Dancing with the fire

Right after I got out of the psych hospital about 15 years ago, I drew a lot for my own therapy. I kept a lot of my drawings (most of which were integrated with a journal that I kept back then), and I still have a couple of them hung on my wall. I'm no Michelangelo, but my therapeutic creations have a lot of sentimental value to me.

The disco theme for a song at my church this past weekend, as well as some stuff that I've been thinking about lately, reminded me of this picture that I drew circa 2001. It's a cartoon of me standing in the middle of a disco-type arena facing an Exodus-type cloud pillar and fire pillars. God is speaking to me in the cloud. I am wearing a purple dress -- the purple symbolizes that I am royalty, and the dress symbolizes that I am a chick. I'm holding my hands behind my back, I'm totally digging God, and I'm completely secure.

Security was a huge deal to me back then -- as it is for everybody, all the time, especially if you're a woman -- but it was an even bigger deal to me then because I was pretty much fighting for my peace every day. Depression was like that for me. Maybe you don't know what it's like to be choked to death by an invisible monster that is stronger than you, that has grabbed hold of you and has refused to let you go, that is always trying to drag you down into a dark pit. That was my life back then. Rather, my life had been stolen from me, and even though I was very weak, I was using every ounce of strength I had to get my life back.

Although I know now that I wasn't recovering from depression in a spiritually healthy environment, one place where I wasn't stifled was my drawings. God let me use them as a vehicle to pour out my heart to Him. He let me get angry there. He let me work things out there. He let me express myself there.

Expression is a pretty important thing, especially if you're in the middle of trying to cure a mental-health crisis that ignited after years of absorbing bad things and stuffing then down inside you.

"Gird Your sword upon Your thigh, O Mighty One, with Your glory and Your majesty. And in Your majesty ride prosperously because of truth, humility, and righteousness; and Your right hand shall teach You awesome things." (Psalm 45:3-4)

"Blessed be the Lord my Rock, who trains my hands for war, and my fingers for battle." (Psalm 144:1)

Last year, I started getting into the Gipsy Kings' music (as I talked about in this post), and I haven't been able to stop. I think I like them now about as much as I like Queen (which is a lot). I'm totally a fan, and I've been gawk-researching their music/lives.

As I mentioned before, the Gipsy Kings didn't give themselves a pretentious-sounding name because they claimed to be the "kings" of their music genre. They didn't even start out to become world-famous musicians. Music is simply in their blood; they are who they are, and they don't apologize for it. They don't need to. And I don't want them to.

From what I understand, the group's families come from a long line of people called Romani who originated in India. They have traditionally been nomadic and -- for reasons which I really don't understand -- highly persecuted. In fact, hundreds of thousands of Romani people were exterminated during the Holocaust. I had no idea.

Today, from what I understand, many Romani people have traded in their nomadic lifestyle for a more settled existence, and a great many of them are musicians. The Gipsy Kings' families are gitanos, or Romani people from Spain.

I read an interview online from the lead singer of the Gipsy Kings, and he explained that his family had to move around a lot because they weren't welcome in society. They were denied schooling/education, and they weren't even allowed to fight in the Spanish Civil War (which is why his family emigrated to France for safety).

But one place where they could truly be themselves was within the family -- especially when they would play music together. The men would sing and play guitars while the women would dance, and they would all party pretty much all night long. Their children were treated like royalty because they were the only way that their persecuted clan could keep existing.

When I learned this information about their families, the Gipsy Kings' music gradually started to make so much more sense.

Their first album (1982) is an acoustic recording that is very underproduced and sounds like the engineer just turned a few mics on and told the musicians to do their thing. There is a lot of chitchat between songs. After one of the songs, you hear someone quietly crash the recording session when all the group members greet her one by one: "¡Dora! ¡Elé!" From the way they dote on her several songs later, I'm guessing the recording-crasher is a child who probably starts dancing.

Sometimes I can understand their Spanish. Other times, I can recognize that French is being sung/spoken. Still other times, I can't understand what the heck is being sung/said because it's some sort of language hybrid sung by a bunch of ingenious musicians who probably create new stuff all the time, I'm guessing even in their everyday speech.

These are artists who grew up in a nomadic society that fused languages together. Since they were largely denied formal education, they might not know how to read. I think this explains the interesting spellings on the titles of their songs. Even "Gipsy" is actually technically supposed to be spelled "Gypsy" in English. But so what? They're authentic. They're the real deal.

Since it sounds like they pretty much only had each other while they were growing up, the guys in the group are more than likely extremely close. Since they had to lean on each other to survive, and since they played music together constantly, they can follow one another impeccably. When they make mistakes on their underproduced recordings, you can barely tell because their music is so organic, so tight, and so fluid. It's brilliant. And there's so much of it to listen to.

