Jalapeños, last straws, and tough love

One day earlier this summer, I noticed that the sandwich artist (at a Subway where I had previously ordered many sandwiches) put jalapeños in my sandwich. I ordered banana peppers, not jalapeño peppers. I don't remember exactly what was going through my head that day -- if I saw the jalapeño catastrophe happening right before my eyes and was too polite or too hungry to say anything about it, or if perhaps I thought I would just try eating it for the sake of embarking on a new sandwich adventure. But now I was back at the company breakroom, and my lunchtime was almost over, and I couldn't just ask the Subway people to fix their mistake. (Perhaps if the sandwich artist had been paying more attention to me and less attention to her personal family drama which she doesn't have a problem freely sharing with customers, this wouldn't have happened.) Those jalapeños in my sandwich offended me, even after I picked them out of my sandwich and threw them away. This half-Hispanic chick doesn't mind jalapeños in her food from time to time. I just don't think they belong in a sandwich. Since that wasn't the first time this particular Subway had rubbed me the wrong way, I decided to never return there. (And I haven't.)

In that moment, God told me, "Sometimes you need a last straw."

A similar thing happened when I sat down to unwrap a lunch that I had just picked up from the Schlotzsky's drive-thru. I ordered salt and vinegar chips, but they gave me jalapeño chips instead. (What is it with jalapeños infiltrating my lunches without my permission?) So, that was my last straw for that particular Schlotzsky's... not counting the 15-20 minute wait times that had become common at the drive-thru or another way they messed up my order in the past. I mean, forgiveness is one thing, but realizing that there are dozens of other lunch spots in the vicinity competing for my business is another.

I'm still trying to figure out if me waiting for a "last straw" to initiate change in my life is a good thing or a bad thing.

The reason I had been venturing to restaurants for lunch (instead of bringing my lunch, which is always cheaper) was because I couldn't take it anymore in the company breakroom. Again, I'm not sure why the constant aroma of poop wafting from the nearby men's room, or my boss telling me "I've told you that if you want a private lunchroom, you can close this door" while he closes the breakroom door so that I will be all by myself and feel even more lonely and isolated than I already am, or my coworkers interrupting my lunch break (while I'm trying to relax and regroup) to ask me work-related questions that can wait until I'm back on the clock... I'm not sure why any of those things weren't enough of a catalyst to get me to eat lunch off campus, but somehow the boss' pantless son always peeking his nose into my meal and announcing to his wife what I was eating was my last straw.

I think I've mentioned this before, but I think growing up in an abusive environment gave me a very high tolerance for crap. Again, I'm still trying to figure out if that's a good thing or a bad thing. I'm guessing it's the latter. And I'm learning how to recognize red flags sooner and do something about them sooner.

I mean, submitting to authority is one thing, but escaping an oppressive environment is another. Just ask any immigrant who has ever sought refuge in a free country.

This is my last week at that job, hence my obsessive processing/reflecting. I'm still going to keep my guard up and be ready for anything. I mean, any company run by a boss who openly shames his wife for her mistakes in front of the entire company would be a place where I would need to watch my step, right? When I first started working there, I was told that the boss treats his employees like family. Yes, he does. And I have learned a valuable lesson while working there: Every good tyrant has an army of enablers behind him.

To celebrate my last days there, I have been planning to eat most of my lunches in the breakroom. I think it's easy to enjoy life in a certain space when you don't feel trapped there.

"When the righteous are in authority, the people rejoice; but when a wicked man rules, the people groan." (Proverbs 29:2)

I think Pharaoh, Moses, and the Israelites were also in a sort of three-way tug-of-war of last straws. In the Israelites' case, their oppression involved literal straw, but that's beside the point. Pharaoh kept pushing and pushing the Israelites to spin straw into gold (metaphorically speaking) until God heard their cries for help, He brought Moses and Aaron over to Egypt, and He even hardened Pharaoh's heart so that he wouldn't let the people go. Pharaoh's last straw was that last plague where all the firstborn in Egypt were killed unless they had followed God's blood-on-the-doorpost instructions.

Life wasn't a rose garden after the Israelites escaped their oppression in Egypt, either. They sinned by creating and worshiping a golden calf, God put His foot down and created the Ten Commandments (that we all still have to follow today), He killed some Israelites who sinned against Him, and He also almost killed Moses in the process.

Wow. God is love, but He's also a God of tough love.

"Do not be deceived, God is not mocked; for whatever a man sows, that he will also reap. For he who sows to his flesh will of the flesh reap corruption, but he who sows to the Spirit will of the Spirit reap everlasting life." (Galatians 6:7-8)

I think King David could also vouch for this. After he married Bathsheba (which he used his kingly authority to do, after sleeping with her, impregnating her, and arranging for her husband to be killed), God was like, "I love you, but you opened the door to violence in your house, and now your little baby son will die, too."

I like how the Bible gives so many gory details about heroes like King David. It encourages me that I don't have to be sinless in order for God to love, favor, and want me. King David made some enormously terrible mistakes, but he repented, and God honored him enough to publish his songs in the Bible, to refer to him as a man after His own heart, and to entrust his lineage with welcoming His only begotten Son into the world.

As loving, gracious, and favoring as God is, He is still serious about us living life His way. Perhaps one way that He loves us is being firm enough to steer us in the right direction.

"For the gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable." (Romans 11:29)

God showed me several years ago that He designed me to be a worship pastor. I'm very cool with that. I understand that this more than likely won't happen for me vocationally for a very long time. I'm cool with that, too. I also understand that God has been using the experiences I've had throughout my life to shape me into the person He wants me to be. I'm definitely cool with that as well.

I believe it was when I took a home ec class many years ago that I was told that children prepare for their future during their playtime. For example, a future teacher might play "school" with friends and/or dolls. A future healthcare professional might play "nurse" with family members and/or dolls/toys.

I used to want to be a novelist. When I was about seven years old, I figured out where the letters were on the worn-out ancient typewriter at our house, and I would sit down and write stories. Now I earn my living by writing and editing.

Recently, when I wondered how my childhood playtime foreshadowed my future as a worship pastor, I remembered playtime as a four-year-old. Our family owned a white kitten named Puff. I would carry him while marching around in a circle in the garage (more than likely while I was singing). Puff had issues. He hated being carried, and he would violently scratch me and anyone else who would try to play with him. He eventually ran away.

I hope I don't offend anyone by saying this, but I think working with stubborn animals is very good training ground for being a pastor.

