Prove it

On weekday mornings, I set my alarm for approximately 4 a.m. For some reason, the only way I can discipline myself to be anywhere at 8 a.m. is to wake up around 4. (I'm 39 years old. I'm finally getting to know myself. Perhaps my former coworkers who witnessed my chronic tardiness are now reading this and thinking, "Well, it's about time.") Maybe someday I can also discipline myself to have a nice little 30-minute "quiet time" before I leave for work in the mornings. For now, I sometimes just read the Bible while I eat breakfast, and sometimes I pray while I'm in the shower and drive to work. Sometimes I spend some "quiet time" ranting to God in the afternoon if I need to work through something that bubbles up in my heart, and then I usually spend some more "quiet time" with Him in the evenings. (Seriously, on days when I pray while I'm waiting for my conditioner to set, my hair ends up looking REALLY good.)

A major downside to waking up at 4 a.m., of course, is that my cats are now used to being fed at approximately that time. Sometimes I wake up to the sound of Macho meow-insisting at 3 or 3:30. On the weekends, when I try to sleep in, I'll simply wake up when my cats get hungry, feed them, and then go back to sleep for a few more hours. This morning, for example, Macho meow-woke me up at 4:40. (Don't worry; I didn't snap the above photo until around 10:30.)

Whenever I tell people that my weekday morning routine seriously takes about 4 hours, they either laugh at me or they freak out and try to fix me. They start asking me somewhat personal questions like, "What do you DO in the mornings??" Well, I feed the cats (twice), take a shower, get dressed, and eat breakfast, not that it's any of your business. I've already tried everything I can think of to make my routine shorter. But I'm a morning person, and I'm an introverted creative person. If I don't get to take my time and work through things in my head/heart that may bubble up during my wake-up routine, I might arrive to work angry and irritable instead of alert and cheerful. Trust me: This 4 a.m. thing has proven to work for me.

Lately, I've been thinking about the concept of people needing to "prove" themselves. For example, during one episode of Restaurant: Impossible, Chef Robert Irvine (who is notorious for being blunt and harsh when you first meet him) said that whenever he hires a new employee, he won't even talk to them for about two or three months. He'll wait until they prove themselves to be a good, competent employee before he'll start to build a relationship with them. At first, I thought this was a terrible thing for him to do. But then I realized that it was probably also happening to me, so it isn't a terrible thing at all.

I have zero complaints about my current job. When people ask me if I like working there, I reply with my honest opinion: "This is an editing paradise." But even though I've already been there for two months, people are still introducing themselves to me, welcoming me, and telling me that they're glad to have me aboard. I thought that was something you were supposed to do from the get-go: Assume that somebody was who they said they were, trust them to do their job, and then get shocked and heartbroken when they turn out to be a total slob who you end up firing.

But I've learned that waiting for somebody to prove themselves is a biblical thing. And, not to mention, it could save you some heartache later on.

"Be diligent to present yourself approved to God, a worker who does not need to be ashamed, rightly dividing the word of truth." (2 Timothy 2:15)

"My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience." (James 1:2)

"So the servants of the owner came and said to him, 'Sir, did you not sow good seed in your field? How then does it have tares?' ... 'Let both grow together until the harvest, and at the time of harvest I will say to the reapers, "First gather together the tares and bind them in bundles to burn them, but gather the wheat into my barn." ' " (Matthew 13:27, 30)

So, God tests us, too. Of course. In that sense, I guess you could say that we need to prove ourselves to Him, even though technically He already knows what's inside us, and even though we probably already have an idea of what's inside us as well. He's a just God, but He's also a God of grace. He understands, more than anyone else, that sometimes it can take a long time for the testing and approval process to happen. (It just feels like it takes forever.) He lets the tares grow with the wheat; He lets the bad weeds grow with the good crop for a while. Then at harvest time, He pulls out the bad weeds and gets rid of them forever, while simultaneously cashing in on the good crop. (If He had tried to get rid of the bad stuff prematurely, He would have risked accidentally destroying the good stuff along with it.)

This idea of "proving" yourself is new to me. I grew up being very codependent. I grew up thinking that if you were a certain way in life, you were doomed to stay that way forever. If someone living in your house was a heartbreaking slob, then it was your frustrating duty to pick up the slack for them forever. As a young adult, I believed that you needed to hand over your entire heart on a silver platter to anyone as soon as you met them. If they turned out to be a total jerk, you wouldn't even notice, and then you'd wonder why you had so many random problems in your life.

But that's not God's way.

"The righteous should choose his friends carefully, for the way of the wicked leads them astray." (Proverbs 12:26)

Some translations of this verse say to be "cautious" in friendship. This is a lesson that I've been learning in recent years. Even more recently, I've been learning how to wait to let someone prove themselves to me before I share too much of my heart with them. It might sound strange and cruel, but it has actually saved me at least a tiny bit of heartache.

But Someone else wants to prove Himself also.