Frankly, it's intoxicating. I'm not addicted. I can stop anytime I want. Oh, who am I kidding? I am so addicted.

I love these guys' music. They have a crazy way of expressing any kind of emotion -- sadness, happiness, shame -- with a fast-paced dance. They've even tackled the issue of domestic violence in this happy style of music. The English translation of one of their songs is "Dad, Don't Hit Mom," and it even has a key change and I think a prayer in the middle. From what I can understand, it basically goes, "Dad, Dad, don't hit Mom, you're going to kill her, Hey-Hey-Hey-Hey-Hey, Father please bless me [rhythmic clapping, guitar flourish, a bunch of gitanos cheering loudly], ¡Olé!" Toe-tapping catharsis.

I love listening to their live recordings. It sounds like they encourage each other while they are playing and improvising. And I think perhaps one welcome side effect of their years of persecution and isolation is a very intense focus on their craft. Vocally and on guitar, they are virtuosos. Honestly, I consider them to be like my musical grandfathers now.

Listening to the Gipsy Kings' folk-flamenco music has introduced me to another traditional genre of flamenco music called the fandango. (Not to be confused with the Portuguese dance. (Or the movie-ticket company.)) The fandango is like the Spanish blues. From what I understand, if you have at least one guitarist and one vocalist, you two can fandango your hearts out until you run out of stuff to vocally vent about. I've seen YouTube videos of gitanos go pretty crazy (in a good way) with fandangos. From what I understand, it's all improvised, and a typical song goes something like, "[guitar flourish intro] You left me, you left me, you left me [guitar flourish], I can't believe you could have been so foolish [guitar flourish], everybody told me you were bad for me [long guitar flourish], and now you're gone [longer guitar flourish], I still can't believe you left me, left me, left me-e-e-e-e [etc.]."

Dang. Can you get how I've really been digging this stuff the past several months? Oh, my gosh. It's like I died and went to flamenco heaven.

Seriously. I want to integrate this stuff into my quiet time: "[guitar intro] Lord, with all due respect [guitar picking], seriously, what the heck [guitar guitar guitar], but I know You know best [guitar guitar], I just don't get how all [guitar] of this crap [guitar] has been flung in my face lately [guitar], lately [guitar], lately, lately, lately, lately-y-y-y-y [spastic guitar finish], ¡Olé! Selah!"

Sometimes a chick just needs to express herself. God definitely knows that.

"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 43:2)

Last week was totally insane for me. I was hit with challenges and trials from all different directions. When I began my drive to work last Monday morning, God was like, "Let's DO this, child." He and I are on the same team (otherwise I would be toast), and it sounded like He was ready to duke it out with somebody.

The other night when I got home from work, after I had gotten another life-hit, God told me, "Let's kick this trial's [bleep]." I promise you that's what He said, minus my censoring. I know my Father's voice. He's gentle and fierce simultaneously. He comforts me, and He disciplines me. Sometimes He sings to me in falsetto, and sometimes He calls me Chucklehead. (Sorry, only God is allowed to call me Chucklehead.)

The other day when I was reading Psalm 45 for the zillionth time, I couldn't get past verse 4. In His majesty, God rides in truth, HUMILITY, and righteousness. I think people everywhere have a bad idea of what humility really is. Humility isn't humiliation. I heard a pastor say a long time ago that humility is being focused on Jesus; the pastor was right.

Humility is staying focused on your relationship with God and being honest with yourself. When Jesus was on this earth and He told people that He is the Light of the World, He wasn't being arrogant. He was never arrogant. He was being humble. He was being honest. He was just telling people who He is.

I think Psalm 45:4 says that there is an element of God's majesty that He won't ever be able to separate from His humility. When He's riding forth in majesty, Psalm 45:4 says He's doing so prosperously. It says that He's doing it BECAUSE OF truth, humility, and righteousness. Psalm 45:4 doesn't say that God helplessly shrugs His shoulders and says, "Oh, woe is Me, and woe is you because all you can do now is trust in Me. I'm such a wussy little God. Cough, cough."

Nope. Psalm 45:3 says He girds His sword with glory and majesty. Psalm 45:4 says He rides prosperously. And Psalm 45:5 says His arrows are sharp in His enemies' hearts. When my God says He's going to kick my trial's [bleep], that means He's going to kick its [bleep]. I know my Father.

And Psalm 144:1 says that He trains my hands for war and my fingers for battle. Let's DO this, Father.

