Still

A couple of blog posts ago, here was my gush-rambling point (even though my gush-ramblingness kinda got in the way of me saying it): If it were any other cat making messes in my home, that cat would be history... but my Macho gets to stay with me forever because he has my favorgrace -- because he's mine. In a very similar way, if I weren't God's child, He wouldn't bother putting up with all my messiness... but He works with me, helps me, and cherishes me because I have His favorgrace -- because I'm His. (And if I weren't His child, He would be working overtime to get my attention and make sure I knew that He wanted me.)

Wow! What a huge revelation! That alone should be enough to make me feel completely secure all the time, right?

Alas, wrong.

"Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth!" (Psalm 46:10)

 

I just finished a 21-day fast (with my church). I felt led to fast TV and movies, including any non-work-related TV or movie stuff on YouTube.

I broke my fast today with a music/documentary DVD that I had brought home from work (where they sometimes give us cool free stuff), and I also just finished watching The Devil Wears Prada this evening (for the first time). That would have been a great movie to have around when I was working at my previous job -- you know, the periodical with the jerk boss that made you sell your soul to patronizingly ensure that industrial workers all over the world could get a copy of a publication that contained overwhelmingly technical information (which any engineer could get with a simple Google search) and a bunch of ads.

I heard a pastor say once that fasting is basically saying, "No." He's right: "Would you like a steak?" "No, I'll have a salad." "Would you like some iced tea?" "No, I'll have some water." So, the best boundary I knew to make for myself was to put a sticky note with the word "NO" on my DVD/VHS player. I put another one on my TV, but the note kept falling off, and by the time I realized it wouldn't stay, my entertainment-starved soul had gotten the message.

This fast was pretty challenging for me. In the past 21 days, I've encountered lots of situations at work and especially in my personal life that would have been awesome to relax from by lazing around on the couch and taking in a movie or a recorded TV show (I don't have cable or rabbit ears). So, I ended up playing some video games (skipping the option to watch a video ad to continue a game) and scrolling Facebook (skipping the shared YouTube videos) instead.

And I finally bought a new CD/cassette player. God has been pretty adamant about restoring my love of music (which was squelched pretty hard during my college Pharisee days), and He reminded me that several years ago, He told me to relax after work by listening to Andrea Bocelli. I did for a while, but I'm not sure why I stopped. Maybe life got too busy. But for these past 21 days, it's been very nice getting to listen to music like Andrea Bocelli and The Carpenters for relaxation purposes (if you see a middle-age woman headbanging to "Goodbye to Love" on the drive home from work, it's me), and it's been extremely nice getting to explore more of The Gipsy Kings' repertoire (which I might write more about later).

An important key to destressing and relaxation is stillness. Yes, a motif in my life these days seems to be stillness, as Psalm 46:10 can vouch for.

One thing God has been showing me is that 2016 will be what the year 2000 was supposed to have been for me. In 2000, I attempted suicide, and I lost almost everything in my life (even though I was still breathing). After I was released from the psych hospital, anytime I tried to have a "quiet" time, I couldn't get out of Psalm 46. God ended up keeping me in Psalm 46 for many months (if not years -- I can't remember exactly). And now in 2016, He has me in Psalm 46 again. (Sometimes He leads me to read Psalm 47, 45, or 42, but He ends up boomeranging me back to 46. You get the idea.)

Psalm 46 is fascinating. There are so many ideas in it. The one that's repeated is the one that goes, "The Lord of hosts is with us; the God of Jacob is our refuge; selah." Translation: "The God who has tons of legions of angels at His beck and call is WITH YOU; the God who wrestled with the deceiver-guy and dislocated his hip wants you to HIDE YOURSELF IN HIM; He's watching over you, you're going to be OK, so just CHILL OUT." This all occurs in the middle of the mountains plunging into the sea, you're in trouble, and your entire world is pretty much falling apart. When this happens, Psalm 46 says it's going to be OK, because God is God.

It also says in verse 9 that God can instantly stop the wars and the turmoil and the world-falling-apart-ness that happens inside your head. A friend tried to tell me this a long time ago, and she was right. Psalm 46:9 says that if there's a chariot or spear headed right at you, He can stop it, and then the war will be over right then and there.

And I've also experienced the fact that some wars cease gradually, but Psalm 46:10 says to be STILL and know that He is God.

So, this God who wants to come to my rescue every time I'm in trouble... um, He knows me. Like, He really really really really really knows me... better than I know myself.

Going back to His idea of my 2016 being what my 2000 was supposed to have been all along -- translation: God restoring to me the things that I lost --

My life in 2000:

- I had a job where I was respected

- I was a leader in my church

- I believed I was called to some sort of ministry

- I was involved with music at my church in several different ways

- I had very close friends and was involved in a community

My life in 2016:

- I have a job where I am respected

- I am leader in my church choir

- I am definitely called to the ministry

- I am looking for ways to become more involved in the music at my church

- I have at least one close friend and am rather deeply rooted in a community

Cool. All of that restoration didn't happen overnight. All of that was definitely God.

Sure, there were plenty of times when my world was completely falling apart. There were times when I cried buckets of tears to God, there were times when I got hurt, and there were times when I opened my Bible and was desperate for God to show me what to do in certain situations. But I gotta say... it's all OK, because God is God.

He keeps telling me to just show up and be myself. Maybe that's because that's exactly what HE does.

So, He knows what He's doing, and I'm happy to just hold on to Him and let Him keep doing His thang. Because He knows me, and He knows His plans, thoughts, and purposes for me. And they're bigger than me. And so is He.

Speaking of stillness, I had to drop my cat Macho off at the vet yesterday (brace yourself for some possible TMI) because he has a urinary blockage and is getting flushed out. While he's been away for the weekend, I've noticed that my home is much quieter without him around. He truly is the spokescat of my feline tribe. This confirms what I knew all along: Macho is the loud, clingy one, and Choochie is the quiet, independent one. (Even though Macho is the introvert who hides from people, and Choochie is the extrovert who explores/climbs on people.)

