Hey! you got a problem with my Father's Kingdom?

(As always, when I write about my life this openly, it is not my intention to diss anybody. It is simply my intention to honestly work through some stuff and to share it with some people who might be interested in reading about it.)

Reader, I apologize if I alarmed you with the title of my post. Don't worry. I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to the demons.

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

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

 

This evening at the church bookstore, when I saw this CD of Messianic Jewish praise/worship music in Spanish, something inside me ripped open and said, "AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHH!" in a good way. Yes, during my drive home this evening, I was praise-grooving in ways that I'm not sure my soul had previously dreamed possible. Yes, I was the half-Mexican chick clapping while driving down the local strip. And, of course, I cried. Don't worry. That type of thing is normal for me.

Perhaps my cross-cultural appreciation has something to do with my upbringing. I was raised by a white polyglot linguist who juggled foreign languages as a hobby, made money with them as a career, and spoke them as a lifestyle. And yet, I will always have something that he will never have: ethnicity. He may always be a wannabe Mexican, but I will always be a half-Mexican. Ain't nothin' ever gonna change that.

Your natural heritage is a pretty important thing to know about, because many of your issues are inherited from your parents. Sometimes your ancestors' secrets follow you around like a ticking time bomb, and then suddenly when you least expect it, BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEEEEP! KA-BOOM!!!!! in your face. And then your ancestors aren't around to help you clean up the mess. It's all YOU. Good grief.

Of course, if you've given your life to Jesus, He helps you clean up your mess, because He now owns the mess, and He's very intentional about helping you work through it, and He's very eager about making something brand-new out of it, and He's dead serious about giving you abundant life, and you couldn't do any of the above without Him.

And, of course, when I say "you," I mean "me."

So, honestly, if you were to tell me that my paternal grandfather or great-grandfather had ever had an illicit sexual encounter or full-blown affair with another woman, or another man, and they never told anyone about it, or perhaps their wives had found out about it and just covered it up like good little helpless females... honestly none of that would surprise me. I'm not saying that any of that happened. (I hope it didn't. I'm just using my imagination.) I'm just saying that IF it had, it wouldn't surprise me, and it would explain a heck of a lot of the stuff that God and I have been working very hard to clean up in my life lately. See? Keeping family secrets from your kids is a very bad idea. Good grief.

But lately, I've been thinking about my other grandfather -- the Mexican one. I've written about him here before. I didn't attend his funeral, partly because I didn't like him. Several years ago, he had a temporary bout with dementia, and I liked him better that way because he couldn't remember who I was. He was a lot nicer, and he actually made an effort to get to know me.

But when he was in his right mind, he was the type of guy who would preach a sermon at a pulpit on a Sunday and then pick a fistfight with an innocent driver while he was driving his grandkids to school on a Monday.

When I was in college, I found out the real reason why he and my birth mother's family emigrated from Mexico. He pastored a Baptist church in Mexico that was growing and, consequently, taking people away from the local Catholic church. Apparently, this ticked off the Catholic priest, because he hired a hitman to take out my grandfather. My grandmother got wind of the plot, and the entire family was whisked away to safety in Texas, where they settled. For some reason, my birth mother wasn't told about this entire ordeal until I was in college.

My Mexican grandfather was not the type of guy you'd want to mess with. He was really tough. And yet, since he raised four daughters, he had to have had some sort of soft side to him. (I'm not exactly sure at what point my birth mother decided that she needed to marry the wussiest, most controllable guy she could find, but I guess that's none of my business.) But my grandfather was definitely a Mexican warrior.

If you've been reading my blog for the past couple of years, perhaps you know that I used to have a Jezebel spirit. In general, that means that power is like a drug to me. I used to be abusive, intrusive, manipulative, and very controlling. Now I understand that I can manipulate and control things like art, music, and blog posts, NOT people. (Notice that AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHH! is spelled very intentionally with 10 As, 5 Gs, and 3 Hs. Hmm. I can be pretty obsessive. I can be pretty obsessive. I can be pretty obsessive. I can be pretty obsessive. I can be pretty obsessive.) A Jezebel spirit can take a really long time to uproot out of a person. I can definitely vouch for that. Being Jezebel was sort of like the family business.

But that was then. This is now.

I recently listened to a teaching that said that part of having a Jezebel spirit is using intimidation against people. Recently while I've been working through job-related offenses, I've found myself being very willing to verbally assault my bosses, especially the ones who have very subservient wives. I've imagined myself bullying them and getting pleasure out of the fact that they're probably not used to having a woman stand up to them. So, as I've taken that to God and confessed, "I have this intimidation inside me," He's just kind of casually declined to take that from me and said, "No, use it on the demons."

Oh. So, this violent ticking time bomb inside me is supposed to stay inside me... and it's supposed to be wielded to make war against the demons, NOT people. Cool. No problem. Can you hear my knuckles cracking?

"And from the days of John the Baptist until now the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force." (Matthew 11:12)

I've heard this Bible verse quoted lots of times, usually in intercession/prophetic contexts, so from what I understand, the verse is talking about spiritual warfare (like Ephesians 6). But, of course, I could be wrong.

And I don't know exactly what God had intended to work inside my grandfather or my birth parents, and I don't know exactly what could have gone so wrong years ago before everybody was born or while I was being raised, but I do know some things for sure: God is real. He's the King, and His Kingdom is at war. He takes people like me, cleans us up, and turns us into demon-massacring warriors. (In my case, I would be Tirzah: Warrior Princess.)

I still have a lot to learn, but this is a very good, interesting learning season for me. Lesson #1: The battle is against the evil spiritual forces, not against people, period. Lesson #2: I am so much stronger than I had previously believed myself to be. God basically told me once, if I understood Him correctly, that the enemy attacks some people with abusive situations so that they will believe the lie that they are weak and helpless... when the truth is, they are very strong. I believe that I am one of these people.