In my current life with Macho and his health issues, I hope I have been reflecting God's heart of tough love. Almost two weeks ago, when I had a lot of trouble getting Macho to eat, he was really deteriorating, I was wondering how much longer he had to live, and I was considering the possibility of putting him down. So, I stopped sugarcoating everything, and I just confronted him. (Yes, I know he's a cat, and I know he may not understand English, but still.) It was almost like that scene in The NeverEnding Story where Atreyu tries to keep his horse Artax from sinking into the Swamps of Sadness. I was exhausted, I was frustrated, and I was grieving, so I just went for it. I wasn't threatening. I was just being real. I told Macho, "I don't want to lose you like this. If you're not going to try, then I'm going to take you to the doctor and have her put you to sleep. I'm going to take you to the doctor and have her kill you."

 

So, now he's eating up a storm. (He may not speak English, but he knows me.) I hope I wasn't too hard on him, but I guess it worked. I'm still taking it a day at a time, and I'm still keeping a close watch on him, but it's good to see him get a little bit of his swashbuckling energy back.

God is very gentle and kind, but He's also incredibly firm. Awhile back when I was wrestling with an opportunity that I'd been given, God kept telling me, "You're a teacher. Get over it." Last week at church while my pastor was preaching a sermon about discovering and using your spiritual gifts, God told me, "You're a pastor. Get over it." This week, He said, "You're a shepherd. Get over it." No problem, Papa.

Of course, you have to understand Who's talking to me. If anyone else were to talk to me that way, it might rub me the wrong way, like jalapeños in a sandwich. But this is the God of the universe -- the One who always has time for me, who always shows up for me, who always defends me, who always comforts me, who always chooses me, who always favors me, who always graciously pours out His goodness on me. He's the Boss, and I trust Him. He can talk to me however He wants.

As always, thank you for reading. Now if you'll excuse me, I must stop typing so that I can feed someone who is stalking me for his snacky.

 

Uno más

The title of this post is Spanish for "One more." I don't remember the exact context of how this phrase got in my head, but I think it may have come from one of my uncles telling me about one of my cousins.

I believe this is the same uncle who told me that when I was a toddler, I used to run around exclaiming with my index finger in the air, "I got an idea! I got an idea!" Of course, this would excite my uncle, so he would try to get me to stop running around and give him the scoop. "What, Tirzah? What is your idea?" The only reply he would get from me was, "I got an idea!" Hmm. Perhaps I took pleasure from keeping things vague on purpose, even as a toddler.

Years later, when I took the Clifton StrengthsFinder test, I scored Ideation. Go figure.

I think it was this same uncle who told me that one of my cousins would eat a lot, and I think perhaps they had trouble getting him to stop eating. I think he said that when they would tell my toddler cousin to eat no more, he would say, "Uno más." I know, right? It can be easy to keep eating "uno más" when you're enjoying what you're eating (e.g., Johnson City peaches, pan dulce, or any kind of candy).

But if the same icky food is placed in front of you day after day, meal after meal, it can be really hard to open your mouth and shove one more morsel down your throat yet again.

"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)

Recently, God has been telling me, "You inherited your parents' impatience." So, He has been developing some patience in me. He's been placing me in some situations that aren't getting any quick fixes -- situations that are requiring patience. And He's been developing some endurance in me, too. I kinda thought I had all this stuff inside me already, but maybe He's giving me some more. Or maybe He's scrapping the old stuff and building some new stuff altogether. Hmm. Not sure. I'm just gonna have to wait to find out. And I'm OK with that.

As you may have read in my previous post, getting my cat Macho to eat lately has been a heartbreaking struggle. I tried everything I could think of to get him to eat. I think last weekend was the worst part of this entire season. At one point, he was so weak that he meowed but no sound came out. (He just mouthed his meow.) On Monday night, I decided that I should take him to the vet the next morning and possibly consider putting him to sleep.

You may not like cats, and I can certainly understand that. But if one of your roommates were dying, you'd probably feel the same type of emotions that I've been feeling.

On Tuesday morning, Macho seemed hungry, and he downed some tuna, so I decided to postpone his visit to the vet. Then God prompted me to put my new philosophy into motion: "Uno más."

So, I got an idea!

 

On Tuesday afternoon, I found this stuff at PetSmart. I was very excited to see Macho scarf it down. Apparently, he's a Purina man. Go figure. He's been eating about three cans per day now. Yesterday, I found a similar canned food from Hill's Science Diet that he ate this morning. For now, the vet said to just make sure that Macho keeps eating, and I also plan to start him on new medication very soon. I'm taking it a day at a time, and I hope I get to keep Macho for as long as possible. And I'm OK with that.

"In my distress I cried to the Lord, and He heard me." (Psalm 120:1)

Two Friday nights ago, I was emotionally very low. I won't go into details here, but suffice it to say that I was kneeling on my couch with my Bible open and literally crying out to God because I didn't know what else to do -- with my current job, with my cat's health, with everything else in my life, etc., etc., etc.

I'm glad He heard me. Sometime during that weekend, He told me, "Uno más."

That following Sunday, when I opened up my laptop to look for another job and strategize my search yet again, I decided to send my resume to a company that I didn't get any response from when I contacted them about three times last year. Now this year -- two weeks and two interviews later -- I accepted a job offer from them.

So, the principle of "uno más" is a God thing. Go figure!

"As a father pities his children, so the Lord pities those who fear Him. For He knows our frame; He remembers that we are dust." (Psalm 103:13-14)

"A bruised reed He will not break, and smoking flax He will not quench; He will bring forth justice for truth. He will not fail nor be discouraged, till He has established justice in the earth; and the coastlands shall wait for His law... 'Behold, the former things have come to pass, and new things I declare; before they spring forth I tell you of them.' " (Isaiah 42:3-4, 9)

So, I'm learning how to wait, persevere, and just keep showing up when it doesn't seem like anything is changing. (I'm also learning that God doesn't want to kill me.) 

I think maybe God does the same thing for us. I know He's given me at least a zillion "uno más" chances. I also know that He sometimes keeps things vague on purpose. I mean, how else will He be able to sit down with us and examine the contents of our hearts if He doesn't make us wait, persevere, and press in for something?

I want to be just like Him. If He doesn't give up easily, I don't want to, either.

Parallel shades and slow deaths

For this post, I thought it would be good to combine a few different ideas together and cook up something cool. I hope it turns out OK.

