"Your Obviousness"

I think it's a good thing I live by myself. Otherwise, any roommates of mine would have to put up with the obsessive, incessant way that I talk to my cats.

I basically say the same things to them over and over and over again -- not necessarily in this order, but it's a neverending stream of the same basic stuff: "Hi, how are you doing? I love you. You're my kitties. I'm your mama. I'm so glad that you're my kitties. I'm so glad that I'm your mama. Did you know that you're the most extremely adorable kitties in the entire universe? In the entire universe, you are the most extremely adorable kitten boy, and you are the most extremely adorable kitten girl. Are you having a good day? I love you. You're extremely adorable..." etc., etc., etc., almost as if my voice were a recording playing on a loop.

Sometimes I wait for them to answer me with a "Meow" or a "Wow," but most of the time I just keep talking. Still other times, Choochie will purr very loudly in reply, or Macho will meow-bark and strut away like a little drama queen. I wonder what they would tell me if they could speak English. I don't think they would call me "Your Majesty" or "Your Highness." I think they would probably call me something else. "Gee, thanks, Your Obviousness. I had no idea that I was your cat or that you were my mama, considering that you kinda already TELL ME ALL THE TIME!!!" Sigh. Little teenagers.

But for the most part, they don't complain about my love-gushing. (They're animals. They don't get bored.) They just listen, and they take it all in. Actually, as cats, they probably relish my I-love-you-loop routine.

I know Somebody who communicates in a kind of obsessive, incessant I-love-you-loop of His own.

"For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." (John 3:16)

"By this we know love, because He laid down His life for us." (1 John 3:16a)

"But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." (Romans 5:8)

 

A few nights ago, I realized something very interesting. In approximately one year's time, I have only read about three and a half books of the entire Bible. Sure, I've read the entire Bible all the way through before, but when I bought a brand-new Bible a few years ago, I thought it would be cool to read it all the way through. But I usually don't read more than one chapter in one day. I'm a meditator. I obsess. I chew. I obsess. I absorb. I obsess. (Have I mentioned that I obsess?)

So, from the latter part of September 2014 through almost the latter part of September 2015, I've only read the Psalms through the first half of Song of Solomon. My one-chapter-a-day plan wasn't always followed to the letter. Sometimes I would reread a chapter, sometimes it would take me a day or three (or seven) to read a chapter, and other times I would read something else. It's just crazy-interesting to me that I can pinch my entire year's worth of Bible reading between my fingers.

Of course, God knows exactly what He's doing with me. He knows me.

"The Lord builds up Jerusalem; He gathers together the outcasts of Israel. He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." (Psalm 147:2-3)

One thing He's been doing with me is dismantling my "quiet time." I used to be a Pharisee. I used to be extremely, rigidly, unhealthily, dangerously religious. I think one of the most effective ways to dismantle that way of life is to blow a chick's paradigms to smithereens. For example, there have been a few times when I've realized that I've gone through almost an entire day without having an official "quiet time," and I'll tell God this. He'll answer with a whisper, "Is this quiet enough for you?"

Ha, ha. OK, Father, I get it.

"Of making many books there is no end, and much study is wearisome to the flesh." (Ecclesiastes 12:12b)

When I was in college, I had this verse taped to my bedroom door. Ha, ha. Get it? I think I totally understood that "much study is wearisome" part. But long after I graduated from college and embarked on my career, I think I began to understand that "Of making many books there is no end" part. (Literally, I think.)

I started a new job three weeks ago. You haven't heard much about it because, well, the job is so awesome that I haven't needed to vent about it. (Lucky you, reader!) My new job is about 500% better than my old job. (Not literally, but still.)

I'm in a very cool place in my editing career. At my current job, I get to use almost everything I learned at my previous jobs. And yet, so much of it still seems new.

My first real editing job was at a newspaper. It was very intense, very stressful, and extremely high-paced. I worked at a daily newspaper, so we had to finish editing at a certain time every night, or else. There were no second chances. We had to be perfect the first time, every time. (Even when I started working for the Spanish weekly edition of the paper, there was still a hard deadline once a week.) Sometimes we wouldn't see our mistakes until after they were published. Then our managing editors were very faithful to point out our errors. That job was very good editing training ground.