I can be very sloppy when I pray, especially when I do spiritual warfare. I can be even sloppier when I praise with music. I kind of think of myself as using a machete to hack through all kinds of infested territory. It's definitely an exhilarating rush. I don't really politely "rebuke" illnesses or situations when I pray for my friends. I bully the demons, corner them, relieve them of their demonic assignments, and command them to go straight to hell. And I don't really tiptoe onto the praise battlefield. I use my voice as a chainsaw to do business, and the other evening I noticed myself wagging my head at the demons. I think God liked that. The Psalms sometimes talk about the enemy wagging their heads at us, so I think God decided to take revenge on the enemies who mocked me by letting me mock them back. Maniacal chuckle.

A quirky hobby of mine is driving past other-religion temples in town with my windows cracked while praise/worship music is blasting inside my car... so that the music can soar toward the demonic forces in the air and confuse the heck out of them. Heh. So, the other night, this half-Mexican chick -- whose grandfather was once intimidated out of his homeland -- took great delight in intimidating the demonic forces of an other-religion temple by screaming, "JESUS IS LORD!!!" while she sped down the road with her windows cracked. Maniacal chuckle.

I hope the members of that particular temple wake up one morning wondering why Jesus appeared to them in a dream and told them that He wants to be their Lord. I ain't gonna lie. That would be extremely cool. That would make my day. That would make my year. That would make my entire life.

That would be worth everything. AAAAAAAAAAGGGGGHHH!

Candy dish 2

I won't say that this post is rated R for "Really? Tirzah thinks this way?" but I will warn you that I'm just gonna let it all hang out.

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Once in a while, somebody will post a cat photo or a cat video to my Facebook page and say something like, "This reminded me of you!" I have a confession to make. I'm kind of waiting for the day when somebody will post a photo of a supermodel to my Facebook page and say, "She reminded me of you!" I know, right? I just hope no one reads this, takes it to heart, and posts anything stumbling-blockish to my Facebook page.

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One of my old roommates told me that cats don't like affection. Perhaps she should tell that to my Choochie who keeps inviting herself to snuggle with me.

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Whenever you submit an unspoken prayer request, I hate to break it to you, but you kind of already spoke it.

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When I was a freshman in college (in 1994), my roommate burst through our dorm room one day and announced in horror that her professor told her class that in the near future, books would no longer be printed on paper. They would all be electronic. Thus began my journey of discovering how difficult it is for people to predict the widespread acceptance of new technology. (Did anyone predict the cellphone selfie?)

Last weekend at my church (in 2015), my pastor released a new book (both in print and electronically). He requested that we purchase the book that weekend at a discounted price. He didn't have to tell me twice. I stood in line at the church bookstore for about 15-20 minutes, which honestly was my pleasure to do, because I had never seen a line that long at a church bookstore. The line of people curved around the store displays like a giant treble clef. It was so cool.

Yes, it was Mother's Day weekend, and our church gave away nifty coupons to use at the bookstore. But my pastor's new hardcover book was flying off the shelves. I had never seen bookshelves empty so quickly at my church. I think my old roommate's professor should stop trying to predict what people will want.

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I like movies, but I don't do Netflix, because when I lived in my old apartment, the mail carrier used to accidentally deliver other people's DVDs to my mailbox. Then I would have to hunt down my neighbors to deliver their DVDs to them. Technological convenience fail! I'd rather drive to the movie rental store and just rent a movie the old-fashioned way. There ain't nothing wrong with that. If I were to join Netflix, and if my movie were delivered to the wrong mailbox, I don't think my neighbors would appreciate having to walk over to my catapartment to deliver a Dune DVD. That would be way too much partying for a Saturday night.

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Online news stories keep saying that McDonald's is in trouble because people have stopped eating there. But all the McDonald's restaurants in my area are usually jam-packed during the weekday lunch rush. And a new McDonald's is being constructed in my general vicinity. I think online news stories are full of crap.

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One of my favorite parts about this particular season of my life is that God and I will pal around together while I'm driving home from work. Of course, anytime I'm around a close Friend, I totally unplug like a teenager on a Friday night.

One of my biggest frustrations at my current job is that the management claims to have standards about good grammar, spelling, style, etc., but rarely ever enforces it. There is very poor quality control. I feel like nobody at work really cares about the English language or treats it with respect. For example, the CEO's administrative assistant -- who does not know how to spell -- is often assigned to proofread our writing and editing projects. Of course our periodicals look like we typed the articles with our feet.

So, during my drive home one day, while I was ranting, I erupted, "Why don't you just pee on a dictionary?" Then for the next 20 minutes or so, I laughed off and on quite hysterically and quite cathartically about this imaginary peeing-on-a-dictionary concept. So, Tirzah, what do you for fun? Oh, I just blog, play my guitar, and pee on dictionaries. So, if I ever publish a memoir titled I Peed on a Dictionary: Confessions of a Frustrated Editor, you'll know why.

I think that was one of the most fun times I've ever had during a drive home.

Almost 40

When I first sat down to write this post, I intended to write a sequel to this post, which was a random collection of unrelated tidbits. Instead, I ended up writing stuff to help me process what's currently happening in my life. I think I'll keep it that way. Thank you in advance for reading my rambling, possibly unrelated opinions.

"He raises the poor out of the dust, and lifts the needy out of the ash heap, that He may seat him with princes -- with the princes of His people. He grants the barren woman a home, like a joyful mother of children. Praise the Lord!" (Psalm 113:7-9)

I guess that's what happens when you turn 39 and your life turns out waaaaay differently than you originally thought it would. You look around and see that you're not married, you don't have kids, you've gone almost 21 years without a date or a real reciprocated love interest, and all you have is God and 2 cats. But ultimately, that's enough. That's plenty, especially when you realize that your 15-year-old felines keep defying the longevity odds and keep surprising medical professionals with their ages at the vet's office. I have breath in my lungs, blood in my veins, fire in my heart, a roof over my head, and a God who likes to hang out with me. I'm OK.

No, I don't have a husband, children, or a network of stay-at-home moms to pal around with. Maybe instead of that kind of life, God decided to give me a giant playground. And I'm OK with that. And if He decides to change His mind about that sometime in the future, I want to be OK with that, too.

Social media is truly incredibly wonderful, but not everything is Facebook-able. It isn't good to share every tiny little life occurrence with your friends. Some things are sacred enough to be kept private. Perhaps this is one reason why Jesus said to go into your room and close your door whenever you pray in secret. Your moment needs to be kept between you and Him.