My sophomore year in college, I took an English literature class that was excessively challenging, to say the least. It was taught by the head of the English department (or maybe just head of the grad school) who was probably very close to retirement. He was a nice guy, but his ideas went so over our heads it wasn't even funny. (Well, OK, maybe it was a little bit funny.) If I remember correctly, the part of the class that covered William Blake poetry was especially out of whack. While we were discussing one poem in class, the professor was like, "Surely you caught the sexual connotations in the poem." Um... what? Come on. We were good little Baylor kids who were away from home and lived life in our naïve little bubbles. We went to church when we weren't studying. Our brains weren't anywhere near the same ballpark as a sexual connotation. We wouldn't understand a sexual connotation if you drew us a map to it, tattooed it on our foreheads, and invited us out to a candlelight dinner with it.

Our grades were dependent upon our ability to analyze the poetry, and our analysis needed to match the professor's out-of-whack-and-so-over-our-heads analysis. I remember at the end of the semester, he nonchalantly showed me that I scored a D+/F- on my final essay, but he was going to curve all of our grades. I think I ended up getting a B- overall in that class. It was an honors class that kicked all of our butts. We were all very capable students, but I think perhaps the professor knew that we all needed to have our grades curved to compensate for his flying-way-out-in-outer-space head.

During one class, when we were covering a flying-way-out-in-outer-space poem, the professor asked us to discuss our impression of the poem. I think he was looking for input from us -- something, anything -- to get the discussion started. I don't remember exactly why I answered (perhaps I couldn't bear the silence any longer), and I don't even remember if I had actually read the poem before class, but I replied, "There's some parallelism in the poem." That seemed to please the professor. Whew! Saved by the Bible.

Parallelism is a repetitive literary device that is used usually in poetry for rhetorical effect. (You wouldn't use parallelism in journalism, because journalism requires as few words as possible.) In parallelism, you say one thing and then repeat what you just said in a different way. Here's an example of parallelism:

I own two cats;

Two felines have I.

I think ancient Hebrew poets and psalmists used parallelism a lot, because it's all over the Bible. For example:

"Give ear, O my people, to my law; incline your ears to the words of my mouth." (Psalm 78:1)

"Plead my cause, O Lord, with those who strive with me; fight against those who fight against me... Let those be put to shame and brought to dishonor who seek after my life; let those be turned back and brought to confusion who plot my hurt." (Psalm 35:1, 4)

I am very thankful for my college education, and I am very blessed that it happened when/how it happened. But I've discovered in recent years just how damaging the worldview of some of the professors and even the surrounding community really was. I think I've blogged a tiny bit about this before. The church I joined in my college town (soon after I graduated) believed that the Bible was real, inspired, and inerrant, but only in the original manuscripts. (So, does that mean that all our English translations are garbage?) Then I began attending a missions training school. I don't remember his exact words, but one of the instructors there (shortly before I attempted suicide) basically said that believing something to be inerrant was a narrow-minded, uneducated thing to do. (Shame on you for throwing a wrench in a gullible, vulnerable kid's faith.) Then we ended up discussing how some statements in the Bible are contradictory and how some mistakes were supposedly published in the Bible.

Really? Seriously? Have you even met my God? How can you not understand that He's powerful enough to cover up and fix any mistakes that some dorky little translator made way back in the Dark Ages?

At any rate, I don't think it's an accident that God chose for the Bible to be written in Hebrew, Aramaic, and Greek so that we English speakers or German speakers or Spanish speakers would have to go on a treasure hunt to discover what was originally written in the original biblical languages.

And I definitely don't think it's an accident that parallelism was used so much in ancient Hebrew poetry. I think to a degree, God's heart beats in parallelism.

"Hear, O Israel: The Lord our God, the Lord is one! You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength. And these words which I command you today shall be in your heart." (Deuteronomy 6:4-6)

"Then one of the scribes came, and having heard them reasoning together, perceiving that He had answered them well, asked Him, 'Which is the first commandment of all?' Jesus answered him, 'The first of all the commandments is: 'Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one. And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.' This is the first commandment.' " (Mark 12:28-30)

"He makes me to lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul; He leads me in the paths of righteousness for His name's sake." (Psalm 23:2-3)

"O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!" (Matthew 23:37)

"Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the man who trusts in Him!" (Psalm 34:8)

"Ho! Everyone who thirsts, come to the waters; and you who have no money, come, buy and eat. Yes, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price. Why do you spend money for what is not bread, and your wages for what does not satisfy? Listen carefully to Me, and eat what is good, and let your soul delight itself in abundance." (Isaiah 55:1-2)

 

Recently, due to Macho's health issues, my refrigerator has become a pet pharmacy. Pictured from left to right are liquid steroids that my vet hasn't yet authorized me to give to my cat but is ready for distribution just in case, my dinner from last night which I used to tempt my cat whose appetite has mysteriously vanished, used needles which I was instructed to not throw away but to bring back to the vet's office for disposal instead, half a Coke which I am chugging down while I am writing this post, liquid antibiotic which I've been required to squirt down my cat's throat every 12 hours but only if he eats, and vitamin B12 injections which I have been administering weekly.

Yes, the game I've been playing with Macho lately is "Why the heck aren't you eating?" My once gluttonous cat has been declining into a fragile shell of a feline who is quite possibly living out his last days. Or perhaps he's just being a drama queen -- I'm not quite sure yet. But I've been taking it one day at a time.

His appetite was fine until about two weeks ago when he stopped wanting to eat. I've tried all kinds of things to get him to eat again. Sometimes my attempts are successful, and other times I just say "whatever" and let nature take its course. But I'm still fighting for him. Considering the way he was squirming while I was cleaning his ears a little while ago, I hope he's still fighting, too.

I've tried everything I can think of to get Macho to eat again: dry food, wet food, my food, tuna, in his bowl, off the floor, out of my hand. This process seems to require a lot of patience. Yesterday while Macho was eating wet cat food out of my hand (a process that is uncomfortable for me but hopefully life-giving to him), I asked God if He was like that with me. He replied, "Oh, child, you have no idea." Indeed.

"The Lord is your keeper; the Lord is your shade on your right hand [the side not carrying a shield]. The sun shall not smite you by day, nor the moon by night. The Lord will keep you from all evil; He will keep your life." (Psalm 121:5-7, Amplified Bible)

My first job straight out of college involved some manual labor. I had to haul packages and other materials on a dolly across a college campus. It was hard, but I enjoyed it. In the scorching Texas heat, I learned how valuable the shade of a tree really is. Shade is a lot cooler than it looks.