Even though I like the stillness, I miss having my Macho drama queen around. Yes, of course he reminds me of myself. With him, it isn't "I'm hungry." It's "I'M HUNGRY NOW! WOW!!" While I was in the vet's waiting room yesterday waiting for test results, a customer walked in, and Macho meow-howled from across the other end of the building. "That's my cat," I explained to the customer.

I'm sure God has similar feelings about me. Maybe in heaven, the angels approach Him and are like, "Um, Lord, there's a problem at such-and-such church." And God just smiles, sighs, looks down on earth and says, "That's My Tirzah. I know that hunger-squeal from a million miles away. Drop an Amplified Bible into her lap and make sure she knows Psalm 46:10 backwards [behind, toward the back] and forwards [at the front, at the beginning]."

I'm God's child. This God of angel-hosts, hip-dislocations, and cease-fires is with me. I'm OK.

"Just you and Me"

Several years ago, I started this blog as a place where I could safely talk about politics and other controversial issues. However, since then, I've discovered that I absolutely hate politics and other controversial issues, because they were shoved down my throat in my past, they make me cringe now, and the best way I've personally found to make people stop yelling at me online is to 1) unfriend them and/or 2) turn them into villains in my fiction stories.

But since its inception, this blog has become a therapeutic place for me to write and share my spiritual journey with others far, far away from the din of social media, where people seem to come out of the woodwork to tell me how wrong my political views supposedly are.

Well, OK, but you're on my turf now. I hope you understand that my views are my own -- they're not dictated to me by my church, my pastor, my employer, or even the leaders of the political party that I usually vote for (Republican). Since I get almost 100% of my news now from Facebook, politics is in my face all the time now. I've seen some disturbing things that I would like to address briefly here, if you'll indulge me. And then I'll go right back into self-therapy. (Once upon a time, there lived a middle-aged half-Hispanic woman who just wanted to spend a quiet afternoon minding her own business on her couch with her cats...)

Almost eight years ago, I stood in line for an hour to vote for Sarah Palin. I thought it was worth it, even though the presidential candidate she was running with lost the race. And I thought I wouldn't hesitate to vote for Sarah Palin again... until recently.

OK, take a step back for a second. Hillary Clinton... versus Donald Trump. Is this what the American presidential race has become -- a total joke? I wouldn't naturally respect either of them as my commander-in-chief. It would be kind of like whenever my effeminate birth father would spank me with a belt (which would barely graze my bottom) -- ooo, I'm so scared of you, buddy!

(For the record, I've planned on voting for the guy whose dad and brother were president before him. You know, the guy whose children are half-Hispanic. I think he might understand where I'm coming from. And I think it's safe to say that being president is kind of already in his gene pool. I would be honored to stand in line for an hour to vote for him if need be. Not that anyone cares who I plan to vote for, but I gotta tell you, my voter registration card is up to date, and I'm not afraid to use it.)

But I will have to respect whoever gets elected into the White House (regardless of my authority issues) simply because of their position of authority over me, in the spirit of Romans 13. I have been praying that men and women who love God and want to do life His way would get elected into office. I have also been praying that whoever God wants to be elected into the White House would have favor with the American people. It's been interesting to see how things have been shifting around so far.

Unfortunately, for me, one early casualty of this election has been my disillusionment. I have almost 100% lost respect for Sarah Palin. I used to look up to her as a role model. I used to want to meet her. Now I can't really believe anything she says. Wait. Let me put this in Trump-esque vocabulary for her: Sarah, you're fired.

End of political rant. Back to therapy.

"Do not put your trust in princes, nor in a son of man, in whom there is no help. His spirit departs, he returns to his earth; in that very day his plans perish. Happy is he who has the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the Lord his God..." (Psalm 146:3-5)

"A father of the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in His holy habitation. God sets the solitary in families; He brings out those who are bound into prosperity; but the rebellious dwell in a dry land." (Psalm 68:5-6)

I mentioned this briefly in a previous post, but in recent years when I've had a disillusioning, heartbreaking, or otherwise world-shaking experience, God has comforted me by telling me, "It's still just you and Me."

No matter what happens in my life, it's still just me and God. No matter who comes and goes in my life, it's still just me and God. If a friend publicly rejects me and shames me, it's still just me and God. If my cat dies, it's still just me and God. If I end up walking away from my family and all of my relatives, it's still just me and God. If all of my dreams die and are never resuscitated or replaced, it's still just me and God.

Even though it can be excruciating, I really am OK with it. The most important Being in the universe... the highest Authority in the universe... the Creator of the universe... wants a relationship with me? Why? I'll never understand it. But I gladly accept it.

He's the only One who's always available for me to talk to, hang out with, get counseling from, ask questions of, throw a tantrum with, cry to, and want obsessively. He's the only One who can handle it. And He's the only One who is OK for me to relate to that way nonstop. That's how He intended it in the first place. That's how He designed me. He wants me to worship Him.

And I like my relationship with Him. I want it to go even deeper. He wants that, too. (He keeps saying so through pastors at my church.)

And yet, today while I've been working through another emotional disillusionment in my personal life, I asked God if He was going to tell me that it's still just Him and me again. He replied, "It's you, Me, and a bunch of people who care about you."

OK. I'll gladly take that, too.

And this can go in a positive direction, too.

No matter what happens in my life, it's still just me and God. No matter how many people love and accept me, it's still just me and God. If all of my friends publicly praise me and honor me, it's still just me and God. If both my cats miraculously live to be 50 years old each, and if the people from Guinness come knocking on my door to find out my secret to feline longevity, it's still just me and God. If I end up being permanently knit into multiple families for life, and if I have more invitations to Thanksgiving, Christmas, Fourth of July, Easter, and every other holiday you can think of, it's still just me and God. If I end up becoming the world's greatest worship pastor, novelist, songwriter, and rock star who ever lived, it's still just me and God.

Tonight when I feed my cats before bedtime, it will be just me and God. When I go to bed alone, it will be just me and God. While I sleep and the angels guard my home, my dreams, and the private concert that my Father will sing over me and that no one else will hear, it will be just me and Him.