Not that it's completely wrong to share your life with people online. If it were, I wouldn't be blogging. I'm just saying that if you rob a bank and post your note to the teller on Instagram, the police might catch you. Then people like me will read about what you did, because it's all over the internet, and we will be quite entertained by your egotistical escapade. I'm guessing that's not the type of attention you wanted in the first place.

My current job is located in a metropolitan area which seems to highly respect dogs and wine. (Not sure what the connection is, but it is an interesting phenomenon to witness.) For a while, one of the ladies who works in my building used to take her dog to work with her. I knew this because she would take him into the ladies' room with her while I was there. She explained to me one day while she was wiping him off that the dog had a broken leg, so whenever he would pee, it would get on his leg. Poor pooch.

Yesterday while I was shopping at the Dollar Tree near my workplace, I saw a lady shopping with a one-eyed dog in her arms. The pooch looked right at me. I don't think he/she was in there with his/her owner for service-dog purposes, e.g., as a seeing-eye dog, um, for obvious reasons. And the pooch wasn't barking or doing anything disruptive. I just didn't realize that Dollar Tree allowed canine shoppers. No, the dog's owner was not Hispanic.

My current job is located a short drive from a vineyard. This might explain why everyone who lives in the vicinity has an interesting obsession with wine, and I wonder if it may also have something to do with why one of my bosses has wine delivered to the office. No, I have not dipped into that stuff. No worries. I have plenty of other bondages to work my way through in the privacy of my own home.

In spite of the terrible experiences I had years ago in spiritually abusive environments, I had a mentor who prayed a really cool prayer that stuck in my brain many years ago. It was my birthday, and she prayed that God would give me little presents throughout the day. Perhaps she meant things like His presence or His peace. But I think God my Daddy likes to give me tangible presents, too. For example, a few days after I turned 35, He gave me some cool white hair. It's fallen out since then, but it was still a very nice, very Facebook-able birthday present.

About a dozen years ago, I heard a very nice Andrea Bocelli song playing on a wine commercial. I really liked the song, and I looked for it but had a hard time finding it (especially since it was in Italian, which no hablo fluently). A few days ago when I was buying birthday presents for myself at a used CD/DVD store, I found an Andrea Bocelli CD that seemed very interesting (and cheap), so I grabbed it. This morning when I finally had a chance to listen to the CD, I discovered that track 2 was the cool wine-commercial song -- the song that I had given up looking for, the song that is now in my possession. And I cried. Am I obsessively sentimental? Of course I am. And my Daddy knows it. He loves me, and He loves to give me cool little tangible birthday presents like that. That, in my opinion, is better than any wine.

You can't just add water

"Your people shall be volunteers in the day of Your power; in the beauties of holiness, from the womb of the morning, You have the dew of Your youth." (Psalm 110:3)

This Bible verse will be my latest treasure hunt. Every time I read it, I go, "What?" I have no idea what it's saying. I'm not even really sure what it's saying in the context of the rest of the psalm, which is about God ruling over His enemies. Um... "volunteers" like the people at church who wear badges and shake your hand when you walk through the door, or "volunteers" like college students who show up to pick up trash along the highway, or "volunteers" like people who have just been drafted into an army? If I try to read it in its original Hebrew, will it make sense then? Or will it just be funky-weird artsy poetry like just another song that some beatnik would read at a coffeeshop... in addition to being sharper than a two-edged sword?

God is cool like that. At least, I can say from experience that He's cool like that with me. I'll be just reading my Bible, minding my own business, and then suddenly it's as if He throws a rock at my window. SHATTER! There's no way that can be fixed with superglue. You just need to replace the entire window.

Or I'll be just living life, minding my own business, and then suddenly it's as if He throws a rock at my window. WORLD-SHATTER! While you're waiting for the glass to be replaced, you could just duct-tape some cellophane or maybe a garbage bag over your glassless window, but it wouldn't keep you warm at night.

So, if you hear a crazy cat lady screaming, "WHAT?" in the middle of the night through her glassless window, it's me.

Speaking of the crazy cat lady, here's a snapshot of a typical scene in my home. I'll be just living life, minding my own business, checking out the internet on my computer, and then suddenly my little cat Choochie appears. She knows she's welcome to (unless I'm trying to work on something important). She's mine. She's family. She can snuggle with me pretty much anytime she wants.

How much more, then, the God of the universe who is the Lord of my life? He's more than welcome to be that close to me. In fact, I hope He comes even closer than that. I hope He's already been making Himself at home in the deepest parts of my insides.

Choochie and I haven't always been as close as we are today. When I first met her, I wasn't even all that impressed by her. But now I love her so much that I ache at the thought of anything happening to her. I would take a zillion bullets for her. And she's just a cat.

But she's my cat. I've known her for a decade and a half. Our relationship didn't just happen overnight.

Have you ever needed to whip up a meal in a hurry? Just add water: instant soup. Just add water: instant coffee. Or did you ever used to play with those creepy miniature water toys in the 1980s? Just add water: instant huge water toy.

But there are some things that just can't be microwaved. (Or maybe you could microwave them, but they would taste soggy and gross.) There are some things that can't be rushed. You can't just add water to everything and expect it to be instantly wonderful. Some things must take time -- lots and lots and lots and lots and lots of time -- to grow and develop. A healthy relationship is one of them.

I think sometimes the deepest relationships involve the craziest code words. If I were to tell you, "Exit, exit," you'd probably look at me funny. (You'd probably go, "What?") But when I tell Choochie, "Exit, exit," she knows exactly what I mean. She knows that she must leave the room. This comes in handy when you have two cats who need to be fed in separate rooms because they're on completely different diets. My other cat Macho understands the same command. If "Exit, exit," doesn't work, I'll say something like, "Let me whisk you," and then I'll pick Choochie up and literally whisk her into the next room while she trill-protests. Yes, I am a cat herder.

And, of course, my relationship with my cats is sort of like God's relationship with me. He probably has to talk to me a little bit differently than He talks to everybody else. (And not just with me. He probably treats everybody that way.)