" 'Bring all the tithes into the storehouse, that there may be food in My house, and try Me now in this,' says the Lord of hosts, 'If I will not open for you the windows of heaven and pour out for you such blessing that there will not be room enough to receive it.' " (Malachi 3:10)

In this verse, God says, "try Me," but in the King James Version, He says, "prove Me." Sure, in Deuteronomy, Matthew, and Luke, the Bible says to not test God, but in Malachi it's very clear that God wants us to put Him to one very particular test. (And I'm not just saying so because I'm a member of a church whose pastor is famous for his life-message on tithing/giving.)

When I got my first job straight out of college, I worked part-time for minimum wage, and I lived with some roommates. One of them had a laidback conversation with me about tithing. She said that sometimes "God understands" when we don't tithe. That conversation stuck in my head for years, and I think I let it influence my financial decisions. For years, I would pretty much only tithe whenever I would feel like it or whenever I would remember to. As a result, of course, God would pretty much only rebuke the devourer (Malachi 3:11) whenever He would feel like it, so to speak. A few years after I got out of college, I was so poor that I would only have about $10 to spend on two weeks' worth of groceries from every paycheck. Every weekday, I would eat a tuna sandwich and popcorn for lunch, and then I would come home and fry myself some eggs for dinner. People thought I was exercising or dieting. Nope. I was just poor.

Now anytime I get paid, I tithe ASAP. Why? Because that money isn't mine. As a result, sometimes I look at my checkbook, and I'm like, "Um... how did I end up with all this money left over?" And God is like, "You sound surprised." Yes, Father, I am. But I shouldn't be, because You've proven Yourself to be faithful to take care of me financially if I just give You back what's Yours financially.

I'm certainly not saying that I should always be a cynical person who demands that people show themselves worthy of my friendship before I will give them the time of day. And I'm also not saying that I should live my life always doubting if God is who He says He is. I'm just saying that it's biblical to be more careful with people, to not be surprised when people wait for me to prove myself to them, and to let God show off His awesome provision whenever I let Him.

So, I guess you could say that just like how my cats can trust me to feed them at approximately 4 a.m. every day, I can trust God to feed me everything I need every day. Hmm. Who'd a thunk that needing to prove oneself was a God thing? I guess when you spend some time getting to know Somebody, you find out all kinds of stuff like that.

Show-off

This is the part of the blog post where I would normally tell an anecdote about me and my cats and compare it to my relationship with God, and where I would include adorable cat photos to back myself up, but I think I'll skip that part this time. I'm just going to launch into talking about Somebody who is infinitely cooler than I could ever hope to be.

"You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies..." (Psalm 23:5a)

Lately while I've been opening my Bible (or my computer or my phone app) to Isaiah chapter 1 and wondering if I can read any further in my waaaaay-behind Bible reading schedule, God has been leading me to Psalms 23, 22, and 2. What has stuck out to me this week especially is 23:5. God prepares a table before me... in the presence of my enemies? My enemies are the devil and his fallen angels. Why the heck would I want to eat a meal in front of them? Gross.

I think it's because God is a Show-off, in the purest sense of the word. No, of course God isn't arrogant or annoying or prideful. He hates all that stuff. But if anyone in the entire universe deserves to show off, it's definitely God.

I don't think it's an accident that Psalm 23 happens to be right next to Psalm 22.

"But You are holy, enthroned in the praises of Israel." (Psalm 22:3)

This verse is quoted a lot, especially when people talk about praise/worship music. But its original context in Psalm 22 isn't a pleasant one at all. It's a psalm of David that prophesies how Jesus would die; for example, verse 16 says, "They pierced My hands and My feet," and verse 18 says, "for My clothing they cast lots." Psalm 22 talks about agonizing pain. After about 20 verses of excruciating torture, the psalmist switches gears in verse 21: "You have answered Me." Then he spends the rest of the psalm talking about how God will be praised and worshiped -- how He is going to get the glory for helping him through his agony.

I think verse 3 kinda sticks out like a sore thumb (or maybe like a healthy thumb in a sea of soreness). Right in the middle of the agony, God is going to get the glory. So, Jesus is hanging on the cross, experiencing agonizing pain that no other created being on earth could ever possibly suffer, and God is enthroned on the praises of His people?

Rewind back to Psalm 2, and I think it all kinda ties together.

"I will declare the decree: The Lord has said to Me, 'You are My Son, today I have begotten You. Ask of Me, and I will give You the nations for Your inheritance, and the ends of the earth for Your possession.' " (Psalm 2:7)

Psalm 2 is a terrifying psalm, I think, because it starts out with humanity rebelling against authority and basically saying, "Pffffft. We don't need to follow Jesus." Then God laughs -- not a cutsie little schoolgirl giggle, but a Most-Powerful-Being-In-The-Universe-Who-Killed-People-In-The-Bible laugh. Then He shows everybody who's boss. He basically says, "Nuh-uh. I'm the One who made Jesus King. You had better kiss Him or else."

Yes, Lord. No problem.