So, when God says that He Himself is a shade, I think He means that He is a necessary, refreshing, cool refuge from the scorching-fire trials of life. Trekking across the unforgiving, unrelenting, unavoidable sun-scorched prairie of life is so much more bearable when I'm careful to walk in the shade.

The Amplified Bible says that our right hand would be the unshielded hand (I guess because an ancient Hebrew warrior would fight with his sword in his right hand and his shield on his left hand). So, God is my Keeper who takes care of me. In the areas of my life that are unshielded, He Himself is my shield. He protects me from the elements -- physically, spiritually, emotionally, etc. -- especially from the details that I don't even know exist, and I think He is so much more zealous about keeping me alive than I am.

I think that's true for all of us... especially if we let Him shield us.

Lately as I've been digging a little bit into some opera, I've realized just how excessively dramatic it is as an art form. Which is probably why operas are usually more popular in Europe (which embraces traditions very tightly), as opposed to the USA (where, if something stops working for us, we just take it out back and shoot it). Usually what happens during an opera is somebody will fall in love, somebody will have one or more affairs, and/or somebody will die, and the story will usually take about two hours to be told. It's sort of like watching a movie with cheesy acting and nonstop singing. For example, while I was watching La bohème for the first time yesterday, I almost stopped about a quarter of the way through. I'm glad I didn't, because it's a classic indeed, but I think perhaps Puccini could have done without the last 20 or 40 minutes of the play. By the end, I was like, "OH, MY GOSH, JUST DIE ALREADY!!!"

Are slow deaths just a European thing? I mean, when Frodo went on his quest to destroy the Ring of Power, he didn't just sprint across Middle Earth and slam-dunk the ring into the fire from which it came. He took three movies to do it in. On his long, arduous journey, he encountered opposition, enemies, and all sorts of danger. He even slipped up a few times and used the ring for himself. But an entire trilogy later, the ring -- and all the evil that it attracted -- was finally destroyed.

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

In his book, Dennis Jernigan talks about how the death of the flesh is slow and excruciating, and he isn't kidding. When God told me that my healing from a specific type of sin would be gradual, He wasn't kidding, either.

If you've been following my blog for the past several months, you know that I've been fighting the addiction of a habitual sexual sin. God has been helping me every step of the way, and I'm still amazed at how He hasn't kicked me to the curb. He's emphasized pretty firmly that my healing isn't going to come from a formula. And He's right. Just when I think I have a handle on my struggle, I'm thrown a curveball, and I stumble and fall. I think it's really more of a dance than a battle strategy.

Yesterday, for example (because the temptations are usually strongest on the weekends), while I was working through and talking through a temptation with God, I ended up becoming way too busy to sin. Oh, would you look at the time? I have to get ready to go to church now. Darn, crucified little flesh. You'll just have to kick and scream without me.

But that worked for me yesterday. That might not necessarily work for me today.

What works for me all the time is just doing whatever God says to do, avoiding whatever He says to avoid, and clinging to Him for dear life. That isn't a formula. That's a relationship.

God isn't a senile professor with a flying-way-out-in-outer-space head who expects us to follow Him and pinpoint His ways by matching His out-of-whack-and-so-over-our-heads analysis. He doesn't give us all curves because He expects us to fail all His tests. He isn't some dumb little god who gives us a dorky little book to read, and He doesn't give us a dull-bladed, mistake-filled, dangerously faulty weapon to fight with. He isn't a cruel tyrant who gives up on us as soon as we refuse to eat the food He gives us.

God is a loving Father whose ways are so much higher than ours, and He knows that, and He's always readily available to help us tiptoe our way through this landmine-filled life. He is infinitely patient with us, and He is infinitely faithful to us, and He won't give up on us. If we belong to Him, I don't think He'll just take us out back and shoot us if we make one little mistake. I think He'll bunk next to us while we're withering away in our sickbeds, and He'll nurse us back to health. He'll bring us back to life, if we'll let Him. He's committed to that, and He's already poetically told us all about it in His word.

I am in God's family;

God's child am I.

Don't mess with the kings

This post is rated R because I don't feel like politely censoring myself. I think doing so in this particular post would kinda suck the meaning out of it. So, I apologize in advance for accidentally offending you, and I thank you in advance for reading. Mrowr.

About a dozen or so years ago, I was in love (yes, truly in love) with a man (back when I used to like effeminate men). I was very close friends with him, and he broke my heart so hard that I wrote songs about him, and then he had the audacity to still want to be friends with me, after he ran my heart through the shredder, and I ended up blocking him on Facebook twice, and look at me still wanting to rip into him years later.

Ahem. Allow me to start over. About a dozen or so years ago, I was in love with a girly man who didn't love me back. But he and I were part of a close social circle, and all of us would always spend a lot of time together. I believe one of our friends introduced us to the Gipsy Kings, a flamenco pop group. While I was hanging out with my social circle, girly-man mentioned that the Gipsy Kings were into witchcraft. After that trivia tidbit got stuck in my head, I imagined these cool-sounding pop performers to be a little too dangerous and definitely off limits for me, so I kept my distance from their music.

However, very recently, I did some digging around and discovered that the Gipsy Kings' cultural heritage is, in fact, gypsy. From what I understand, they are from France, but their family were gypsies who emigrated there from Spain. (According to Wikipedia, most Spanish gypsies are Roman Catholic, so I honestly don't know where girly-man got his nonsensical information.) They started making their music professionally in the 1970s, and they are still active today. I think their tunes are intoxicating. I believe they are largely responsible for mainstreaming flamenco music in the rest of the world. Two families of musicians are in the group, and one of the families' last names is Reyes. "Reyes" is Spanish for "Kings," and since their heritage truly is gypsy, they aren't being arrogant at all when they call themselves Gipsy Kings. They are simply being who they are.

Sometimes when you are genuinely being you, people will shamelessly copy you. (Especially if you're brilliant.)

This is a photo of 4 CDs currently in my music collection that contain either Gipsy Kings cover songs or Gipsy Kings wannabe sound-alike songs (along with Choochie my cat photo-bombing). I believe Julio Iglesias recorded a version of "Bamboleo" about a year after the Gipsy Kings recorded theirs. (Really? No imagination whatsoever?) Christine-Christine-the-cover-queen Sarah Brightman recorded her ballad version of "Tú quieres volver" about 9 years after the Gipsy Kings recorded theirs. (I don't care if her vibrato and her voice are as weird as my class-voice teacher said they are; I think her music is fun.) Del Castillo's music sounds way too much like the Gipsy Kings (except for the blues/jazz/heavy metal influence). And since the Del Castillo band members are from Texas, Missouri, and Mexico (NOT from France or Spain), I don't think it's genuine flamenco. At their shows where I would see them perform live, Del Castillo would talk about God. But after they started printing some weird yoga/ohm symbol (or whatever it was) on their website and merchandise, I stopped buying their stuff. I don't know exactly what happened to them, but their new tunes seemed a little too dangerous and definitely off limits for me. Add that to their copycat sound, and I've lost a lot of respect for them. But all that is just my opinion.

