tragic. You couldn't just identify a section of your dough and say, "OK, here's where all the leaven is. If I can just chop it off, I can still make my unleavened bread, no problem." Nope. That leaven is ALL mixed throughout the entirety of the dough. There's no way to get it out.

Unless, of course, you resort to drastic measures. Just using my imagination, perhaps you could hire a wizard to cast the leaven out of your dough. Or perhaps you could go redneck on your dough and hire a demolition crew to blow it up for you. Or maybe you could just pretend that your dough is OK and just invent a new kind of waffle. (Puffy competition for IHOP? Minus the toast.)

I think maybe God uses very drastic measures to miraculously squeeze the leaven out of us ex-Pharisees. I think this happened in the Bible, too. In John 3, a Pharisee named Nicodemus was serious about following Jesus, so when he asked Him how to do it, Jesus replied with the famous "You have to be born again" explanation. Of course, Nicodemus was flabbergasted. "Um, I'm a grown man. You're saying that I have to crawl back inside my mother's womb and do the whole birth thing all over again??" In a metaphorical way, yes. And it ain't easy.

I think perhaps the most drastic example of transforming a Pharisee in the Bible happened with Paul (the Pharisee previously known as Saul). After dedicating his life to killing Christians, Paul's life came to a screeching halt when Jesus showed up one day and asked him why he was persecuting Him. The incident blinded Paul for three days before he ended up dedicating his life to converting people to Christianity.

As an ex-Pharisee, I can say that self-righteous, hyper-religious people have some severely wrong, terribly skewed, tragically inaccurate ways of seeing God and His Kingdom. Sometimes Pharisees need Jesus to show up in a blinding way and be like, "Um, you need to stop what you're doing before you kill anybody else. It's time to stop spreading your death-filled life around. Enough is enough. I'm about to go redneck on you and blow up your leaven-poisoned dough."

One major mistake that Pharisees make (and I used to do it a lot) is teaching, in a nutshell, that God is a manufacturer who treats His children like just another hunk of metal that needs to be machined... and that advancing in His Kingdom is like becoming a lights-out, hands-off, heartless robot that's supposed to machine a certain quota of metallic hunks, or else.

That's one major way that I was hurt at a spiritually abusive church where I was deeply involved many years ago. We were all basically taught, in a nutshell, that God wanted to put us on an assembly line. Get saved --> learn about the Father-heart of God --> get some inner healing --> become a lifegroup leader --> go on a short-term mission trip --> get "called" to a foreign country --> go to missionary school --> become a long-term missionary for at least 2 years. That was life. Everybody had to do it, or they were considered to be spiritually inferior.

My gosh. I understand now that that is totally NOT how God's Kingdom operates at all. I think it's more like the following. Get born --> get born again --> find out why you were born --> cling to the One who made you get born in the first place --> learn to like Him, because He doesn't ever, ever, ever want to leave you, and the more you get to know Him, the more you realize how you deserve to not be born at all, and the more thankful you are that you were born in the first place. Or something like that.

"I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will guide you with My eye. Do not be like the horse or like the mule, which have no understanding, which must be harnessed with bit and bridle, else they will not come near you." (Psalm 32:8-9)

God's Kingdom isn't a machine shop. It's a potter's wheel. Freedom isn't a formula. It's a Person.

For me, lately it's been Him telling me to not rush my freedom and to let it happen very gradually. It's been me learning how to be flexible and to be ready for the tightness to squeeze in around me. It's me having fun with the most wonderful Friend, the most faithful Father, the most powerful God in the universe. It's me not really caring about all the things that I used to care about.

I really just want relationship. And I have it with Him.

Happy new year!

Food, family, and fellowship

I should warn you that this post is long and rambling. (In fact, it's probably my longest blog post ever.) Warn you about it, yes. Apologize for it, no. If I don't tell my story, who will?

To be perfectly honest, in this season of my life, it is easy to tell who is close to me and who isn't -- or at least who takes the time to read my internet posts. The ones who don't, and the ones who still keep me at a safe distance, will ask me this question: "Are you going to spend time with your family during the holidays?"

Nervous chuckle. Um, well, it's an innocent, legitimate question. But the short answer is no.