So, here's where all the crazy ideas in this post come together. In the Bible (and in everyday speech), a trial or hardship is sometimes referred to as a "fire." Recently while I've experienced my own "fires," and while I've been listening to a lot of Gipsy Kings music (which is quite fiery metaphorically), I've pictured myself dancing with fire. Not in a recreational or pagan sense. More like in a triumphant sense. Please indulge me while I bully my tormentor.

[crazy flamenco guitar] "Aw, hello there, little flamey. You like my dance moves? You don't like my dance moves? Why not? Aw, little flamey-wamey doesn't like Tirzah's hands clasped around your neck? Hmm. That's funny. I thought since you tried to choke the life out of me, you wouldn't have a problem with me choking the life out of you. [guitar guitar guitar] Eh, what's that? You have no idea how my hands aren't burning to a crisp? Ay, pobre fuego-fueguito. Come on, now, poor little flamey. There's no way I can spend all this time with you and your kind and NOT know how to handle you. [guitar guitar guitar guitar guitar] Eh, what's that? You suddenly have a problem dancing with me? I'm wearing you out? I'm wearing you down? I'm too strong for you? Well, that's not my fault. See, I learned all my chokehold moves from my hip-dislocater Dance Partner. You know. He's the Consuming Fire. Oh, you don't know? Well, you're about to find out exactly who He is! [spastic guitar finish] ¡Olé! Selah!" [flamey-wamey chokes, sputters, and fizzles out]

Last month, a visiting pastor at my church said that 2016 would be a year to "thrive." I think that can totally be done while you're dancing in the fire, while your Father is keeping the flames from burning you, while you're focusing on your relationship with Him, while you're being honest with Him and with yourself, and while He and you are kicking a trial's [bleep].

I think thriving can also happen while you're curled up in a fetal position and crying your eyes out into your Daddy's bosom while He's holding you and comforting you.

Because as long as you haven't broken the life-essential connection with your Father, you've won.

Although technically, we're more than conquerors in Jesus because He won first. He treats us like royalty because in Him, we are. We can definitely be secure in that. ¡Olé! Selah!

Why I...

Why I Left

"You made a mistake," she accused.

Like a dormant volcano, the irritation in my voice erupted, and for a moment I reverted back to the scared little girl who was backed into a corner like a dog. "I'm not your employee anymore," I barked over the phone. My heart pounded loudly in my ears as I explained why I had closed my retirement account.

"We are required by law to make a deposit into your account, and since you closed the account, now you'll have to pay a penalty," she insisted.

The words danced carelessly through the air like dead leaves caught up in a whirlwind as we argued. At the end of the conversation, I agreed to fix her problem by opening a new account.

I hung up the phone, did some research online, and discovered that she was right. But when I left her company months ago, she hadn't explained the law to me. She had clarified very little at our parting.

But now here she was, suddenly in my face again, throwing accusations at me and rubbing my nose in my mess, and now I was going to have to take responsibility for her irresponsibility. All over again, her incompetence was my inconvenience. All over again, she was controlling my money. All over again, she was neglecting to take care of me the way any decent employer should take care of an employee who works her tail off. Just like old times.

And then I remembered: That was why I left.

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Why I Am Keeping my Distance

"That's his problem," she accused over the phone. "What does his family think of him talking about them like that during a sermon?"

As if we had suddenly encountered a stalled car in the middle of a street, our phone conversation quickly veered in an awkward direction. Was this really happening? Was a trusted relative actually criticizing my pastor to me directly? "I'm sorry you feel that way," I said, hoping my words would serve as an effective band-aid.

But the bleeding continued. "I'm looking at it from the perspective of a pastor's daughter. He can use other illustrations in his sermons."

Oh, she was a pastor's daughter. And what was I? Chopped liver?

But she was one of the nicer relatives. Even though the insults were being hurled at my pastor's preaching style -- just like the Pharisees probably did while Jesus was simply conducting His Father's business during His earthly ministry -- I couldn't just insult her back. So, I just listened, and I bore it.

Fortunately, she is aware of the fact that my pastor preaches different sermon series on TV all the time, and maybe she'll actually like a series that airs in the future. Perhaps she's looking forward to my pastor not being vulnerable about his testimony at all. (Heh. Sorry, but that'll never happen. One of the reasons why I stick around his church is because he constantly creates an environment where people can safely be human.)

So, I took several giant paces away from her in my heart.

On a different occasion, another relative explained to me about a friend of his: "He doesn't like hymns because he didn't grow up in church."

"I grew up in church, and I hate hymns," I said plainly.

The relative explained how contemporary worship artists update hymns to make them "more palatable" and how he doesn't like it. He prefers the traditional music. (Good for him. But it's also good for me to know that if I ever decide to write a song by updating a hymn myself, he probably won't support me.)