(For the record, regardless of what happens in this year's elections, we as Christians must cling to God as our only hope, rather than some lame political candidate. Ooo, I'm so scared!) 

Favorgrace

I decided to smush together the topics of today's post into the title, of course.

Remember that sickly little cat that I blogged about last summer? Well, it seems that while I was nursing him back to health (and God was healing him), I created (or re-created) a monster. I think his appetite has returned with a fierce vengeance. I wish this photo could do it justice, but here he is interfering with my otherwise peaceful dinner from the other night. I was eating a corndog, and he was climbing my arm trying to wrestle my food out of my hand. (This all happened shortly after I had already fed him his food.)

If you prayed for Macho's healing and/or for his appetite to be restored, thank you. I owe you. I'm not being sarcastic; I'm being serious.

In case you don't know, I really love this little guy. His health issues from last summer made him lose about half his entire body weight, which he hasn't completely regained (and possibly may never due to his age). But his appetite is back, his knack for troublemaking is back, and his sassiness is back. My cat is back. I'm happy.

But, of course, Macho's undiagnosed G.I. issues are still something that we deal with every day. I'm just used to it. (I'm going to write about some really gross stuff; thank you in advance for bearing with me.) Most of the time, his poop is runnier than it used to be. He's gotten lazier in the litterbox, so I usually have to cover/bury his pungent mess myself. If I don't spray supersonic air freshener/neutralizer after every time he poops, the stench will become too strong to ignore. Sometimes he poops after every snack. Sometimes his poop doesn't dry right away, and if it's still stuck to the bottom of his tail when he sits down anywhere in my apartment, I'll find tiny pieces of poop stuck to my carpet, floor, couch, etc. Once in a while, I'll find it on my bed near my pillow. (That would more than likely be on the weekends when I sleep in, he uses the litterbox, and then he tries to wake me up to feed him again.) Whenever I can hear/smell him in the litterbox, I try to follow him and make sure he doesn't soil my stuff on his way out of the litterbox. Yes, I sometimes wipe my cat's behind for him.

Just keeping it real.

 

But all that gross stuff that I've been living with (and getting used to) with my Macho is all just a minor adjustment. I love him. I want him. I've known him for 16 years. It's hard for me to imagine life without him. I would do anything for him. He has my heart. I am choking up just typing this.

He is far from perfect, but he has my favor. He has my grace. I take care of him. He is mine.

 

Of course, Macho isn't my only cat. I have Choochie, too. Everything I just said about Macho (minus the G.I. and the poop situation) goes for my Choochie, too. But she has had her own health struggles. Her thyroid issues seem to be under control. She used to have long vomiting spells, but they stopped. And she used to have a heart murmur, but it went away completely. (God definitely healed that.)

Choochie has been mine longer than Macho has. I love her. I want her. I would do anything for her. She has my heart.

Neither of my cats is perfect, but they both have my favor. They both have my grace. I take care of both of them. They are mine.

But even though I love both of them equally, I have noticed that they each receive my love differently. Macho seems to constantly demand food from me, while Choochie often purrs loudly when I'm near her. I think they also respond to my favorgrace differently. Macho is an insecure bundle of nerves who gets into mischief behind my back (e.g., climbing into my kitchen cabinets when he wants to nap), while Choochie has the decency to complain to me out in the open (e.g., chewing on a doorstop when she's hungry). I think they also interact with my heart differently. Macho wants to snuggle with me when it's cold outside, but when it gets warm again he's back to his aloof self; Choochie has always insisted on being near me when I eat breakfast, and she will always want to snuggle with me at night.

So, is my point in writing this to say that I like Choochie more than I like Macho? No, of course not. I'm saying that even though Macho is more of a selfish little high-maintenance slob of a cat than Choochie is, I love them both the same. They both have my favorgrace.

Do you have an idea of where I'm going with this really long analogy?

"Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name; you are Mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, nor shall the flame scorch you." (Isaiah 43:1b-2)

"Where can I go from Your Spirit? Or where can I flee from Your presence? If I ascend into heaven, You are there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there. If I take the wings of the morning, and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, even there Your hand shall lead me, and Your right hand shall hold me." (Psalm 139:7-10)

This might sound terrible, but I didn't learn about God's love for me by watching my earthly father. I've learned about it and experienced it pretty much from wherever I can find it: watching other people interact with their kids, reading the Bible, hanging out with God directly, etc.

For instance, one time I was praying about something (I don't remember what it was now), and God was like, "If you ask Me for a fish, I won't give you an electric eel." I believe He was referring to this passage...

"Or what man is there among you who, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will he give him a serpent?" (Matthew 7:9-10)

...and I'm not sure exactly if the Greek word for "serpent" could also translate to "electric eel," but it intrigued me to hear this part of my Father's heart for me. If I ask Him for a fish to eat, He won't give me a fish that could electrocute me. If I ask Him for a blessing, He probably won't give me a trial. If I ask Him to help me, He won't hurt me.

He's a good Dad.

God adopted me. I'm His child. He loves me. He wants me. He's known me longer than I've known myself. He doesn't want to imagine life without me. He would do anything for me. I have His heart.

I am far from perfect, but I have His favor. I have His grace. He takes care of me. I am His.

And I've learned a ton about how God loves me through my cats. They're like little visual aids that are in my face all the time.

God is right there beside me every day while I'm dealing with my issues. I think He follows me around all day long and is available to wipe my behind so that I don't soil the house He's spent so much time building and re-building with me. "Wait, little one. Come back here. Let Me clean up your adorable little behind. Nope. Don't settle down yet. Let Me finish. No, wait, that's... not a problem. It was time to change the sheets, anyway. I love you. Can we do it differently next time, please? My way is better. Daddy's way will always be better. Wait. Why are you in this part of the house now? This isn't a place for you. Um, can you get out of there, please? You're not authorized back here. I don't want you to get hurt -- that's why I don't want you back here. There's too much temptation in here for you. Get out of here. No. It's not time to curl up and take a nap there. Sigh. OK, little one, let Me pick you up and whisk you away from here. It's OK. Have a good cry in Daddy's bosom. I love you. Please come snuggle with Me."