About a dozen years ago, I was worshiping at church on a Sunday morning. During one of the songs, God told me, "You're a groovy chick." This touched me so deeply that I began to cry (in a good way). I am not making this up.

Some time afterwards, I told my mentor/leader about this incident. She said, "That just shows that God speaks to everyone differently. He called you 'a groovy chick,' and it made you cry. If He had called me 'a groovy chick,' He would have offended me." Indeed.

Stuff like that happens to me all the time. God talks to me in a way that I need to hear all the time. And our relationship isn't just add water: instant closeness.

The other weekend while I was driving around by myself and feeling sad and lonely, God comforted me by saying, "No one's going to take you away from Me. That's all I care about." Yes, His words truly ministered to me. I am not making this up.

Last night, I decided to watch a movie from my old taped-from-cable VHS collection. The Champ is a 1979 remake -- a major tearjerker. It's about a troubled ex-boxer and his little boy. During one scene, after the dad returns home from jail -- where he went after he got in a fistfight with someone who was trying to collect a gambling debt -- he tells his little boy, "You know what you are?" And his 8-year-old son answers, "A pain in the [bleep]." Then they both hug while the orchestral music plays dramatically. The dad tells his little boy, "I love you so much," and you can tell when you're watching it that he really means it.

I was totally bawling like a baby. I thought about my earthly ex-father -- the professor who would whisk me away when I was about 4 years old so that he could study me linguistically -- and about how he treated me more like a science experiment than a little girl. While I was watching this touching movie scene with this dysfunctional dad who obviously loved his little boy, I thought to myself, "I'll never have that." And God threw a rock at my window and said, "Whatever. You have Me now." Yes, while I was sitting there totally bawling like a baby, His words truly ministered to me. We were relating to each other like an old married couple watching an old movie together on the couch on a Saturday night. I am not making this up.

Just because you are genetically related to somebody doesn't mean that you will automatically have just add water: instant relationship. It doesn't work that way. Deep, close relationships take time to grow and develop.

This is something that I have learned the hard way. But I think it's been an expensive, precious lesson to learn -- and nobody can take it away from me.

So, the "volunteers" from "the womb of the morning" in Psalm 110:3...

What?

I don't know yet, but I hope to find out. I don't think I'll be able to just add water: instant revelation. I'll probably need to spend some time and some love. And I'm very OK with that.

Smelly monkey bubble

Almost 10 years ago, when I used to share a blog with a friend, I wrote a post in which I compared employees of the mass media to zookeepers. I don't mean that as an insult whatsoever. You like to go to the zoo, right? You get to take a break from the routine of your everyday life and enjoy the animals. I mean, when the tigers and the lions and the monkeys look right at you, without any threat of death, dismemberment, or stampede, that's a pretty huge deal. Sure, it's a little bit stinky there at the zoo, but you get to walk away from it after a short while. So, visiting the zoo is a wonderful, awe-inspiring experience for you. But what about for the zookeepers? They're there every day. They've seen a side of the monkeys that they probably don't ever want to brag about. Maybe when schoolbuses full of excited children are touring through the monkey cages, the zookeepers are politely smiling while silently thinking, "Big deal. It's just a smelly monkey."

Throughout my career, I've worked at a variety of "mass media" places: a public television station, a newspaper, a closed-caption company, and now a magazine. I still think I'm a lot like a zookeeper. Sometimes when I tell people what I do, they erupt with excitement. I'm an editor and a writer. At the periodical where I work, a huge part of my job is deciding what ultimately makes it into print -- whether I politely send a contributor a "Thanks but no thanks" rejection email or whether I write the content myself. Sometimes I forget how much power I really have. Sometimes it's just like a smelly monkey to me.

That tends to happen when you get bogged down with details and politics and frustrations and trying to read your bosses' minds and wanting to punch people in the face when they tell you to hurry and wanting to strangle somebody for working too fast and now you have to fix their mistakes and wanting to verbally flog somebody else for having an extended personal phone call in the office next to yours or in the hallway right in front of your desk... all the while the clock is ticking. The deadline is here. The time is gone. If you won't get it done, no one will. Come on, Tirzah, look alive. The monkey poop won't shovel itself.

But it's all worth it when you get to see the finished product. There's your newspaper or your magazine in your hand; you designed its pages, and you think it looks pretty darn good. There's that TV show that you just put on the air with a push of a button, or there's that closed-caption file that you slaved for hours over; it's being broadcast to hundreds or thousands or millions of TVs now, and it wouldn't have happened without you. Of course it's possible that no one will ever know that it was you who did all that work. But you don't really care. Just as long as you produced the best product that you could, you know that you've done your job, and you can take great pride in that, in a good way. Just as long as the zoo patrons are excited about seeing the monkey that you spend 40 hours a week taking care of, you know that that's ultimately what matters there at your zoo-cage.

But sometimes the monkey can be seriously disrespected.

Reader, I probably don't have to explain to you how journalism, in its purest form, is very rare to encounter nowadays. Reporting just the facts, in a way that is objective and completely without an agenda, is incredibly hard to find. I wasn't a journalism major, and I've never been a reporter, so I don't consider myself to be a journalist. But I know what journalism is supposed to do; I know the purpose that it's supposed to serve. Unfortunately, that purpose is often squelched and tainted by greed, egotism, selfishness, etc. And I haven't even mentioned what social media has done to journalism. Seriously, why are you news websites allowing people to comment on your news story as if it were a status update on Facebook? You'll attract all kinds of haters who won't ever have the guts to communicate what they're really feeling to your face. And it doesn't seem to do any kind of edifying good to the readers to display those ignorant remarks on the internet, anyway.

People often talk about "the mass media" as if it were some estranged cousin who's goofing off in prison or something. "Hey, did you see what the mass media did this time? Yeah, I know. Their lawyers are hard at work keeping them off death row, so they're just partying away there behind bars. We're paying for them to go to college with our tax dollars. I think they even eat better than we do."