The long answer is once upon a time, there lived a little girl named Tirzah who grew up with what her therapist would call a disorganized attachment style (please check out this previous post if you would like more information on that). The little girl grew up to become a woman who desperately needed some major inner healing which, unfortunately, involved permanently disowning herself from and cutting herself off from her immediate family. To process this event and its multitude of consequences, repercussions, and effects -- and also because people who have disorganized attachment styles need to spend time reflecting on their lives in order to properly heal -- I am going to blog about it here yet again. My intention in doing so isn't to be like, "Oh, look at me and how über-wonderful I am!" Rather, it's to be like, "This is my blog, and I need to unravel some stuff out of my brain. Thank you for reading, and please feel free to relate to any of it if you need to... although I honestly hope you won't ever need to."

The way I see it, Christmas is a holiday that you're supposed to spend with family. You buy or make them presents, you observe traditions, and you enjoy the day as cozily as you can while trying to not stuff yourself with too much food.

So, since Christmas ought to be spent with the family that's closest to you, that's exactly what I decided to do this year. I don't have an immediate human family anymore, but my immediate family is God and my cats. So, after praying about it, I gladly spent Christmas with Him and them. In this post, I have shared a picture of the food spread that I enjoyed yesterday. Since my cats have their own food to eat, and since God never gets hungry, I was the only one who ate my Christmas lunch. (I ate at 10:56 a.m., so I guess technically it was a Christmas brunch.) Forget turkey, ham, or steak. Give me some chips, dips, and sandwiches, and I will be in holiday-food heaven. Seriously. When I had an immediate family, my favorite holiday meal was a picnic-style deli spread that mom would make (usually around New Year's). So, my extremely simple palate and I went to town yesterday.

And I totally disrupted my babies' nap schedules with my classic rock DVDs. I know it wasn't your typical traditional way to spend Christmas, but so what? I enjoyed myself. Merry Christmas to me!

"Do not think that I came to bring peace on earth. I did not come to bring peace but a sword. For I have come to 'set a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, and a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law'; and 'a man's enemies will be those of his own household.' " (Jesus talking in Matthew 10:34-36)

"And everyone who has left houses or brothers or sisters or father or mother or wife or children or lands, for My name's sake, shall receive a hundredfold, and inherit eternal life." (Jesus talking in Matthew 19:29)

"Then a certain scribe came and said to Him, 'Teacher, I will follow You wherever You go.' And Jesus said to him, 'Foxes have holes and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.' " (Matthew 8:19-20)

Last weekend at church, while I was singing in the choir during one of the services, Jesus and I were having a conversation (which caused me to miss at least one of my entrances, but I don't think He minded). He caught my attention by randomly telling me, "I don't have a place to lay My head, either."

After I wrapped up that afternoon at church and was walking to my car, I thought about how awkward it must have been for Jesus to have grown up with Mary being His mother, God being His Father, and Joseph not really being His father. ("Hey, Jesus, how come You don't look anything like Your dad?" "If I were to tell you, you wouldn't believe Me.") When I arrived at my car, Jesus asked me, "Now do you get it?"

"If anyone comes to Me and does not hate his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, yes, and his own life also, he cannot be My disciple. And whoever does not bear his cross and come after Me cannot be My disciple. For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not sit down first and count the cost, whether he has enough to finish it -- lest, after he has laid the foundation, and is not able to finish, all who see it begin to mock him, saying, 'This man began to build and was not able to finish'?" (Jesus talking in Luke 14:26-30)

"But what things were gain to me, these I have counted loss for Christ. Yet indeed I also count all things loss for the excellence of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord, for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and count them as rubbish, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having my own righteousness, which is from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ, the righteousness which is from God by faith; that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being conformed to His death, if, by any means, I may attain to the resurrection from the dead." (Philippians 3:7-11)

A few years ago, I was walking through some heavy situations with some leaders at church. After they prayed for me about something, they said that they felt like God was saying that He was giving me a gift: I was feeling His pain. At the time, I thought that meant for that particular situation. Now I think I understand that God has been allowing me to feel a lot of the pain that He feels anytime He feels misunderstood, rejected, neglected, left out, or just plain stuck in a very awkward place.

Gosh. Jesus knows how I feel. He can relate to me. And I think maybe I can relate to Him a little bit now.

Jesus was, no doubt, the most patient Person to ever walk this earth. And He still is. He would plainly talk about Himself and the things He was going to do, but so many people didn't understand it.