Ahem. Now I'm going to talk about my King -- THE King.

"So I wept much, because no one was found worthy to open and read the scroll, or to look at it. But one of the elders said to me, 'Do not weep. Behold, the Lion of the tribe of Judah, the Root of David, has prevailed to open the scroll and to loose its seven seals.' " (Revelation 5:4-5)

"And He has on His robe and on His thigh a name written: KING OF KINGS AND LORD OF LORDS." (Revelation 19:16)

"The king's wrath is like the roaring of a lion, but his favor is like dew on the grass." (Proverbs 19:12)

"The lazy man says, 'There is a lion outside! I shall be slain in the streets!' " (Proverbs 22:13)

Recently in the news, there was a story about a possible lion roaming the streets of Milwaukee. Yeah, right. I've never been to Milwaukee, but I'm guessing that no lion in his or her right mind would ever just wander the streets of civilization. Sure enough, the mysterious street-roaming lion turned out to be a dog. I'm guessing the recent Milwaukee story wasn't the first such urban mystery/legend of its kind in history. (Maybe King Solomon was like, "Oh, there's a lion, huh? So, your list of reasons to not get your tardy butt to work in the morning just gets longer and longer, doesn't it, you sluggard? Go to the ant!")

But you gotta admit that if a mountain lion really were just roaming around freely, it would truly be a dangerous situation. Lions can cause some serious damage.

I mean, just look at Choochie the mini-puma. (This is a snapshot of her playing with me one morning while I was getting ready for work.) You don't ever want to be the object of her growling. (Her fights with neighborhood cats through patio doors are what inspired me to name this blog Windowbrawl.)

Of course, God is definitely more powerful than my tiny little housecat. But I don't think it's an accident that He refers to Himself as a Lion. The lion is the king of the jungle for a reason: The lion is the most powerful. The lion is the strongest. The lion is the best. You don't want to mess with a lion. He could kill you.

You don't want to mess with the Lion of Judah, either. He's loving, but He's also dangerous. Reminds you of Aslan, right? C.S. Lewis was a genius. I had a coworker who chimed in while we were discussing the Narnia movies once: "Aslan is Jesus," she said, her voice dripping with bored sarcasm.

I don't think she knew Him very well (if at all). Otherwise, she might have been more in awe, or at least more respectful. Seriously, you don't want to mess with THE King.

"Kiss the Son, lest He be angry, and you perish in the way, when His wrath is kindled but a little. Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him." (Psalm 2:12)

"Be sober, be vigilant; because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour." (1 Peter 5:8)

Speaking of copycat kings, I'm not sure why the devil bothers to stalk about like a roaring lion, because he's really more of a slithering snake.

The real King of Kings has been misunderstood by the entire human race. People spew out nonsensical information about Him all the time. You can't figure everything out about Him, anyway. He's real, and He's accessible, yes. But He's also a mystery.

For instance, I still don't understand how or why the King of the universe would want to actually adopt me as His own, take me into His family, and re-raise me like I'm His little lioness cub. He's busy running the universe. He shouldn't have time for me. But He does. And He's always there. And He's never, ever let me down.

As He refashions me into His likeness, He teaches me His ways and helps me learn how to control all these crazy emotions that churn up inside me from time to time. One time when I was trying to confess something to Him that I guess maybe I thought He didn't know about, I was like, "Lord, sometimes I hold grudges." And He was like, "If it makes you feel any better, I just kill people."

Indeed. I think perhaps that one guy who used to harass/abuse me at church right before he suddenly, mysteriously died of a heart attack can probably vouch for that.

Lately, I've been working through some major anger that boils up in my head/heart from time to time. It's weird -- like these violent drama fantasies just start playing in my head, like I'm watching a cheap, rented C-movie in my head, and when I ask God what the heck is up, He doesn't seem worried at all. He just lets the stuff play out in my head, and then it's over. (It's like a boot camp for self-control.) Then I have to brace myself for when a fresh anger wave hits again. It's crazy, foolish stuff that, if I were to act on it, could get me fired or ruin friendships.

But I think I'm learning how to stop it. I think the anger in my head has been directed at the wrong people. In fact, it shouldn't be directed at people at all.

"For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against principalities, against powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this age, against spiritual hosts of wickedness in the heavenly places." (Ephesians 6:12)

"So the Lord God said to the serpent: 'Because you have done this, you are cursed more than all cattle, and more than every beast of the field; on your belly you shall go, and you shall eat dust all the days of your life. And I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your seed and her Seed; He shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise His heel.' " (Genesis 3:14-15)

Yeah, that's right. I have a score to settle with my enemy, and my Lion-Father is giving me lifelong battle training for it. So, in this leg of my journey, anytime that misplaced rage bubbles up inside me, I need to redirect it towards the devil, the one who rebelled in heaven and then ruined life here on earth for me and the entire human race. Because of him and because of a couple of really foolish decisions that Adam and Eve made all those years ago, I and the entire human race now have to fight for basic things like power, love, a sound mind, peace, acceptance, joy, and even a simple, lifegiving connection to my Father -- things which, according to His original design for life here on earth, should have been normal all along.

(Reader, please do not be alarmed while I address the devil in these next two paragraphs.) Listen to me, you fucking asshole fallen-angel bastard. I know you can read English, and I know you're probably reading this now. Whether you take the time to read it yourself or whether you have one of your fallen-angel bastard peons read it for you, because you're too good to actually do all the dirty work yourself, I know you can hear me. I hate your fucking lousy pathetic fallen-angel guts. I look forward to the day when you rot in hell... no. You're actually not going to rot. You're going to burn. Yeah, that's right. My Father prepared an extra-hot, extra-tortuous place just for you. He's going to make sure that you suffer every fucking bit as you made us suffer, you pathetic loser. After I get to heaven someday, I hope He gives me a nice little Christmas present: a free torture-you coupon just for me. I hope He lets me take a field trip to your special little place in hell so that I can have my way with you. Yeah, that's right. You know what I'm gonna do to you, you sick little fallen-angel bastard. I'm going to rip off your fallen-angel testicles with my bare hands, and then I'm going to chop them into little pieces and shove them down your throat. And then I'm going to gouge your fallen-angel bastard eyes out with my own two hands, and I'm going to squash them in my own two palms like little grapes, and I'm going to shove what's left of them into your ears. And then I'm going to rip your heart out with my own two hands, and I'm going to run it through a shredder, and then I'm going to floss your fucking fangs with your own heartless-heart-shreds.