Yes, many of us in "the mass media" definitely do have an agenda. I'm not gonna lie. We communicate the things that we communicate because we tend to lean a certain way. Many of us lean very politically to the left and tend to embrace very untraditional things. (In case you don't already know, I personally lean very politically to the right (if you can get me to talk about politics at all, that is, because I'm really burned out on that particular subject -- have I told you lately how much I love my cats?), and my overt agenda is to tell whoever will listen about my relationship with God, which I hope is pretty darn untraditional. Sorry, but you won't be able to shut me up.) Frankly, if you would stop talking about "the mass media" as if it were the bogeyman, perhaps more of your leaning-very-politically-to-the-right children would want to grow up to have media-related careers instead of the more traditional ones like doctor, teacher, lawyer, etc. But that is just my observation and opinion. (See? Can't shut me up.)

But most of the time, we in "the mass media" are simply required to do our jobs, and we are doing so under a great deal of pressure from 1) our bosses 2) our deadlines 3) our advertisers 4) our potential advertisers 5) our clients 6) the readers/viewers that our clients are trying to kiss up to 7) trends that the world seems to be following 8) the fact that people don't want to buy newspapers or cable TV or a public-television membership as much as they used to. Ultimately, we're in a business to make money. Even chicks who work in "the mass media" gotta eat.

When I was a little girl, I don't ever remember saying, "When I grow up, I want to work in the mass media." I just wanted to write. Then when I got older, I also wanted to edit. After I began to follow God around like a lovesick puppydog, I ended up getting jobs in "the mass media." That's how I got here. I hope I don't stay here for the rest of my life, but I'm learning a lot, and I sure am thankful that it pays the bills.

So, I was reminded of how powerful (or how hated) my job is when I attended an important industry event earlier this week. I was listening to a presentation in which the speaker was communicating some highly technical information on a very specific industry process (I wasn't assigned to report on it, so I wasn't taking notes, but I was listening and smiling politely). In the middle of his presentation, I don't remember his exact words, but he scoffed a little bit and said, "The mass media keeps saying that this industry process is the next big thing, but in the end, we're still going to need people to evaluate the quality of the process." I kept smiling politely. If the speaker had known that a member of "the mass media" was looking right at him, would he have chosen his words more carefully? Would he have scoffed? Would he have cared?

At any rate, had very good credentials. He had worked in the industry for at least a couple of decades, so he knew what he was talking about.

But I've noticed -- at least, in my opinion -- that that particular industry is a peculiar one. As dependent as it is on modern technology, it can be very out of touch with the rest of the world. People tend to work in that particular industry for decades at a time, so they kind of operate in a bubble of sorts. Awhile back, I heard that the trend nowadays is to change careers every five years or so. I think anytime you change jobs, you grow at least practically speaking because you expose yourself to a new perspective. I think that's a healthy thing.

If you don't expose yourself to a new perspective every once in a while, you could get into an unhealthy rut. You could live inside a bubble, in a bad way. Outsiders could peer inside your bubble, realize that they don't want to join you inside your I-already-know-everything-about-everything bubble, and stealthily float away from you.

If you live inside a bubble, in a bad way, you could begin to believe very peculiar things. You could believe that reprimanding an employee by emailing him/her and CCing everyone else in the company "so that everyone can learn" or "so that we all can share the experience" is supposed to be normal. (The truth is, it's highly unprofessional.) You could believe that inviting your employees to openly praise or critique everyone's project is supposed to help everybody in the company improve. (The truth is, it alienates your employees.) You could believe that everybody is exactly like you, so you don't think it's offensive to ask a new employee if he/she has a green card. (I mean, come on.) You could believe that your precious little monkey is perfect, smells like a rose garden, and will always be better than all the other monkeys at all the other zoos. (But who wants to visit a zoo where the air is thick with the nauseating stench of monkey poop?)

So, the truth is, if you spend enough time maintaining your monkey at your zoo, you could forget how wonderful your monkey really is. Is it really just a smelly monkey? Or is it a miraculously living creature, and you of all people have been given the charge, the honor, the incredible responsibility of taking care of it?

I think living life in God's Kingdom can be like that, too.

"You who laid the foundations of the earth, so that it should not be moved forever, You covered it with the deep as with a garment; the waters stood above the mountains. At Your rebuke they fled; at the voice of Your thunder they hastened away. They went up over the mountains; they went down into the valleys, to the place which You founded for them. You have set a boundary that they may not pass over, that they may not return to cover the earth." (Psalm 104:5-9)

On my drive home today (from my mass-media zookeeper job), I realized that God -- the most powerful Being in the universe -- favors me. OH, MY GOSH, THE ONE WHO CREATED THE ENTIRE UNIVERSE FRICKIN' FAVORS ME!!! I am struggling right now to find words to describe this. The Omnipotent, Almighty God -- the only True God, who is real, who is there, who WAS, who IS, who IS TO COME -- wants me to succeed. He wants me, period. He is more than likely the busiest Being in the universe, and yet He is always available to spend time with me. He is the biggest Person in the entire universe, and He chose me to be in His family. He wants to be my Friend. He wouldn't have created me otherwise.

And He feels that way about everybody, not just me.

So, during the drive home, a few tears came to my eyes while some awe crept back in. I think maybe sometimes when you've spent some time "working" for the King, it can be easy to forget how awe-inspiring, how infinitely wonderful, how truly big a deal it is to actually be in His Kingdom. Sometimes He hands you a shovel and says something to the effect of, "Hey, little shepherdess, can you please help Me shovel some sheep poop? There's plenty of it to go around."

I don't want to just be another zookeeper. I want to stay in awe of the One who created the animals, the One who created the earth, the One who created me, the One who created the "Zoo" in the first place. I want to continually be amazed, refreshed, and restored by my God, the Shepherd who will never stop taking impeccable care of me.

That's my Daddy. He's the One who I follow around like a lovesick puppydog. He's the One who keeps renewing me. I don't want to create my own bubble and begin believing very peculiar things about my own little world. I want to let Him take me by the hand and continually lead me into new perspectives.

I think that will always be a very good thing.

(Sorry, but you won't be able to shut me up.)

Small baby maximized

Yeah, I know that's a weird title for a blog post. I've been thinking about a few different things that seem very related to each other now, so I thought I'd smush them together here in one post. I hope you don't mind.