"Jesus answered and said to them, 'Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.' Then the Jews said, 'It has taken forty-six years to build this temple, and will You raise it up in three days?' But He was speaking of the temple of His body." (John 2:19-21)

As far as my life and all its current awkwardness is concerned, I've come up with three analogies to describe what it's like to disown yourself from your parents and/or explaining it to people:

1) In the movie Home Alone, Kevin McCallister is, quite frankly, a little turd to his entire family. Due to an innocent oversight, his family leaves for Christmas vacation without him. When he notices that they are gone, he thinks in horror that his turd-like actions caused his tragedy: "I made my family disappear."

Then when he realizes how mean his family was to him, he rejoices: "I made my family disappear." No, dear sister, he was in fact NOT what the French call les incompetents. He turned out to be quite the little powerhouse who singlehandedly prevented his entire house from being robbed.

Yes, when I first "made my family disappear" a few years ago, I grieved tremendously hard. But after I realized how terrible they really were to me, I eventually rejoiced pretty hard. And, as it turns out, I am in fact NOT what the French call les incompetents, either. Bless this highly nutritious dinner and the people who sold it on sale. Amen.

However, unlike Kevin McCallister, I won't be reunited with my family.

2) In my favorite movie of all time, The NeverEnding Story, Bastian is very interested in reading Mr. Coreander's book. Perhaps trying to use reverse psychology, Mr. Coreander tells Bastian that he isn't really interested in books. But Bastian insists: "I've read Treasure Island, Last of the Mohicans, Wizard of Oz, Lord of the Rings, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Tarzan..." Mr. Coreander says, "The books you read are safe. By reading them, you get to become Tarzan or Robinson Crusoe." Bastian says, "But that's what I like about them." Mr. Coreander is like, "But afterwards, you get to be a little boy again."

I often hear people talk about how they're away from their family and how hard it is. And I understand that it is; I'm not minimalizing that at all. But my situation isn't like theirs. They are only away from their family temporarily. Maybe they'll get to see them once or twice a year. They still have a relationship with them.

When I first joined my choir, I tried to get to know people, and I dove right in during one conversation. The girl I was talking to was like, "So, do you have any family here in town?" I braced myself and replied, "Uh, I left my family." She was like, "Oh, OK." Then I think she talked about how her family was in Louisiana. And she asked again, "So, do you have any family here in town?" Um... never mind. I was hatched from an egg. Yeah, let's go with that.

In my particular situation, I don't have a long-distance relationship with my immediate family. I don't have them anymore, period. I didn't set a boundary with them. I amputated myself off from them. I'm not connected to them anymore, period. I'm not living vicariously through some fictional book character. I AM the book character, and the story is occurring in real life.

And if you don't understand that, I don't know what else to tell you. Unless I make stuff up. Um... my parents are international spies. That is why I never see them. I'd tell you who they are, but then I'd have to kill you.

3) Leaving your parents is like allowing your hair to turn gray in due season. (Some people look very good with dyed or highlighted hair, so what I'm about to say doesn't apply to them.) Sure, you could just color it red or black. But after a while, your aging skin and countenance are going to be a dead giveaway -- even against your jet-black dyed hair -- that you are getting older. You won't be able to hide it anymore. Sooner or later, you're going to have to face the truth, embrace it, and just let your hair turn gray and eventually white. You'll talk openly about your aging process, and maybe you'll say something like, "Honey, you're gonna have to speak up, because I'm an old lady. Now, what did you just say? I couldn't hear you."

I'm finding that the subject of my family isn't an easy one to avoid in conversations anymore. Sure, I can change the subject or encourage the other person to talk about himself/herself instead, but I won't be able to do that forever. I can cover up the truth for as long as is humanly and honestly possible, but sooner or later, the truth is going to show up quite loudly at the roots. It's awkward and uncomfortable, but I'm just gonna have to come out and say it: "I disowned myself from my parents because they were abusive. It's a very long, very terrible story."

"Then one said to Him, 'Look, Your mother and Your brothers are standing outside, seeking to speak with You.' But He answered and said to the one who told Him, 'Who is My mother and who are My brothers?' And He stretched out His hand toward His disciples and said, 'Here are My mother and My brothers! For whoever does the will of My Father in heaven is My brother and sister and mother.' " (Matthew 12:47-50)

Leaving my family has been the hardest thing I've ever done, and I think it's been the most awkward cross I've ever had to bear. I say "I think" because I don't know what my future is going to look like. Maybe God has way more awkward stuff up His sleeve for me later on. He isn't mean or cruel. He just likes surprises. And I really don't know anything. He knows everything.