Wait. No. Forget I said that, you fallen-angel bastard. I'm not going to do any of that. You see, the One you REALLY need to worry about is my Father. You see, you have hurt one of His little ones. The thing is, I am required by my Father to forgive. You know that, you fucking little hypocrite. But He isn't required to forgive everyone... especially not you, you skanky little snake. I would like to see Him torture you in ways that no one has ever fucking heard of, you pathetic little fallen-angel bastard loser. He'll make sure you get yours.

Whew. Glad I belong to the right King.

Recalibration

I'm not sure how to introduce this particular post, so I'm going to just jump right in.

God has been teaching me things now that He wanted me to learn back in 1999. In 1999, I was 23 years old, I lived alone, I was getting more hours at work, and I was extremely, unhealthily involved at church. 1999 was an intense year for me. I wrestled heftily with depression, and I eventually lost. (2000 was the year of my suicide attempt.) During my wrestlings, one of the chicks to whom I was accountable told me, "All of us need recalibration from time to time."

The other day, in 2015, God reminded me of that conversation that I had with my accountability chick in 1999. He showed me that I didn't just need a recalibration back then. I was dealing with some dangerous depression, and I needed help. I was around a lot of clueless church people back then. I'm glad God stepped in and protected me Himself.

In case you're not familiar with the term "recalibration," it's basically a readjustment of how something is measured. If you pick up a footlong ruler, you'll see 12 inches on one side and about 30 centimeters on the other. One side is calibrated in inches, and the other is calibrated in centimeters. If you changed your mind and wanted to measure something in meters or picas or pixels or miles instead, you'd probably have to recalibrate. (Or maybe use a different ruler altogether.)

"Dishonest scales are an abomination to the Lord, but a just weight is His delight." (Proverbs 11:1)

"Diverse weights and diverse measures, they are both alike, an abomination to the Lord." (Proverbs 20:10)

OK, so I couldn't find a Bible verse that talks about recalibration. (I think these two verses talk about double standards and cheating.) But I think it's safe to say that the way in which something is measured is very important to God. He has told me that this season for me, now in 2015, is a season of recalibration.

August 1999 was an insanely crazy month when I did not have a single day off from work. The closest thing I had to a day off was one Sunday when I worked approximately one hour to pick up and deliver something for my job. That was a terribly exhausting month.

The summer of 2015 has been very exhausting for me. In addition to the summer heat zapping my energy away, my job will only give me six vacation days this year (not counting paid holidays), so I've needed to be very careful how I use them. The other morning when I woke up, I honestly couldn't remember what day it was. I lay in bed for several minutes until I finally figured out that it was Wednesday. Gosh.

In 1999, I attended a church that constantly (and I mean CONSTANTLY) kept us busy with activities that we were expected to attend. To top it off, they frowned upon entertainment. I even remember (probably in 1997 or 1998) one skit that was performed during a church service. In the skit, a girl was like, "Oh, it's Friday night! I think I'll just kick back, relax, and watch a movie." The moral of the story was... don't do that. Spend time with Jesus instead.

So, the idea that secular entertainment was practically evil... that was implanted in my brain, and God has been un-implanting it. Yes, of course it's important that I be careful about how I entertain myself. I have to be picky. I don't want to accidentally open up any bad spiritual doors. (Trust me, I have enough problems as it is.) But Joyce Meyer is right: Christians need healthy entertainment.

In 1999, I was heavily involved in a part of the church run by prophetic intercessors who were staunchly no-nonsense. We would spend many of our weekends on retreats, we would always talk about mission work, and we would spend hours praying together. And we were expected to attend a leaders' meeting pretty much every Sunday morning around 8 a.m. There's definitely nothing wrong with participating in all those activities. I just don't think that the leadership really knew how to have fun.

My church (now in 2015) prints a monthly publication. One recent issue had an article that my pastor wrote about how important it is, metaphorically speaking, to continually fill our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual tanks. (Anyone remember Baylor's Welcome Week wheel?) One way in which my pastor recharges is watching funny movies. For me, just knowing that tidbit about my pastor is healing. In the article, he said that spending time with family, friends, etc., are ways in which we can metaphorically refill our tanks. (But in the article, he said we should do what works for us.) I kinda already knew that, but since I'm not always able to do those things, I have to be creative about discovering ways to unplug, relax, and recharge.

God has definitely been helping, and He's been pretty specific. The other day, He told me, "You need to play video games." OK, no problem.

So, I recently dusted off my old netbook (which isn't really good for anything anymore except music and games) and rediscovered Pinball. There's my little computer pictured with my own personal cheerleading section. Aww, yeah.

It's kind of a weird feeling to have old, stupid ideas ripped out of your head and replaced with new, healthy ideas. I asked God yesterday if it was OK to just check out of life for a while during the video games and hit the pause button on life. God replied, "What do you think sleep is?" Indeed.

Another way I like to unplug (especially on the weekends) is listening to music with crazy chord progressions. I found a used Sarah Brightman CD at Movie Trading Company the other day, and my cats are probably sick of me singing some of it. (They are probably also embarrassed by my interpretive dancing.) Perhaps next weekend, I'll dive into some opera. (Do you dare me?)

I'm learning a lot about myself, and certain aspects of my personality are cementing pretty firmly.

I believe it was last summer (while I was unemployed) that I had a blank canvas on which to paint my "quiet time" with God. I would spend about 20 minutes worshiping on my guitar, maybe about 10 minutes reading my Bible, and about 5 minutes praying. God told me that He just wanted to show me my personality/gifting during that season: "You're not an intercessor. You're a worshiper." Ain't nothin' wrong with that.

In 1999, I enjoyed a personal songwriting Renaissance in which my guitar and I were very prolific. In 2015, I have discovered that it is easier for me to sing my prayers than to speak them. If you want me to pray fervently and effectively, put a guitar in my hands and let me go to town for at least 20 minutes.