"Do not despise these small beginnings, for the Lord rejoices to see the work begin..." (Zechariah 4:10a, NLT)

"Who dares despise the day of small things, since the seven eyes of the Lord that range throughout the earth will rejoice..." (Zechariah 4:10a, NIV)

"For who has despised the day of small things? For these seven rejoice to see the plumb line..." (Zechariah 4:10a, NKJV)

"Does anyone dare despise this day of small beginnings? They'll change their tune..." (Zechariah 4:10a, MSG)

One Bible verse that I've been thinking about off and on is Zechariah 4:10, which I remember in my brain as saying, "Do not despise the day of small beginnings," but as you can see, I had trouble finding that exact wording in any Bible translation/paraphrase. From what I understand, the context of this passage is talking about the rebuilding of the temple at Jerusalem. I mean, you can't just rebuild an entire temple overnight, right? You gotta start out small. There ain't no shame in that. In fact, God really seems to like that.

But I think that exact "Do not despise the day of small beginnings" wording was drilled into my skull when I was in college in the mid-1990s (I think before most of the abovementioned translations/paraphrases were written), more than likely by my college pastor. I've blogged about him before. Not trying to diss him, just trying to be honest about my experiences. His testimony was quite linear. After he graduated from college with a business degree, he struggled financially because he felt called to go into the ministry, and he earned a meager living for a while mowing people's lawns before he started his ministry, and voilà -- you, too, can find and achieve your life's purpose in a few short months. And if you call the number on your screen in the next 10 minutes, we'll put you on the next missionary boat to China! Raucous applause!

Anyway, in my opinion, the good part about being part of his ministry and hearing his testimony was learning that it's OK to start out small, especially when you're fresh out of college, ridiculously arrogant and naïve, and you expect your life to be handed to you on a silver platter, instantly and pain-free.

But the bad part about it was getting the impression that that short, intense struggle only needs to happen once and that if it doesn't happen that way exactly, there's something wrong with you.

I've had way more than just one season of "small beginnings" in my life. I've had to take way more than just one entry-level job throughout my career. I've had to move my way up from rock bottom on way more than one occasion. I've had to start completely over in life way more than once. Frankly, sometimes it gets old. But sometimes -- especially when you have to rip yourself away from a very unhealthy situation that you can't fix any other way -- it's the most refreshing, healing thing you can do.

I'm sure there are some people, like my college pastor, who only have "small beginnings" once, learn everything they need to learn from it, and then live happily ever after. There's definitely nothing wrong with that. If that's the path that God leads you on, please go for it, and give it everything you've got. But I've discovered that that doesn't happen with everybody, and I daresay that God may not necessarily intend for it to happen with everybody.

Take my job, for example. Yet again, I've found myself in a situation where I'm treated like some kid who doesn't know what she's doing, and I've walled myself off from my coworkers so that they hopefully won't be able to see how unhappy I am there (so that it will be that much sweeter and sneakier for me when I drop the two-week-notice bomb someday -- raucous applause!). One day, I was asking God what the deal was. Why do I keep finding myself in these bad job situations? (Thankfully, this current job isn't as bad as the previous horror movie that put me back into therapy.) Is it me? What is it about me that needs to change? What lesson am I not learning?

I don't remember His exact words, but God was basically like, "When you're painting a house, you need to give it more than one coat." Of course.

He was also talking to me awhile back about double-dipping, kinda like an ice-cream cone. You want a mouthful of different flavors? You can dip your cone in chocolate... then maybe butterscotch... then maybe strawberry... then maybe something citrusy... and so on and so forth.

So, maybe (hopefully) in my case, I'm not a total spiritual slob who keeps neglecting to learn her lessons and who will be stuck in the wilderness forever and be denied her happily ever after. Maybe in my case, God wants to build me, then change His mind and rearrange the furniture, then change His mind again and remodel, then change His mind again and tear it down completely, then repair the cracks in the foundation, then rebuild again, and then re-rebuild to repair damage that occurred during a bad fire or a bad storm, then paint and repaint, then change His mind and paint some more, then sandblast it, polish it, make sure it shines so that He can see His face in it... and so on and so forth.

I'm hoping that's the case. We shall see. Meanwhile, I shall continue to learn how to work with people who I don't like while functioning in an environment that I can't change.

About five years ago, I took the Clifton StrengthsFinder test through my church. One of the five strengths that I have is Maximizer which, according to the book Living Your Strengths, means that I "seek to transform something good into something superb." God has been nudging me (quite raucously) that I've needed to look into this whole Maximizer thing more, so the other night I dusted off the book and read it a little bit. I had an "OH, MY GOSH, I SUDDENLY UNDERSTAND MYSELF" moment.

Here's what it said about me being a Maximizer: "Excellence, not average, is your measure. Taking something from below average to slightly above average takes a great deal of effort and in your opinion is not very rewarding. Transforming something strong into something superb takes just as much effort but is much more thrilling.... And having found a strength, you feel compelled to nurture it, refine it, and stretch it toward excellence. You polish the pearl until it shines. This natural sorting of strengths means that others see you as discriminating. You choose to spend time with people who appreciate your particular strengths.... You tend to avoid those who want to fix you and make you well-rounded.... Some people will be intimidated by your perceptiveness and drive for excellence. These people may want to keep you at a distance, and you may feel rejected or like there is something wrong with you."

So, the other night when I was reading this, God was like, "I rest My case." Indeed.

There's nothing wrong with the way I make friends. In fact, if I decide that a whole crop of friends are unhealthy for me, and that I have to cut myself off from them and start all over again, that's OK. I'm not being a snob. I'm not being a jerk. I'm just being myself.

The Maximizer section of the Strengths book also quoted Matthew 25:19-21 from the Parable of the Talents. That's the parable where the boss leaves his employees with some money and trusts them to do business with it. The ones who do good business for their boss get commended: "Well done, good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things (verse 21, NKJV)."

The wording that was drilled into my skull years ago was, "If you're faithful in little, you'll be ruler over much." I remember my cats when I think about this topic.

If you're faithful in little...

 

...you'll be ruler over much.