Suddenly, his wife leaned over to me and asked me if I would be interested in double-dating with them. Since I didn't give her the name of anyone that I am really interested in, she offered to set me up on a blind date. I left their house as quickly and as politely as I could.

That night, I cried on my pillow.

So, I'm hoping I'll never have to set foot in their house ever again.

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Why I Walked Away Forever

"Honor thy father and thy mother," the email message repeatedly commanded.

I had just corresponded with my birth parents and explained why I had permanently disowned myself from the family. Confused and heartbroken, my birth father was stunned as to why I left.

I had explained plainly, as gently as I could, that I left because they were abusive, and also because God told me to leave.

Suddenly his confusion and heartache hardened into patronizing accusation. I was told that anytime I hear a message, I need to make sure it doesn't go against Scripture. There was no acknowledgement of abuse. But he did offer one last eruption of scriptural and spiritual abuse for the road.

God also told me that there will be no reconciliation.

Years later, I was sitting in church during one of my vulnerable pastor's sermons. He was passionately talking about how there are three baptisms: salvation, water baptism, and baptism in the Holy Spirit. He explained that many churches unfortunately only teach about the first two baptisms. People are either scared of the very idea of the third baptism or they simply haven't heard about it yet.

I know firsthand about the controversy that the third baptism causes in the body of Christ. When I was first baptized in the Holy Spirit, my life was never the same afterwards. After I received a prayer language, I made the mistake of telling my birth parents about it. They spiritually abused me quite fiercely, even getting me to profess that the baptism of the Holy Spirit occurs at salvation (which it doesn't). They forced me to read a book. They forced me to listen to a lengthy sermon series on audiotape. They did all they could do to deprogram me.

Sometime after that, God began to show me that I would need to leave my family. They were coming between Him and me. In essence, I would eventually need to choose between my family and God.

So, I finally chose God.

During my vulnerable pastor's recent sermon about the three baptisms, when I saw him get "worked up" about the ridiculous controversy that the third baptism causes in the body of Christ, I recognized the frustration in his voice.

Because I had felt it, too, many years ago.

Because the Holy Spirit is God. To claim to serve and worship God, but to block a spiritually starved young woman from fully experiencing Him (the only One who could ever heal her from all the years of control, shame, neglect, and abuse)... well, I think Jesus would say it would be better for that person if they were to have a millstone tied around their neck right before they are thrown into the sea.

I will more than likely never see those people again.

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Why I Will Stay with Him Forever

He doesn't insist that I drag myself out of bed and open my Bible before I talk to Him in the mornings. He lets me talk to Him groggily, waiting for the snooze button to run its course, even while my cat is meowing at me or stepping on me to convince me to get up and serve breakfast.

He is patient with me, and when I am ready to read in His Word, He quietly waits for me to process what He is really saying. He listens to me. He encourages me.

Sometimes He shows up suddenly in my day and gently asks me what I'm thinking. The tone in His voice is one of an Intimate Friend, or perhaps a Passionate Lover, or maybe an Eager Father who wants to build a relationship with His child... even though He already knows her thoughts long before she ever thinks about thinking about them.

When I am sad, He comforts me. When I am lonely, He spends time with me. When I am angry, He helps me calm down. When I need a swift kick in the tail, He is happy to oblige. When I feel like I am falling apart, He infuses me with strength and then He runs into battle with me. When I have already fallen apart, He lets the tears flow while He holds me and gently puts me back together.

We talk about everything, and we talk about nothing. We are buddies. We are confidantes.

Our relationship is an uneven one, and it always will be, because He is God to whom no one can compare, and I am Tirzah who will always be helplessly dependent upon her Creator.

He never, ever accuses me. I never, ever feel trapped into a corner with Him. I never, ever feel unsafe with Him. I never, ever feel misunderstood by Him. I never, ever feel abused by Him. He never, ever makes me feel treated like an object.

Because He knows that I am His child. He created me in His image. He has my best interests at heart, and His way is always best.

He loves me. He wants me. He cherishes me.

He is set on permanently destroying any force that comes against me.

He takes care of me. He guides me. He knows that I need Him, and He can't bear to be away from me, so He makes Himself available to me constantly.

In the past, I kept my distance from Him in one way or another. I ran away from Him. I embraced the poisons that swirled around like decaying gases in my mind... the poisons that led me away from Him and threatened to trap me and annihilate me. And they almost won.

But God broke through all of that and grafted me permanently into His family. All Three of Them -- Father, Son, Holy Spirit -- all One of Him -- the Lion adopted me as if I were an abandoned little kitten, and He nursed me back to health.

I can't leave His house. I've become attached to Him. This is my home. I belong here with Him. He's stuck with me forever.

And that's the way He wanted it in the first place.

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!