"Because he has set his love upon Me, therefore I will deliver him; I will set him on high, because he has known My name. He shall call upon Me, and I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble; I will deliver him and honor him. With long life I will satisfy him, and show him My salvation." (Psalm 91:14-16)

Why hasn't God euthanized me yet? Aren't I too costly to maintain? Aren't I too much to put up with? Apparently He doesn't think so. He likes me so much that He bought me with Jesus' life. I have His favorgrace for life. He wants me to stay with Him forever. And I want that, too. He's stuck with me forever. And I don't want it any other way.

Just keeping it real.

YOLO

In this post, I'm going to throw a bunch of mostly unrelated things together, but I hope they'll work well together. (Sort of like stir-fry.) And in case you need a slang translation, the title of this post is an abbreviation for "you only live once."

On an episode of one of my favorite shows, Everybody Loves Raymond, Debra confronts ultra-controlling Marie about keeping her house sterile and abnormally clean. Raymond nervously supports Debra's argument: "There's china that we never use, and there's towels that we never touch. It's like you're saving everything for a special occasion that hasn't happened yet." Frank chimes in about the accessories that are only available to house guests: "What are those little towels with the gold fringe for? For when the Pope comes over here to use the downstairs can?" If I remember correctly (I think this is from a different episode, about a different subject), Frank says, "I'm 65 years old. What are you saving it for?"

Before I sang in the choir at my church for Christmas 2014, God basically told me, "What are you saving it for?" Before I served in the choir for Christmas 2015, He basically said again, "Don't hold anything back."

That's kind of been the theme of my life lately: Don't hold anything back; what are you saving it for?

At work, I totally pour myself into my job; if anything lands on my desk, it will receive the full Tirzah treatment, where Tirzah will run with the opportunity to offer feedback. (Unless, of course, it's for a certain type of assignment that I've already done a dozen times, and I already know that a certain type of feedback isn't welcome; in that case, I'll save my energy for the next assignment.) In friendships, although I am ultra-cautious, if someone opens the door for me to get to know them very closely, and if I feel comfortable doing so, I'm going to run with the opportunity to bond with a potential lifelong friend. (In my lifetime, I've seen friends come and go; why not love on them while they're right there under my nose?) In romantic relationships, well... I haven't had one since 1994, but there is a certain window of opportunity that a guy has to pursue a woman before she loses interest in him completely; and since I've almost 100% decided that I'm going to remain single for the rest of my life here on earth, I think that window of opportunity has pretty much closed for me. (Sorry. You snooze, you lose.)

But lately, my biggest reminder of the fleetingness of life here on earth has been my cat Macho. If you read my blog last summer (especially here and here), perhaps you know that he's almost used up all of his nine lives.

 

Once I realized that Macho's life was fragile and could end at any moment, I started relaxing some of the rules/boundaries that I had set up in my home. For example, instead of not allowing him to perch on my pillow in the mornings, I let him hang out there while he waits for me to wake up and feed him. I also let him use (shred) my couch as a nail-sharpener. And once in a while, instead of insisting that he only eat cat food, I will give him a tiny sample of my own meal. In the above photo, I shared a piece of a Chicken McNugget with him. (He didn't know how to eat it, so he licked it like a Popsicle.) It sure is relieving to see that his appetite has been restored.

A few minutes ago, he nudged my laptop out of the way so that he could snuggle on my lap, so I made room on my lap for both my computer and his purring self.

I first met him about 16 years ago when a friend called me and invited me over to meet an orange kitten that she had just acquired at PetSmart. When I arrived at her house, she opened her front door, and he looked right at me and meowed. I'm not exactly sure what happened right after his initial friendliness, because he is extremely shy and skittish around strangers now, and it took me a long time to get him used to human affection. After I became his owner, while he has been around me, he has been a pig for affection and attention.

I've decided to love on Macho as much as I can while I still have him. I hope he gets to live for another 16 years, but regardless of how long I have him, I don't want to hold anything back. Seriously, what am I saving it for? One recent evening, I was late for choir rehearsal because I had run home to check on him. The other day, I was late for a get-together with friends because I started dancing with Macho, and then he didn't want me to stop. (I would say that he likes The Gipsy Kings, but I suspect that he really just likes it when I hold him close.) Next week when my church will have special evening services, I'm thinking about watching a couple of them online at home so that I can feed my babies and let them snuggle with me if they like. Sorry. Family comes first.

This attitude isn't one that I was raised with. I think it's one that I've been taught/shown by my Heavenly Father.

 

A couple of weeks ago while I was doing laundry, I popped over to a nearby drugstore and bought some chocolate. Yes, I was PMS-ing and was in a rather bad mood. I gobbled up half a chocolate Santa in my car before I realized that that was a bloggable moment.

I remembered an incident that happened when I was a kid, maybe about 10 years old. We lived close to a Revco drugstore, and for some reason our family would often shop there after they would pick us up from school. (I think we even shopped there for presents on Christmas Eve 1985.) One year after Easter, I noticed that all of the chocolate was on sale; it was ultra-cheap and on display near the front of the store. So, my sister and I went crazy and bought a ton of chocolate after our grandfather had picked us up from school. Our mother found out about it and got mad. I'm not exactly sure why she was angry about us buying one-cent or five-cent chocolate bunnies with our own money, but I guess sometimes a childhood memory won't make sense for me until I remember that I was raised by wolves. (We were young women who had finally acquired a chocolate stash. That would have been the perfect opportunity to teach us how to manage our sweet treats.)

I think purchasing those chocolates at 90-95% off was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I don't see prices that that anymore.