(Photos not to scale.)

First, I got Choochie (my little cat), and then I also got Macho (my big cat). I was ultimately responsible for one cat before I became ultimately responsible for two cats. I guess you could say that as a crazy cat lady, I started out small.

God's kingdom works similarly. First, David was responsible for a flock of his dad's sheep, and then after he became king, he became responsible for a flock of God's metaphorical sheep. First, Moses was herding flocks for his father-in-law, and then after the Israelites were freed from bondage in Egypt, he herded God's metaphorical flock around the wilderness.

Speaking of Moses in the wilderness, I've been wondering about something lately. The Bible is true, yes. It tells events that actually happened, yes. But there are a lot of details that it leaves out. I think this might be on purpose. I believe God sometimes keeps things vague on purpose so that we can trust Him with what we don't know. And I think maybe God also likes to honor people's privacy.

"For we have been consumed by Your anger, and by Your wrath we are terrified. You have set our iniquities before You, our secret sins in the light of Your countenance." (Psalm 90:7-8)

Moses wrote this psalm. That whole "secret sins" phrase gets me really curious. What the heck kind of baggage was Moses hauling around while He was leading God's people around in the wilderness? The Bible doesn't really go into detail about this.

Moses is my hero. He sometimes gets kinda dissed, though. I mean, he's the guy who made one little mistake in the wilderness, and as a consequence, he didn't get to see the promised land. One little frickin' mistake.

Lately I've been wondering if perhaps there was more going on behind the scenes. What we read in the Bible is Moses -- surrounded by a bunch of complaining ingrates who probably would have gotten on Mother Teresa's last nerve -- disobeying God by hitting a rock (so that it would miraculously produce water for the people to drink) instead of speaking to it like God told him to. I wonder if maybe this was more of a "last straw" kind of a situation between God and Moses. I wonder if perhaps maybe God had already been trying to work on Moses' violent tendencies for many years. I wonder if perhaps God was like, "Hey, Moses, remember that one guy you killed in Egypt all those years ago? Well, you can't solve all your problems by killing people, and you won't be able to run away from your problems all your life." I wonder if perhaps Moses smacking the rock with his staff made God sigh frustratedly and say something like, "Hey, why didn't you believe Me when I told you I would give My people water, and all you had to do was speak to the rock? Listen, if you can't handle My people with care, I'll raise up somebody else to look after them. They won't be able to handle the giants in the promised land if the only problem-solving example they see is a violent one. You will stay here in the wilderness, but no worries, everything is going to be OK. I love you."

Just using my imagination.

Last night, I performed the monthly maintenance on my cats (nail trimming, ear cleaning, anti-heartworm medicine distributing). I've done this with my babies at least a hundred times, so they should know what to expect. Macho crawled into my lap and stretched out one of his paws. Choochie sprawled out on the floor and didn't start growling until I got to her last paw. They didn't do anything wrong. They're cats. And they're mine. I've chosen to maintain them this way (I guess it's kinda like pruning John-15 style) simply because they're alive and growing, and they need to stay healthy and safe during the process. (And because I don't want the vet to give me another guilt trip for an ear infection caused by wax buildup.) It isn't always pleasant for them or me, but it has to be done, and all three of us will enjoy its benefits when the brief maintenance process is over.

I'm not exactly sure how to transition into my next idea, so I'll use a nifty Bible verse totally out of context.

"Nicodemus said to Him, 'How can a man be born when he is old? Can he enter a second time into his mother's womb and be born?" (John 3:4)

I know, right? I think God knew what He was doing when He created the way in which humans are born. (Being born again -- which is what Nicodemus and Jesus were talking about -- is a completely different story, of course.) I've never given birth, but I've heard that it's very painful. And that's with just a tiny little person coming out of you. You couldn't give birth to a full-grown adult human being. That would be absurd. When you give birth, it's to a brand-new baby creature. (Otherwise, it's called adoption, which again is a completely different story, of course.)

It's a baby. It's a little person. It's a small beginning.

And that small person isn't supposed to stay small. He or she is supposed to grow up. Growth takes time. The person who is currently typing this post has been growing for about 38 years, and she will continue to grow. Growth is hard. Sometimes it involves growing pains. Sometimes crazy things happen. Your baby teeth may fall out one by one in order to make room for permanent teeth. Your permanent teeth may end up falling out permanently. Your growth may accelerate during your teen years while your entire being becomes suitable to make babies of your own. Your growth may do a weird backward tangent during your mid-life years while you get extra piercings or tattoos or sports cars or other things that psychologists might consider to be evidence of a "crisis." Regardless of the type of growth, the growth will continue to happen whether you like it or not. Adjustments are constantly being made during every process of life.

But it starts out small. And then hopefully, after years of honing, perfecting, polishing, and shining, it lives happily ever after. Raucous applause!

Not a foodie

As you can see from my pantry, I am definitely NOT a foodie. My palate is extremely simple, and my taste in food is mainly geared just for survival. I try to incorporate as much fiber and vitamin C into my diet as I can (when it's feasible and cheap to do so), but that's pretty much it. I don't like to cook, but I like to eat out (when it's feasible and cheap to do so). A few years ago, I watched the Food Network a lot. I taped (yes, with a VCR) about a dozen or so episodes, and I'm glad I did, because now I don't have cable (on purpose -- I just surf YouTube or buy DVDs).

The reason why I like to watch Food Network shows is the same reason I like to watch PBS how-to shows: I like to watch people teaching other people how to do stuff. I like to watch the programs for their educational and entertainment value. No, I may never cook an entire Thanksgiving meal from scratch, just as I may never use a router for a woodworking project. I think it's just fun to watch that stuff on TV. (And, frankly, I like the safety of being able to watch something without worrying if it will have a sex scene that I will need to avoid like the plague.)

But the Food Network isn't my obsession. It just reminds me of Somebody I know.

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

I never realized how stressful or competitive being a chef could be until I watched the Food Network. The culinary arts are SERIOUS arts. I bow to the masters, and so does my SpaghettiOs pantry.

And I never realized how succeeding in the food industry and journeying through life are very similar processes.