In 1999, when I lived alone, I was constantly around the same people all the time, and one particular mentor relationship that I had was very codependent. This mentor was actually involved in several codependent relationships with other women whom she was mentoring. I saw the aftereffects of a couple of these relationships, and they weren't pretty at all.

In 2015, when I live alone with two cats, God has shown me that He's been teaching me how to be alone. He's said, "It's hard to deal with loneliness when you have people in your face all the time." Indeed.

"To do righteousness and justice is more acceptable to the Lord than sacrifice." (Proverbs 21:3)

I think in 1999, my life was still being measured by a Pharisee's ruler: Don't do this; do that. Pray and be spiritual; don't be a human being or have fun. Redeem the time, for the days are evil; so come to our retreat this weekend, or we will assume that you are participating in sinful activities without us.

Blecch. I would much rather God measure my life with His own ruler: Love Me, love people, and don't forget to love yourself. I am not just another category in your tiny little life; I am a God who wants to seep His way into every single aspect of your tiny little life and breathe new life into it. You are in My family now, so let's enjoy this life that I've carved out for you.

I used to be a much nicer person. I used to be extremely, weirdly gracious and nauseatingly forgiving toward people... or was I? After all, I did become gravely depressed, and one major cause of depression is unforgiveness. So, now in 2015, God has been helping me pour out my heart to Him (Psalm-62 style) and resolve stuff on the inside before it officially festers into depression. He's been re-teaching me how to forgive, how to be gracious, and how to love people, and He's shown me that I originally learned how to do these things the wrong way. I am not a doormat. It's OK for me to have boundaries. It's OK for me to do things like entertain myself, pick my friends, and have fun.

As Sarah Brightman would say, it's time to say goodbye.

2, 3, 4...

The other day while I was driving home and listening to music (Billy Joel, I think), I noticed myself counting off out loud, "2, 3, 4..." almost every time a new section of a song would begin. It was obsessive and hilarious. (I even think I noticed myself doing the same thing after I switched to Queen.) Even after that very fun drive home, I've noticed myself doing the same thing from time to time when I listen to music, if it's a song that I'm already familiar with. This anticipatory counting off is instinctive for me because I'm a singer/musician.

Perhaps this quirky behavior shouldn't surprise me. Metaphorically speaking, God does the same thing all the time. And I am made in His image.

"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)

"Behold, I will do a new thing, now it shall spring forth; shall you not know it? I will even make a road in the wilderness and rivers in the desert." (Isaiah 43:19)

While I was driving home on Friday evening, I was spewing out my complaints about my job and my life in general to God (which He likes me to do, and I really would die if I couldn't do it). I don't remember His exact words, but I remember that I was crying, and He gently comforted me: "Different things are needed in different seasons. Back then, you just needed a job, and you got one. Now you need your dignity back."

While I was trudging to my apartment, I debated whether or not I should attend a church service that evening. I asked God that if I were to go to the service, that He please just speak to me.

So, the pastor that evening preached a little bit about the Bible story about the daughters of Zelophehad. From what I understand, these were the first women in the Bible to inherit property, which they were able to do because their father died without producing any male heirs. The pastor said that these women were very bold and that their story was a significant one because women in biblical times weren't always treated very well. But the daughters of Zelophehad were women of dignity.

I believe that part of the message began in Numbers 27:3. Do you know what one of the preceding verses says?

"Then came the daughters of Zelophehad the son of Hepher, the son of Gilead, the son of Machir, the son of Manasseh, from the families of Manasseh the son of Joseph; and these were the names of his daughters: Mahlah, Noah, Hoglah, Milcah, and Tirzah." (Numbers 27:1)

I rarely have the privilege of sitting through a church message where any biblical story about Tirzah is mentioned. So, this past Friday evening, God definitely confirmed what He had already spoken to me. He blessed me. He encouraged me. He overwhelmed me by showing me how important I am to Him, just like He always does.

Just like how everybody is important to Him, and He'll show everybody if they'll just let Him.

 

For the past couple of weeks, I've been giving Macho some medicine orally every 12 hours on a full stomach. I live with both my cats in a small apartment, so there's no use hiding anything from them. Anytime I have to administer some sort of veterinary treatment on them, I like to tell them about it first... even if I have to warn them about my sneakiness. "Is it OK if I trick you into taking some medicine?" "Wow."

So, it didn't take long for Macho to figure out when it was time for me to give him his medication. I would usually say, "Would you like some breakfast and some medicine?" or "Dinner and some medicine?" or "Snacky and some medicine?" etc. Sometimes he would hide under the bed as soon as he was done eating (which would require some fancy cat-herding moves on my part), or he would try to skip a meal altogether (like this morning), and other times he would eat his meal solemnly and then crouch in anticipation of the inevitable (so that I could carry him into the kitchen, force his mouth open, and squirt the stuff down his throat).

But whenever I say, "medicine," Macho has an idea of what to expect. It is very important to me that my cats trust me to deliver whenever and whatever I say I'm going to deliver.

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

"But, beloved, do not forget this one thing, that with the Lord one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day." (2 Peter 3:8)

So, when we musicians count off during a song, it often indicates that something is about to change -- that something new is going to happen. For instance...

2, 3, 4...

Begin verse two.

2, 3, 4...

Bridge.

2, 3, 4...

Key change.

As the metaphorical song of my life plays, I think sometimes God metaphorically counts off every time a new section or season of the song begins. I kinda wish it would go something like this...

2, 3, 4...

Begin new job.

2, 3, 4...

Boyfriend.

2, 3, 4...

Calling fulfilled.

And sometimes things happen that quickly and almost that predictably (especially when you're a kid and don't have anything to worry about except school during the week, cartoons on Saturday, and church on Sunday). But sometimes things don't happen that neatly (far from it -- waaaaay far from it).

In a nutshell, music is half logical math ("theory") and half vague art (the kind of stuff that makes this artsy chick's heart soar). Perhaps both aspects of music also come into play as the metaphorical song of my life plays. I wonder if perhaps God's metaphorical count-offs happen more like this...

2, 3, 4...

Um... sure, you can have a new job... eventually. Like, when you get to heaven, you can work for Me.

2, 3, 4...

[crickets chirping, clock ticking]

2, 3, 4...

Hey, child, have I ever told you the story about the little girl who let her Daddy carry her through the valley of the shadow of death? Oh, I have told you that story? Let Me tell it to you again. It's one of my favorites. Once upon a time...

So, I think I might be on the verge of something new happening in my life, because I think I've heard God metaphorically counting off. And yet... it's very possible that He's counting off (or thinking very seriously about counting off) something that might happen in the distant future... maybe... if everything goes just right... unless He changes His mind and just wants to share an ice-cream cone with me instead.