My second real editing job was at a closed-caption company. That was when I first heard the phrase "drop deadline." In other words, say for instance that a deadline to finish a caption file was Thursday at noon, but the drop deadline was Thursday at 3 p.m. That meant that ideally, they wanted to have the caption file by Thursday at noon, but they absolutely had to have it by 3 p.m., or else. (I think if they didn't get it in time, the TV show would air without captions.) Sometimes we were given surprise assignments with insane drop deadlines. In that case, it was all hands on deck; even the manager would roll up his sleeves and work on the file with us. That was how the work got done.

My next editing job was at a company that was run by ex-teachers. No offense, but you can't run a writing/editing operation in the same way that you can run a classroom. Reader, perhaps you remember reading my multiple ventings about this particular job that put me back into therapy. (Sorry.)

But the two most recent editing jobs I've had have been a bit different. Working at a monthly periodical and now at a company that publishes cyclical print pieces has kind of stretched me a little bit. It's forced me to slow down a little bit. I'm definitely not complaining about the process -- just saying that it's taken some getting used to.

I remember the first time I put a metalworking magazine together. I had thought that it would be like working at the newspaper, where you only got one shot at getting it right. But when I saw my magazine the second time around, before it went to the printer, I was like... "I have to read this again?" And then I saw it a third time, before it was actually printed, and I was like... "Um, what am I supposed to be looking for now?" I think my job at that point was to make sure that somebody at the print shop (or myself) hadn't made a weird mistake or sneezed or something and maybe accidentally rotated a photo or something like that.

At my current job, there is a similar editing process that involves me reading the same thing multiple times before the product is actually printed. I am still learning when to read for what type of content, and sometimes my previous newspaper training kicks in, and I scan the material at lightning speed... but I am still learning what to check, when to read quickly, and when it's OK to slow down. It's fascinating, honest. If you want to print something, and you want somebody to actually read what you agonize over writing and editing, you need to make sure that it's highly polished and perfect.

Of course, this extended editing process reminds me of Somebody I know -- Somebody who is also into perfecting His creation.

"A garden enclosed is my sister, my spouse, a spring shut up, a fountain sealed." (Song of Solomon 4:12)

Last night, I was about to read Song of Solomon chapter 5, but I backed up a few verses and parked at the latter part of chapter 4 instead. (I've done that sort of thing a lot this past year.) Gardens take a while to cultivate and grow. If you're growing a garden, you need to take care of it. You need to make sure each element of your garden gets as much water and sunlight as it needs to get. If something in your garden needs fertilizer, you need to take the time to distribute it and let it take effect. If certain rodents have a tendency to attack or steal from your garden, you need to be ready to protect your garden from the trespassers. (Of course, a cat could come in handy for this job.)

God is definitely the Master Gardener. If I am His garden, then He is taking His time to cultivate the things that are growing inside me. Maybe these are things like love, patience, goodness, faithfulness, self-control, etc. -- things that can take time to grow. God does the highest quality of work -- He does everything accurately and perfectly, the first time around. Sure, there is a certain time crunch to me developing the things inside me that I need to develop. And yet, He is probably going to take His sweet time.

God is definitely the Master Publisher. Metaphorically speaking, He is writing a story inside me that He won't publish until He knows it's perfectly polished. He's going to write, rewrite, revise, and edit. And then He is going to proofread as many versions as He wants to read until He is sure that His story will print exactly the way He wants it to print.

Sure, I probably get in the way of the gardening or the editing process. But God is graciously, enormously, infinitely patient with me, and He gives me lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of chances to get it right.

God knows me. He knows that I'm an obsessive little sponge of a meditator. He knows that after years of me soaking in the wrong mire-stuff, He needs to pull me out of the mire, sandblast me off, and then let me soak in the right grace-stuff for a while. Perhaps that's what He's been doing with me. Perhaps in a similar way that I say the same things to my cats over and over again -- "Hi, I love you. I'm so glad that you're my kitties. I'm so glad that I'm your mama" -- on a neverending loop, God has been communicating the same way with me -- "Hi, I love you. You're Mine. No one will ever be able to take you away from Me. I'm so glad that you're My child. I'm so glad that I'm your Father. I love you..."