I would like to offer a disclaimer/balance to everything that I just said. By seizing the most of every opportunity, because YOLO on this earth, I am not talking about hedonism (worshiping the pursuit of your own happiness instead of worshiping God). And I'm not talking about casting off all restraint, being impatient, or neglecting self-control (because God definitely wants us to have patience and self-control, which are fruits of the Spirit listed in Galatians 5:22-23). And I'm not talking about God's timing, which can be completely different from ours (which I think Isaiah 55:8-9 can vouch for). And I'm not talking about the fact that God gives us second, third, fourth, fifth, and zillions of chances to make our lives right with Him and to live life on this earth His way (2 Peter 3:8-9).

But what I am talking about is, well... I think God already said it best:

"Do you not know that those who run in a race all run, but one receives the prize? Run in such a way that you may obtain it." (1 Corinthians 9:24)

Last year, God told me that I needed to play video games, so I've been going for it. (It involves me relearning how to entertain myself, which I might write more about later.) Lately, while I've been spending a lot of time playing games on my phone (especially Bejeweled), I've learned some stuff about gaming and competition. (When I'm with other people, I'm not usually very competitive, but when it's just Tirzah vs. the computer, it's on, baby.)

First of all, a video/computer game is meant to place you inside a completely different world for a while. You can shoot something, steal something, eat something, earn something, win something, and be victorious at something. If you lose, you can yell at something that will never hear you and will never yell back. The experience is often cathartic and addicting.

I think advertisers know that they will have our attention for a while, so they are smart enough to advertise their products while we are playing our games... although I'm not sure that they always research their audiences very well. (I heard a few years ago that some of the games are so addicting that some of the hardcore gamers forget to eat, so the games have some kind of button that you can click on to order pizza. And yet, on Bejeweled I kept seeing an ad for binge-eating disorders. Um, sorry. Does not compute. If I have a game in my hands, there isn't any room for me to hold any food.) But I can't blame them for trying. You gotta strike while the iron is hot.

Secondly, even when you're playing your game, you can still stay connected to God. I've spent a lot of time over the years letting huge wads of issues unravel in my brain/heart and talking to God about them while I've played video/computer games. (After you've played a few times and know what you're doing, the game can fade into the background while you get to chat with your Friend.)

Thirdly, video/computer games are nice because you can always pause them or reset them. After you hear or see the dreaded words "GAME OVER," you can always start a brand-new game, as long as your battery is charged or plugged in. And if you ever get bored with one game, you can always download or switch to another one.

And yet at the same time, when an opportunity to make a certain play/move comes along, you have to recognize it, grab it, and run with it. Otherwise, that exact opportunity may never come again.

I think the life that God created for us here on earth -- this very special world -- is similar. He's set us in certain places, around certain people, and designed us for certain tasks that need to be addressed (as He leads, of course, while we stay connected to Him as our Life Source) while they're right there under our noses. Otherwise, those exact opportunities may never come again. God is merciful and gracious, of course, and He gives us multiple chances to get it right. But there will come a day when the window of opportunity will close forever.

Meanwhile, I'm going to grab on tightly to my Father and let Him take me wherever He wants me to go. I don't plan on holding anything back. After all, what am I saving it for?

 

And I'm going to miss this little guy when it's finally his time to go.

This post turned out to be rather long. Thank you for running with the opportunity to read it. Happy New Year!

Broad place

I recently got rid of an old stereo system. I'm still shopping around for a new one, and as you can see, I've reserved a spot for the new one (where my old one used to be). I was expecting my cats to adopt the empty spot, but they have completely respected the vacant area. I took this photo a month ago, and they still haven't touched the empty spot. Maybe they know it's off-limits because Mama has something special planned for it.

"My foot stands in an even place; in the congregations I will bless the Lord." (Psalm 126:12)

"He also brought me out into a broad place; He delivered me because He delighted in me." (Psalm 18:19)

This time of year (Christmas and New Year's Eve) is always a natural time for reflection. 2016 will be the year that I turn 40. That will be a monumental occasion indeed.

For me personally, I felt like God told me that this past year (2015) would be like a blank canvas (which gave me hope) and a year of surprises (which made me excited on one hand and apprehensive on the other). I thought 2015 turned out to be a year of surprises indeed:

1) I grew to hate my job (bad surprise)

2) I got a new job which I love (good surprise)

3) my cat got dangerously sick (very bad surprise)

4) my car got pummeled with marble- and pea-size hail out of nowhere (what the heck), but it wasn't damaged at all (thank You, Father!), and all that was just today (seriously)

And the above was just a tiny list of highlights.

For 2016, again for me personally, I feel like God has told me that the coming year will be like a kaleidoscope. There will be a variety of things going on (I think in my heart and also externally with my circumstances), and God will be churning some things around and letting some things come into place in a very cool way. I am definitely looking forward to it.

But in the meantime, I am here in a broad place, kind of like what the psalmists talked about in the Bible, and kind of like that open, vacant spot in my home that is reserved for something special. Here in this broad place, I've been enjoying some rest from (spiritual) war, I'm digging the peace, I'm reflecting on the things that God has done in my life, and I'm more than likely being sharpened in preparation for the upcoming battles. Not that I'm looking for a fight. It's just that, as Eugene Peterson would say, I belong to the God of angel armies. He's got some stuff for me to do.

So, while I've been here reflecting in my broad place, I've noticed some important things:

1) I'm a LOT tougher than I was about 20 years ago. When God changes people, He tends to make them softer and gentler. I think He did that with me, PLUS He made me scary enough to spit nails simultaneously. Check out a photo of me from 1997 when I was a senior in college:

 

Aw, look at that innocent face, that friendly smile, those eyes that say, "Hi, everybody! I love you! Can you please walk all over me today?" Poor kid. Never knew what hit her. Contrast that with a selfie that I took of myself recently.

 

Wow, look at that hardened brow, that absent-yet-present scowl, those eyes that appear to be saying, "Hey, kid, give me all your lunch money," or "I hate everybody in the universe" or "Hey, demon, get your scummy fallen-angel paws away from my sheep whom I love, before I break your twerpy little neck." I hope my eyes are really saying just that last one. (I think perhaps that Goth wannabe/curly-haired Trinity from The Matrix/Mexican-gangster way that I do my hair now adds to the intensity.)