About a dozen years ago, a few friends and I spontaneously watched Iron Chef on a Saturday night, and we had a great time because it was so entertaining. And I'm glad Iron Chef America was developed as a somewhat toned-down version of the Japanese show. Chopped follows a similar program structure. What basically happens in all three of these shows is that a few chefs race against one another to see who can create the best food in the allotted time. Their food and presentation are evaluated by a panel of rather candid judges. But here's the catch: The chefs have to create meals with only the ingredients provided to them, and they are often thrown some major curveballs. Seriously, how are you supposed to make an edible gourmet meal in 30 minutes using chicken, Brussels sprouts, and cotton candy? I think you have to be a major culinary expert. These competitions are pretty cutthroat. If you make one little mistake, or if you displease one or more of the judges just a tiny bit, you're history. And the whole thing is taped on national TV.

I think these crazy culinary competitions are a lot like life. In this life, you only have an allotted amount of time to make the best out of what you have. Life will throw you some major curveballs: Seriously, how are you supposed to succeed with THAT awful ingredient on your plate? And the whole world is watching you and itching to evaluate how you perform.

The Bible talks about how life is like a race and how we should run it as if there were only one prize to win (1 Corinthians 9:24). It says that we should rip off all the things that weigh us down while we're running so that we can just go for it (Hebrews 12:1).

But life isn't completely like the cooking-competition shows. On these televised events, if you fail, you fail. That's it; you're out. Take the walk of shame as graciously as you can. Then the winner gets all the accolades, the favor, the shot in the arm for his/her restaurant, the possible deal to develop a TV show of his/her own, etc.

These shows are cool, but there's another one that's my favorite.

I've talked a little bit about this on Facebook before, but I think this may be the first time I've blogged about it: Robert Irvine in his show Restaurant: Impossible reminds me a lot of God. And the people he tries to help respond to him in a way that's very similar to the way that people respond to God when He tries to help them.

On Restaurant: Impossible, Chef Robert is an alpha-male, no-nonsense restauranteur whose mission is to give failing restaurants a makeover in two days. With his trademark sledgehammer, he shows his remodeling crew exactly how he wants the made-over restaurant to look. He gets in the faces of the restaurant staff and fixes their problems as best he can.

The failing restaurants usually have very similar things in common. Many of them are run by people who aren't qualified to run/own a restaurant because they don't have previous experience or education in the industry. Many of them have very poor business sense, and they have no idea how to spend or manage their business' money. They don't set or enforce rules for their employees, who do a very poor job of maintaining the restaurant. Then many of the owners don't even show up during business hours, so they can't see the problems for themselves. Many of the bosses treat their staff like family instead of like employees, which often results in the employees doing whatever the heck they want. (Hmm. Does Chef Robert only work with restaurants? I wonder if he would be interested in making over my office...) The restaurant owners don't eat their own food, so they can't tell for themselves how awful it tastes. Their décor is atrocious and usually dusty/dirty, sometimes with sticky floors and/or tables. Then they wonder why people don't want to eat at their restaurant. And they get overly defensive and make all kinds of foolish excuses when they're faced with the truth.

Chef Robert can be very harsh and severe, and he rubs a lot of people the wrong way, but you have to respect the guy for being so passionate, knowledgeable, and results-driven in his job. The episodes usually end with the restaurant staff crying, hugging him, and thanking him.

I love this show. It's the same thing every time, and yet every episode is different because it involves different people in different locations in different situations. After I watch the show, I like to dig around online and see how the restaurants are doing after their big makeovers. Some of them learned from their makeover experience and are succeeding. Others threw out a lot of Chef Robert's suggestions and went back to their old menu items, but their restaurants are still surviving. Many others ended up going out of business anyway shortly after their makeover.

I remember reading at least one article that critiqued Restaurant: Impossible, saying that by the time Chef Robert arrives, many of the restaurants' problems are so far out of hand that going out of business is already inevitable. In two days, his crew accomplishes remodeling work that normally would take months to complete. And then he leaves town.

Chef Robert is definitely an awesome kick in the butt to the restaurant owners on his program. But sometimes after you get a necessary kick in the butt, you need somebody to hold your hand and help you through your mess.

This is one way in which Chef Robert is very different from God.

God is a Consuming Fire, but He's also very gentle. And He's not a consultant. He's in charge. He's a Friend. He's Family. He wants to come alongside you and help you. He wants to stay around before, during, and after the reconstruction period in my life, and then He wants to stick around forever. And I want that, too. He isn't in a hurry to get everything done in two days. He's willing to take however long it takes.

When I eat out, one disappointment that I've encountered recently is that it's hard to find a regular hamburger and fries at a sit-down restaurant. (Unless I've just been looking in all the wrong places.) All the restaurants I've tried nowadays have fancy gourmet burgers. I'm not interested in fancy gourmet stuff. I'm interested in a well-cooked slab of meat between two buns, decorated with lots of crunchy veggies, and maybe a few dabs of ketchup. I've learned that I don't really want a regular hamburger and fries at a sit-down restaurant anymore. I want a drive-thru meal from Whataburger. I am not a foodie. I love chain restaurants. I love fast-food drive-thrus. I love knowing what I'm getting.

One major thing that I appreciate about God is that I never have to wonder what I'm getting with Him. He will never disappoint me. In fact, He's already told all of us who He is; it's just a matter of us believing Him. I don't have to wonder where I stand with Him. He already made a covenant with me: He will never leave me or forsake me, He has already adopted me for life/forever/eternity, He will awesomely kick me in the butt whenever I need it, He will always love me, He will always want me, He will always want to be close to me, and He will always be faithful to me. And He just wants all of me in return. And He's got it.

"The voice of the Lord shakes the wilderness; the Lord shakes the Wilderness of Kadesh. The voice of the Lord makes the deer give birth, and strips the forests bare; and in His temple everyone says, 'Glory!' " (Psalm 29:8-9)

Yeah, that's right. When life throws me some major curveballs, He will come alongside me, hold my hand, carry me, let me latch onto Him, and teach me how to maneuver through it. And the equipment He uses is much more powerful than a dinky little sledgehammer.

No chef could ever compete with Him.