Even the other night while I was trying to fall asleep, I heard myself ask God, "Do You hate me?" Um... it was a very sincere question that bubbled out of me. Perhaps this is why He's had His work cut out for Him.

God certainly doesn't deserve to be called "Your Obviousness," especially considering that the things that He obsessively, incessantly communicates to me aren't so obvious to me. (Otherwise, maybe He wouldn't need to communicate them to me so obsessively and incessantly, until they finally soak in.) He would definitely be "Your Majesty" or "Your Highness," because He's the King, and there isn't anyone higher than He is.

And yet, He just wants me to call Him Father, Daddy, Friend, Lord. I think I am still in the process of "getting" that. Hmm. I think I will let that soak in a bit more.

The bathroom mirror

About 4 years ago, I accidentally put a significant scrape on the outside of my car. (I'd show you a picture, but you'd be able to recognize my vehicle immediately on the street, and I really value my privacy. I mean, I don't even use my cats' real names here on my blog. Are you kidding?) It's kind of a long story as to how it happened, and it used to really embarrass me to drive my car with that highly visible damage.

I used to consider getting the damage fixed, but I've decided to just let it be. It's only cosmetic, it doesn't affect how the car drives, and my car -- which is already paid for -- has almost 100,000 miles on it. Honestly, I'm kind of proud of the damage now. I think it gives my car some character. I think it screams to people, "Hey! You shouldn't drive too close to this crazy lady!! Maniacal laughter!!!" Yeah, that's right. My car has an accidentally cool tattoo.

Throughout the years, my car's damage has caused people to react in all kinds of ways. People have asked me, "Hey, did you find out who hit your car?" or "Did you know that somebody hit your car?" with genuine concern, and that's no problem. But what's annoying is when repairmen accost me and solicit me for business. One time, I found a business card from a body shop on my windshield wiper. Another time, a guy pulled up next to my car while I was parked in the Target parking lot, motioned to me to roll down my window, and proceeded to tell me that he owns a small shop that could fix my car. I turned him down as politely as I could. Yesterday while I was driving to church and sitting at a red light, I heard someone honking very spastically, and I saw a guy motioning to me to roll my window down; I did, and he yelled at me while pointing at my car, "I can fix it!" I smiled and drove away. And I think I called him a jerk under my breath.

The thing is, people only see that one significant scrape on my car. They don't see all the other damage, and they don't know how any of it happened. And it happened 4 years ago; if I wanted to fix it, I probably would have by now.

When I got my car's first real ding, I scraped one of the corners of my car and dented my fender until I popped it back into place, and it was fine. I drove away and was pretty freaked out, but when I prayed and asked God what to do, He simply replied, "Just be glad you have a sturdy car." And I am. I also accidentally gave my car lots of other body damage when I worked in a building that had a parking garage. And have I ever told you about the time that I got rear-ended by a Hummer and lived to tell about it?

No, of course not. All people ever see is that one significant scrape. Perfect strangers are so ready to dish out their solutions to my "problem." They don't know any of the other stuff my car has been through, they don't know what was going through my head or my heart when it happened, and they probably aren't interested in getting to know me as a person at all. They just want to use me for their business.

I mean, come on. I live in a big metropolitan area of Texas that has a lot of traffic. It ain't uncommon for some of us to drive around with little dings on our cars. If it ain't broke, we probably ain't gonna fix it.

Of course, all this talking about my car has just been me building up to a huge metaphor.

 

I've never been married, but I have seen a lot of married couples interact. A husband and wife might not necessarily put the deepest workings of their relationship on display for all to see. In fact, they're supposed to keep the most precious aspects of their relationships private. The nuts and bolts of a marriage -- the deep discussions, the digging for solutions, the talking through and the unpacking of hidden emotions -- may not necessarily happen in the bedroom, in the living room, or at the dining-room table. I've seen a lot of it happen at the bathroom mirror. (So, it isn't just a place to take selfies. Who'd a thunk?)