For the record, I get that intense look in my eyes pretty often, and for many different reasons, most of which are harmless; most of the time it's just because I'm thinking too hard. But I do get greeted with a lot of fist bumps instead of handshakes or side-hugs.

If you've followed my blog for the past few years, perhaps you've seen me go through some pretty hard stuff. I think God has been using it to turn me into a dangerously fierce warrior. I'm still learning how to use the weapons He's given me.

For example, a couple of weeks ago one morning, I was eating breakfast, reading the Bible, and minding my own business when a demon manifested itself in my living room. I barely flinched. I was like, "Well, well, well. Who have we here?" The demon was like, "Strife." I rebuked it, but it didn't go away right away. So, I stood to my feet and cornered it properly with some spiritual warfare until it went away. (It's a good thing it did, because strife was the last thing I needed around me that particular day.) Bullying demons is fun, but what's most effective is siccing Jesus and His name at them. My instinct is to charge at them with my human brawn, but what tortures them horrifically is being reminded that Jesus shed His blood on the cross, died in my place, and rose again on the third day. Heh. That'll make 'em scream.

2) I'm a leader. I kind of knew this already (especially since technically every Christian is a leader, whether they want to be or not), but this is something in my life that God has highlighted for me recently. For example, before I sang in the choir at my church last weekend, I prayed and asked God what was on His heart for me that weekend. If I remember correctly, He said, "You're a leader. Just show up and be yourself. If you show up and be yourself, everyone else will show up and be themselves. I need everyone to be themselves." Indeed.

I'm a shepherd. I think that's one reason why God has been toughening me up these past couple of decades. Shepherds in the Bible lived their lives alone while they guarded and took care of their sheep, and they needed to be crazy enough to do things like kill anything (e.g., lions, bears) that attacked their sheep. They laid down their lives for their sheep (like what Jesus said in John 10:15).

That's the part about the Christmas story that touched me this year: When God's Son was born as a baby on this earth, He announced it to the shepherds first. I'm sure I've heard pastors talk about this before, but this year it hit home for me the deepest: God my Shepherd announced His Son's birth to His peeps first.

So, as a leader/shepherd, I need to be careful. People follow my lead when I don't even realize that I'm leading. They copy me. They take their cues from me. They desire my affirmation.

And they challenge me. One thing about being scary enough to spit nails is that, well, I can accidentally scare people. I can be very abrasive very unintentionally. So, I've been learning how to walk in "grace under pressure." I think sometimes people think I'm Google, because they sometimes ask me questions (that I don't know the answer to) that can easily be answered by doing some quick research online. One time somebody asked me a question about something that was completely out of my realm of authority, and then they yelled at me when I told them that I didn't know: "But you're a leader! You're supposed to know!" Um, sorry. All I know is the notes we're supposed to be singing. If you have an administrative question, please allow me to direct you to an administrator who can assist you.

I think I understand why Jesus kept trying to get away from the crowds so that He could be by Himself and pray. Maybe He was like, "Hey, I love you, but I really need to work some stuff out with My Father before I go crazy."

"Therefore be imitators of God as dear children." (Ephesians 5:1)

3) I'm God's child. I've noticed recently that God calls us His children, not His adults. (Even though technically many of us are adults.) Children need an incredible amount of attention and supervision, even if they're old enough to take care of themselves. They think they know everything, when in reality they still have SO much to learn. They're usually either in a hurry to grow up, or they're afraid to mature. If they throw a tantrum, they will make life embarrassingly miserable for everyone around them. And yet they are incredibly endearing, impeccably honest, infinitely precious, and completely vulnerable. They need adults to protect them from all kinds of harm. They have the potential for lightning-speed growth, so you need to give them a steady stream of nurturing. They genuinely want to learn how to live life, so they need someone around them pretty much all the time to guide them, direct them, and teach them how to live life the right way.

And that's how God my Father sees me.

When I'm wandering around His house doing foolish things, throwing tantrums, and strutting around like I own the place, I need to let Him patiently correct me, discipline me, and reroute me to where I need to be. He does it for His name's sake, and He does it because He loves me. I'm infinitely precious to Him, and I need Him to protect me, or I'll be toast.

"For which of you, intending to build a tower, does not sit down first and count the cost, whether he has enough to finish it...?" (Luke 14:28)

4) Towers are expensive. I heard a friend say once that there's a difference between "family" and "relatives." He was completely right. "Family" knows you. "Relatives" only share a gene pool with you.

Years ago, when God told me to leave my parents, and when I finally went through with it, I didn't fully realize to what degree I would truly be leaving my family. Interacting with relatives isn't scary anymore, but it's incredibly awkward. I can't be completely myself, or I will get judged, criticized, and/or stifled. Just like I did with my birth parents, I have to water down my personality anytime I interact with my relatives. I can't talk openly about God with most of them, so I have to kind of speak in Pharisee/religious code. (For example, "At church last weekend where I was worship-shepherding in the choir, I cried while I watched hundreds of people take communion" would translate into something like "At church last weekend, I sang in the choir.") I hate it.

I think I've gotten to the point where I'm used to people thinking the subject of "family" is a safe subject for small talk, so I'm prepared for it. And I think I've become an expert at changing the subject. Have I told you lately how much I love my kitties? Also, honestly, people are so willing to talk about themselves that they'll let me ask them about their "family," and they'll be quite eager to reply and completely forget about my vague answer to their "family" question. Sneaky chuckle.

I'm not quite sure that God would have expected me to count this much detail along with my tower-building cost. But it's worth it. Oh, my gosh, it's so worth it.

5) I've decided to not get a tattoo after all. Perhaps you remember reading this post from last year where I explained why I was seriously considering getting a Psalm-91-inspired tattoo. The lion and the cobra in verse 13 would have symbolized depression and lust -- two things that I have or will have battled and won (depression beaten, lust still fighting). It would have been an awesome 40th birthday present to myself.