So, permanently walking away from my immediate family has been excruciatingly hard, and yet it has been excruciatingly freeing. Yes, I was raised by wolves. I'm not trying to be mean. I'm just trying to be accurate. If you were suddenly released from a lifelong bite-grip of wolf-fangs at your throat, you'd probably feel just as free as I do.

While I'm on the subject, I truly don't think my birth mother is saved. I think she thinks she is, but when I pray for her, I get the impression that she isn't. I think the fruit I saw in her life confirms it: She would only read her Bible whenever she was at church or whenever she had to teach a Sunday School lesson, she constantly lied, she always gossiped, she hated everybody, and she only cared about looking good. I hope I'm completely wrong about this, but I don't think she knows God at all. (When I knew her, she wouldn't ever log on to the internet, and she often wouldn't listen to me. Maybe if my relatives are reading this, they can help point her to the Way, the Truth, and the Life.)

"Better a dry crust with peace and quiet than a house full of feasting, with strife." (Proverbs 17:1, NIV)

"In the meantime His disciples urged Him, saying, 'Rabbi, eat.' But He said to them, 'I have food to eat of which you do not know.' Therefore the disciples said to one another, 'Has anyone brought Him anything to eat?' Jesus said to them, 'My food is to do the will of Him who sent Me, and to finish His work.' " (John 4:31-34)

When Jesus was on this earth, He was accused of extremely ridiculous things. I wonder if when people were cruelly telling Him that He had a demon, or when they told Him that He was being blasphemous, or when they were beating the crap out of Him, if He was thinking something like, "Eh, this is nothing compared to the sting of being betrayed by a friend for 30 measly pieces of silver."

When I realized that God was telling me to leave my parents, and when I was counting the cost of doing so, there were a lot of things that I didn't realize that I needed to factor into my cost-counting. I didn't know that I would need to permanently separate myself from my sister or her in-laws, too. I didn't realize that there would be certain geographical areas that I would need to avoid because I would no longer feel safe there. I didn't know that I would have to hear one aunt choke back tears or that I would endure another aunt feeding me a guilt trip. I didn't realize that my walking away from my parents would eventually contribute to my walking away from my former best friend as well. I didn't know that I would encounter a seemingly endless deluge of disappointments as time went on and that the only replacement immediate family that I would have would be God and my cats.

But they're good company, and I'll certainly take them. Truly, they are enough. Father God takes impeccably good care of me, the Holy Spirit is the most faithful Coach you'll ever know, and Jesus especially understands how I feel. He likes me enough to let me know Him in the fellowship of His sufferings. For example, if anyone from church word-slaps me, of course it stings, but I sometimes work through it with the logic of, "Eh, this is nothing compared to the sting of being abused by your family who supposedly loved you."

"Fellowship" is an interesting word. I'm discovering that it can have more than one meaning. My college pastor helped me see this for the first time. He explained that "fellowship" isn't necessarily hanging out in the fellowship hall at church and eating refreshments with a bunch of people who you're only socializing with on a surface level. According to this pastor, "fellowship" is really supposed to mean digging deeply into one another's lives and living life together.

I think maybe Jesus does this when He lets us share in the fellowship of His sufferings. Maybe He'll say something like, "You feel rejected? Yep, I do, too. All of your friends left you when you needed them the most? Yep, Mine did, too. You feel like your father turned his back on you? Yep, I know how that feels, too. You feel like chopped liver? Yep, I do, too, and so does My Father; why do you think He likes to reward those who diligently seek Him?"

"If the world hates you, you know that it hated Me before it hated you. If you were of the world, the world would love its own. Yet because you are not of the world, but I chose you out of the world, therefore the world hates you. Remember the word that I said to you, 'A servant is not greater than his master.' If they persecuted Me, they will also persecute you. If they kept My word, they will keep yours also." (Jesus talking in John 15:18-20)

I think I get it now. And yet, I may never fully get it at all. At any rate, Jesus, if You're looking for a place to lay Your head, please come lay it right here between my shoulders, or in my lap, or in my arms, or in my hands, or on my pillow, or wherever You like. Please consider me to be Your friend, Your family. Please make Yourself at home in me. 

Candy dish

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Somebody else: "UGH! I hate writing!"

Um, thanks for making me feel socially desirable?

Me: "I'm a writer."

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

Um, no, I really like to WRITE.

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

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

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

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