While you're staring into the bathroom mirror to do very mundane things like brush your teeth, shave, fix your hair, or put your makeup on, you're not doing anything that requires rocket science, and it's a private spot that isn't open to the public, so it's a perfect location to work out some stuff with the person who's fixing themselves up either right next to you or perhaps in a location that's very close by. When I was younger, I got all kinds of scooped-out gossip while I would hang around the parents' bathroom mirror.

And as an adult, the bathroom mirror is a place for me where God tends to quietly show up and show me some deep stuff in my heart that I need to see. Or it's a place where I can be still and quiet enough to ask Him the deep questions that I didn't realize I needed to ask. Or it's a place where I've been able to ask Him some very practical questions, and He's either given me some very practical answers or given me some peace about my situations being worked out. He and I have worked some major stuff out at the bathroom mirror and at locations in my home that are very close by.

"For I considered all this in my heart, so that I could declare it all: that the righteous and the wise and their works are in the hand of God. People know neither love nor hatred by anything they see before them." (Ecclesiastes 9:1)

I've been stuck in Ecclesiastes 9 pretty much all week. It took me forever to get past the first verse. What does it mean? Why is it in the Bible?

The entire Book of Ecclesiastes is like that. What was King Solomon thinking when he wrote it? Did he write it after he had already been dissed by his 1,000 wives, and that was why he was so cynical? Why don't we Christians spend more time digging into this stuff? We just sort of quote the whole "To everything there is a season, turn, turn, turn," from chapter 3 as a rah-rah feel-good Bible passage and then move on to other rah-rah feel-good things. Why do we skip over all the bad things? I remember a couple of years ago, there were people on Facebook who were pushing for people to only post "positive" things. Have they never read Ecclesiastes? There is very little "positive" stuff in there. In fact, there is some stuff in Ecclesiastes that seems to contradict other stuff in the Bible. For instance:

"So I commended enjoyment, because a man has nothing better under the sun than to eat, drink, and be merry; for this will remain with him in his labor all the days of his life which God gives him under the sun." (Ecclesiastes 8:15)

I mean, doesn't that contradict what's in Luke...

"And I will say to my soul, 'Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years; take your ease; eat, drink, and be merry.' But God said to him, 'Fool! This night your soul will be required of you; then whose will those things be which you have provided?' " (Luke 12:19-20)

...and what's in Proverbs?

"Hear, my son, and be wise; and guide your heart in the way. Do not mix with winebibbers, or with gluttonous eaters of meat; for the drunkard and the glutton will come to poverty, and drowsiness will clothe a man with rags." (Proverbs 23:19-21)

Well, since it's all in the Bible, it's all true. I think the trick is just to know when and how to apply and interpret which verse to which situation.

No, of course we fallible human beings can't figure it all out on our own. Metaphorically speaking, we the bride of Christ just need to keep spending time at the bathroom mirror with our Bridegroom. I think that's how we'll know what to do, how to think, and where to step. That's where we can work some stuff out.

At least, speaking for myself, I know that's where I can work some stuff out. I have to. I know that I'm toast without my Bridegroom, my Father, my Helper helping me maneuver through this minefield called life.

Regarding my car, I really think all those accidental dings I've gotten on it have helped me to become a better driver. I'm not proud of my mistakes, but I'm very glad and very thankful that I've been able to learn from them.

My heart has gotten some dings, scrapes, and scratches on it throughout the years, too. Some of the gashes are deeper than others. Sometimes God takes me to the metaphorical body shop so that my heart can get repaired, and other times I think He just lets me live my life with my unrepaired wounds right out in the open for all to see... and for many to pitch some unsolicited advice at it. Sometimes their intentions are very good, and other times they make the wounds seem much more of an embarrassment than they really are. (Actually, when the latter happens, that's a red flag to just stay away from those people.) They don't know all the circumstances behind all the heart-blemishes, and they don't know if God the Master Heart-Mechanic is going to fix the blemishes or just let them develop some character in me. But that's just something that He and I work out, metaphorically speaking, at the bathroom mirror. Most of the time, it's private, and nobody sees or hears what happens except Him and me. (And sometimes my cats.)

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.