But now I have an awesome job (truly the classiest gig I've ever had) that has a dress code that might not mesh well with that harsh of a tatt. Also, frankly, I'm quite nerdy and potentially allergic to almost anything, and I wouldn't want to take a chance of having some kind of bad reaction to getting my first tattoo. (Maybe I've been watching too many episodes of The People's Court?)

And I was thinking about the tattoo idea recently and talking to God about it, and I was like, "But the lion and the cobra would symbolize me beating those two things." And God was like, "Why stop at two?"

I know, right?

So, no tattoo. I think I look scary enough without one. And I would eventually need to cover myself in ink to tell everybody about everything that God has done with me.

You hear that, 2016? You have endless possibilities, because you're in the infinitely capable hands of my Father who loves me, has a plan for me, and is guiding me every step of the way. I'm ready. Bring it!

Goodbye, dream; hello, dream

I need to warn you about this post. I'm going to write about the menstrual cycle. If you feel the need to skip reading this post, I won't be offended. (However, if you feel the need to lecture me about talking about this type of thing in mixed company, I'll be pretty darn offended.) I'll try to not get too personal or too graphic, and I definitely won't include any photos. (Sorry.) Also, I'm not a medical professional or an ordained minister. But I am a woman. And I'm going to gush-ramble for a little bit.

About once a month, I spend a little time hating Eve (the first woman, the one who influenced Adam to sin, the one who ruined everything for every woman who came after her and for all of humanity). This may sound terrible, but I hope Eve isn't in heaven, because if she is, I think I'm going to kick her butt when I meet her. Really hard. Or maybe Jesus will host field trips to hell so that every female citizen of heaven can take turns punching Eve in the jaw. Really hard.

The menstrual cycle is a really, really, really big deal to a woman. It ends up controlling many of her everyday decisions. Her entire month could end up revolving around it. I myself need to keep ibuprofen and chocolate handy for the week leading up to it, and I need to keep feminine napkins and lots of toilet paper handy for the week during my period.

Because eventually, it's going to happen.

If a woman doesn't get her period every month, she's either pregnant or something is wrong with her health. Any young woman who has never had a period by a certain age might need surgery to correct the problem. Any woman (like the one in Matthew 9:20-22) who gets a period that never stops will either need surgery or a miracle to correct the problem. I once knew a girl who was anorexic in junior high, and she stopped getting her period while she had her eating disorder. After she came to her senses and started eating again, her period didn't come back again on its own until she was in college. I've heard stories of some women who have very painful, irregular periods; in these cases, doctors often prescribe birth control pills because they cause women's bodies to have light, regular periods.

Speaking for myself, if I am very stressed out, I will skip my period that month. That is actually what happened to me last month... so this month's period is particularly heavy. (Hence the inspiration for the writing of this post.) Yay, I get to skip a period, right? Wrong. Try having PMS for a month. Yeah, I know.

In cases like that, finally getting my period is a relief... and yet simultaneously, it's like an unwelcomed guest in my life. To me, having a period is the most disgusting thing about being a woman (which is an otherwise wonderful thing to be). Once a month, blood very gradually gushes out of a major body cavity and threatens to stain everything you wear and/or sit on unless you take the proper precautions. It takes some serious skill and finesse to live with your period and even to hide it from other people. It's a slimy, sweaty, stinky, gross process. There's no stopping it once it starts; you just need to wait 5-10 days and let nature take its course. Thanks a lot, Eve.

Actually, when I attempted suicide 15 years ago, I was on my period, but it stopped suddenly while I was in the psych hospital. I guess a traumatic experience will do the trick.

As if having your period weren't already traumatic enough. In my 26 years of having periods, the worst experience I ever had was when I was about 16 years old. I was with my family at a Baptist camp, and I was inadequately prepared for my monthly visitor. I had an accident, and my birth mother drove me back to our motel room for a change of clothes, etc. During the process, I accidentally locked us out of our room; while I was getting a spare key from the motel office, my mother threw her back out while she was lugging our ice chest out of our car. She was bedridden for pretty much the rest of the week at camp, and she blamed me for it. (There is so much wrong with this story... because I was being shamed on top of being embarrassed... and I didn't force her to retrieve the ice chest which we didn't have an immediate need for... while we were being total snobs who didn't sleep in tents or dorms like everybody else at camp. Yes, I was pretty much raised by wolves.)

But if you're a woman, unless you have extenuating circumstances, you're going to get a period every month.

I don't think it's an accident that God created the menstrual process to be a weeklong, very gradual process. It would be enormously inconvenient and embarrassing if my body were to suddenly eject a never-born infant's blood supply in one huge gush. Now that I think about it, I'm kind of glad God makes it last several days. (I mean, my body isn't a computer. I don't get like a pop-up flash across my eyeballs or anything like that: "Countdown to monthly ejection in 10... 9... 8...")

God knew this. The menstrual cycle shows up in random places in the Bible, from the woman with the issue of blood to Rachel lying about being on her period while she was hiding some idols (see Genesis 31:34-35). God gave Old Testament laws about what to do and not to do during and after a menstrual cycle. I read an article online once that was written by a Jewish woman who, from what I understand, still does the ceremonial cleansing that God ordained in the Bible. If I remember correctly, she said that the ceremony is a beautiful thing that represents the loss of the baby that will never be born -- of a life that will never be.

And that leads me to the point of this entire post. God showed me recently that the menstrual cycle is basically the monthly death of a dream.

This totally makes sense. The death of a dream can be a very gradual, messy process as well. (Some dreams can die very suddenly, but the grieving process can be gradual and messy.)

"Trust in Him at all times, you people; pour out your heart before Him; God is a refuge for us. Selah." (Psalm 62:8)

"Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it spring the issues of life." (Proverbs 4:23)

"Most assuredly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces much grain." (John 12:24)

All of us have something that God designed for our future -- a purpose, a calling, a destiny. Oftentimes that something (or somethings) starts out as a dream. That dream germinates, is cultivated, and grows -- sometimes for a very long time -- until it is finally realized.