He can be like that. I think I just need to keep listening and stay ready.

Stalking

"Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." (Psalm 23:6)

A while back, my pastor mentioned this verse in a sermon. He said that the original word for "follow" actually means "chase" -- that God's goodness and mercy chases after us, and they will finally find us and grab us if we will just stop running from them. I haven't been able to find the original Hebrew, but it sure got my imagination going. What if God's goodness and mercy are actually stalking us?

Sure enough, I did find this in Nelson's Compact Bible Commentary: "The Hebrew verb follow describes an animal in pursuit. When the Lord is our Shepherd, instead of being stalked by wild beasts we are pursued by the loving care of the Lord."

Reader, welcome to my world.

Growing up as a female in a Mexican culture (even in English-speaking Texas) meant being constantly pursued -- stalked, you could say -- by males. Now, as a chronically single woman, I'm certainly no expert at relationships, but I can tell when a guy likes a girl. All I have to do is remember what it was like to be pursued. (My immensely heartbreaking disappointment of not being pursued by eligible bachelors in a non-Mexican culture is another story.)

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was minding my own business one day while walking near the cafeteria around lunchtime. I was relatively new to my school, and I was still growing out of my awkward early-teenage phase. But out of the corner of my ear, I heard a guy say, "I want to [bleep] her."

Almost immediately afterwards, I was approached by an extremely unattractive guy. He had very bucked teeth and ears that stuck way out of his longish hair. I thought he looked like a mouse. (I'm not making this up.) He announced that his friend wanted to meet me. Really? Someone really wanted to [bleep] the nerdy new girl who wore discount-store clothes, her hair in a ponytail, and big glasses? This was uncharted territory for me.

So, mouse-boy introduced me to his friend -- a stocky, nervous-looking guy who was fairly cute but otherwise creepy. (I mean, you'd probably think so, too, if he announced that he wanted to [bleep] you.) I don't remember if it was at this particular meeting or if it was another time that he delivered a note that he had written to me. In this note, he said that he had his own truck and that he went to church because he thought it was "good for the body." I'm not sure what he meant about that part, but when I announced my newfound boy-adventures to my family, my birth father suggested, "Maybe he means the body of Christ." Eh, I don't know. I think he was just trying to impress me.

Frankly, if he had kept his inappropriate [bleep]ing comments to himself and, especially, if he had pursued me himself instead of recruiting mouse-boy to do it for him -- THEN I might have been impressed.

I turned him down as nicely as I could, but apparently it wasn't nice enough for him. A couple of years later, he saw me in the hallway while he was cruising with his friends and called to me, "Hi, Pierce-ah!" His entourage laughed. Ah, ha, ha.

Fast-forward to the summer after my freshman year in college when I had my first job. I worked at an insurance agency and met at least a dozen new customers every day. One time, one of the customers called me at the office and asked me out to lunch to thank me for helping him buy a policy. This created a bit of a stir in the office, of course. My boss laughed and said that this particular customer was married with five kids and that he was crazy. Well, if you consider adulterous to be "crazy," OK.

I got out of going to lunch with him, but he did return to the office and half-hug me while squishing his bushy sideburns on my cheek. Ick, I'm shuddering just typing this.

I know these are kinda silly examples of being pursued or stalked. (My cats weren't available this evening for photographs.) But as I mentioned earlier, that's how I can tell that a guy likes a girl -- he'll chase after her.

No, this post isn't just about romantic relationships. It's about THE relationship.

"Seek the Lord while He may be found, call upon Him while He is near." (Isaiah 55:6)

"When You said, 'Seek My face,' my heart said to You, 'Your face, Lord, I will seek.' " (Psalm 27:8)

"... if My people who are called by My name will humble themselves, and pray and seek My face, and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin and heal their land." (2 Chronicles 7:14)

I don't remember the exact context of the conversation, but I was talking to my birth sister one day years ago about something God-related, and the subject of "seeking the Lord" came up. She became a bit defensive and was like, "Seeking the Lord is a charismatic thing." Well, sorry to throw a wrench in your cessationist ideas, but the truth is all over the Bible, right there in black and white. God likes to be pursued.

I learned / was reminded of this quite recently while I was working through some boiling emotional stuff in my head. I don't remember exactly what I was thinking or what I was silently screaming about, but I prayed. Then God said, "Don't bother Me."

So, of course, I bothered Him.

I'm not completely sure if He was doing a reverse-psychology thing with me, but of course it worked. I don't remember our exact conversation over the next few days, but I was like, "Wait. Was that really You talking?" And He repeated, "Don't bother Me." And I was like, "Am I being prideful? Are You resisting me?" And I was like, "Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait," and I followed Him around like a lovesick puppydog who knows that it's mealtime, and her Master has some kibble with her name on it, but for some reason He just won't give it to her yet.

I'm crazy. Sometimes I have to say something to the effect of, "I don't care if You burn me to a crisp, but I need You to hug me" to communicate how I'm really feeling to the God of the universe, the Consuming Fire who I can't see with my earthly eyes and still live, my Father who adopted me and is probably aching to hug me, too.

At any rate, I came out pretty quickly from whatever type of foggy whatever that was in my head, because God was like, "You passed the test." I think maybe He wanted me to stalk Him. And He showed me how the stress of me always trying to please my birth father (who always looked down on us) contributed to my current issues. God is pretty efficient, especially when He speaks. Sometimes He likes to kill multiple birds with one stone.

And the cool part about God and me stalking each other is that neither one of us will ever need to get a restraining order. Quite the contrary. If I don't chase after Him, and if I don't let Him chase after me, I'll die.

So, Psalm 23:6 says that goodness and mercy will chase after me for as long as I live. Maybe that means that goodness is like a persistent customer who calls me up out of the blue and is like, "Hey, your Father wanted to thank you for letting Him adopt you. How about a roof over your head, food in your fridge, and a movie date on Friday?" Maybe that means that mercy is like a sight for sore eyes who suddenly approaches me and is like, "Hey, your Friend wanted me to tell you that He doesn't want to [bleep] you, no offense. He wants to bless you. He really, really, really, really, really likes you. How about some grace to keep your mouth shut when you want to open it and hurt people, a schedule that miraculously gives you a bit of breathing room to take care of your ailing cat, and some incredibly divine protection while you're zooming down the highway day in, day out?"

Heck yes. I'll take all of that. Thank You.