But other times, a dream will die permanently.

Sometimes you know it's coming; sometimes you can brace yourself for the gory process. But other times, the death of your dream will take you by surprise, and you feel very ill-prepared, disoriented, and humiliated. Still other times, the people around you who were supposed to support you during your grieving process end up hurting you during your crisis.

There isn't anything gentlemanly or discreet about grief at all. By its very nature, grief is an unavoidable monster that is best handled by allowing it to take its course. If the process makes you uncomfortable or if you do anything to try to stifle it, you could severely harm yourself.

But the best way to let grief take its course is by crying into the bosom of your Creator. When your dream dies, you'll have a giant hole in your heart; what was once alive will be gushing out of you in ways that you might not be able to control. The entire process will be messy and terrible, but it will be beautiful.

You think it doesn't hurt when your dream dies? Heh. Let me share just a couple of my personal examples with you.

I used to want to be a novelist. This dream of mine has died twice, and it was God's idea both times. The first time, He told me to just lay it down; that was 16 years ago, and I was dangerously mad at Him. Then He rekindled the dream inside me about 5 years ago. Then about 3 years ago, He told me to let it die so that I could learn how to cultivate a dream; thankfully I'm not mad at Him anymore, and the new dream is way cooler (now I want to be a worship pastor, which is a calling that He hadn't told me anything about until a few years ago).

But while I had been cultivating my novelist dream, and while I had been watching it gradually die, I encountered all kinds of heartache related to it. I started a novel a couple of times, but it never got off the ground. I wrote several short stories, but none of them sold to any magazines I had submitted them to. I even wrote a play, but nobody bought it (and it stank). Meanwhile, I had moved back in with my birth parents (wolves), and I tried to write, but I was constantly distracted (no, thank you, I don't want to watch another useless made-for-TV movie), and then they wondered why I wasn't writing.

Years after I permanently ventured out on my own, I can see how God's vision for my writing skills reached far beyond what any stupid novels could accomplish. I hope Windowbrawl has helped people connect with Him (in addition to being therapy for me).

But the process of letting that dream die (both times) was rather painful. You think it's easy to get fired from a writing job? You think it's easy feeling like a screw-up? You think it's easy to earn a college degree in writing, only to watch people with terrible grammar, language, and communication skills get their work published instead? Yeah, I know.

Here's another dead dream: I used to want to get married. This dream took a really, really, really long time to die, because getting married is a really big deal (especially to a woman). Actually, I think this particular dream is still in the gradual, gory, gross process of dying. I have felt little painful squirts here and there from time to time, sometimes with little warning or preparation. Letting it run its course has downright stunk.

You think it's been a picnic to go 21 years without a date? You think it's been wonderful to allow your heart to develop feelings for somebody, only to watch him pursue other women instead? You think it's been easy to watch your friends marry guys who you used to have a crush on? (That's happened to me at least twice.) You think it's been flattering to practically throw yourself at men who end up registering on match.com instead, or who end up whining on Facebook about their singlehood, or who end up just ignoring you altogether? Yeah, I know. Sometimes I feel like a useless container for ovaries. (And I'm very surprised that I haven't punched every member of the male species in the jaw. Really hard.)

You think it's easy to pray for a husband and for God to be silent? You think it's easy to hear Him finally start talking to you, when He tells you that you're not going to have a husband? You think it's easy to hear people preach at you about God giving you the desires of your heart?

Of course it isn't easy. They have no idea what kind of storms have raged inside your heart. They have no idea that something has already been in the process of dying inside your heart and that it's about to gradually flow out of your heart forever. They have no idea how painful it will be for you to let that death run its course. They have no idea how God wants to use your pain to make you stronger, help other people, draw you closer to Himself, and hopefully earn you some sweet rewards in heaven someday. (Not counting getting to kick the crap out of Eve.)

Only God knows.

He is the best Person to grieve with. His bosom is the best place to express the angst that builds up right before, during, and after the death of another dream. Sometimes He's the only One capable of saying anything that actually encourages you while you're hurting. And He's definitely the Expert at rebuilding old dreams and creating new dreams.

"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)

Living alone with two cats isn't the kind of life that I would have chosen for myself when I was fresh out of high school or college, but I'll take it. God told me a long time ago that my independence was a gift from Him, and I think I understand now what He meant by that. I don't think I would have time to cultivate my new dreams if I were too busy trying to rescue the old ones. I don't think I would have had time to spend 16-17 hours at church this past weekend if I had either 1) a novel to finish writing and/or 2) a husband and children to clean up after. Honestly, I'm very thankful that my teenage cats are still alive, and I'm glad they support my current life pursuits by just napping and being themselves.

I almost wonder if perhaps God planted the seeds of my current life inside me when I was a kid. I used to play/pretend that I lived all by myself in an apartment where I had everything I needed. And when I was even younger than that, I had a kitten whom I referred to as "my son."

But while I'm letting my dreams die, and while I'm learning how to cultivate new dreams, I'm going to hold on to God as tightly as I can, and I'm going to let Him hold on to me. I think in addition to being the Expert dream-builder, He Himself is also the ultimate Expert at letting dreams die. From what I understand, Adam and Eve were God's dream to populate the earth with little human expressions of Himself. But they royally messed up that dream for God and for us.

So, God created a new dream: to repopulate the earth with redeemed human expressions of Himself. That dream grew over the centuries, and it finally came true when His Son Jesus came to earth, died, and rose again. And God's new dream comes true every time somebody gives their heart to Him for the very first time.

For a woman, being on her period is a very awkward time of the month. But it's worth pushing through the awkwardness because she knows that without this natural process, she couldn't reproduce herself. Similarly, letting your dream die is a painfully terrible process that possibly only you and God will understand. But it's worth pushing through it because without this process, you might not be able to make room in your life for the tailor-made dream that God has for you. And you could get to know God at a deeper level than ever before.

Maybe someday, Jesus will host a field trip to hell where He'll let me punch the devil in the crotch. Really hard.