Now back to the idea of God being a Show-off. (The Best kind.)

Years ago, I heard the saying, "A coincidence is when God chooses to be anonymous." I'm sorry, but I think that's a load of crap. I don't see anything in the Bible where God was trying to do a good deed and then cover it up by choosing to be anonymous. I think the closest scenarios would be incidents where Jesus' life needed to be protected before He went to the cross, such as where He would perform a miracle and instruct the person to not tell anybody about the miracle (e.g., Mark 1:44). But even in those cases, God certainly wasn't anonymous. The people involved knew who Jesus was, and there was no question who He was or what He could do. Pffffft. Coincidence, shmoincidence. God wants to take the credit for what He's done. God wants to be KNOWN.

You think Jesus went to all the trouble of being born on this earth as a Man, living 100% sinless, and then being tortured and crucified in broad daylight just so He could remain anonymous? No way.

I've recently read/heard preachers talk about how God's glory was meant to be seen -- how He certainly does NOT want to be anonymous. Exodus 33:11 says that Moses spoke to God face to face as a man speaks to his friend. In verse 18, Moses asked God to show him His glory. (God was like, "I'd love to, but if I did, you'd get burned to a crisp, and I kinda need you alive so that you can finish My work for you here on earth; but what I can do is let you see My back while I pass by... because I'm the Lion of Judah. We Felines are totally cool with you seeing Our backsides.") In Exodus 34, Moses accidentally freaked out the people of Israel because his face was so shiny from talking to God. He had been with God, and he couldn't help being radiant because of it.

"All Your works shall praise You, O Lord, and Your saints shall bless You. They shall speak of the glory of Your kingdom, and talk of Your power, to make known to the sons of men His mighty acts, and the glorious majesty of His kingdom." (Psalm 145:10-12)

"For I consider that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us." (Romans 8:18)

So, in Psalm 23:5 when God says that He prepares a table before me in the presence of my enemies... after I've been made to lie down in green pastures... after I've been led in paths of righteousness for God's name's sake... after I've walked through the valley of the shadow of death...

God sits me down smack-dab in the presence of my enemies who tortured me in the first place. Perhaps with many words, perhaps with few words, or perhaps with no words, He sits me down at a banquet -- right where all my enemies can see me -- and says, "See? She's still here. I did that. You thought you could take her out, but you didn't. I rescued her. I kept her alive. I won. You lost. And now she's going to eat food that you're never going to be able to eat. Your turn to be tortured, losers. See My feet? That's where you need to bow. 'Cause I'm in charge, and I always win. I'm the King."

Oh, yeah. God's totally a Show-off, and He's the only kind of Show-off that you'll ever want to be around. In fact, I don't ever want to stop following Him around. I'm hooked. I'm hopelessly hooked.

Shopping, browsing, owning, knowing

Parking at my apartment complex is pretty much first-come, first-serve. So, for the past couple of evenings, I've been delighted to see that the spot where I usually like to park was vacant. "My space!" I've exclaimed. Not that I actually own my usual parking spot. (And not to be confused with the outdated social media site myspace.)

The concept of ownership is very important to me. Maybe I'm just like a cat.

I heard the cat-whispering expert Jackson Galaxy explain on his TV show once that a cat needs to have a spot that he/she owns. In my apartment, Macho "owns" a spot under my bed and a spot on my couch. These are places where he naps, snuggles, rests, and hides from the rest of the world.

 

As pictured here, Choochie "owns" a spot on my couch, too.

But I've recently realized that she has a deeper, longer-term sense of ownership somewhere else: my chest.

I truly hope this doesn't sound crass, but a woman's chest is kind of a multi-purpose area. One main purpose of a mother's chest is to comfort her child. It's a nicely cushioned area where a child can find refuge, be embraced, and have a good cry if necessary.

My chest is Choochie's default snuggle spot. No matter what I'm doing, no matter how sleepy or hungry she is, and no matter how awkward of a climb it is for her, she will find a way to crawl onto my lap and hoist herself up to my chest. Sometimes she doesn't even snuggle -- she just stands there and purr-meows, perhaps as if to claim her territory for anyone within earshot. I think when I'm trying to fall asleep at night and she tries to half-crawl under the covers, she's actually looking for her default snuggle spot (which isn't set up for her properly when I'm lying down on my side). Once in a while, I will wake up at 1 or 3 in the morning flat on my back to the sound of Choochie loudly purring while reclining on my chest. (I love you, too, kitty. Um, did you know that it's 1 in the morning?)

Actually, anytime she doesn't snuggle on my chest, and she just stands there awkwardly instead, it can get a bit frustrating for me. (Especially if I'm trying to watch TV or type something on my laptop.) I mean, just recline and let me pet you for a while, kitty. You're my baby, and I want to enjoy you, too.

Yes, of course I've been building up to a giant analogy.

"The ox knows its owner and the donkey its master's crib; but Israel does not know, My people do not consider." (Isaiah 1:3)

I started rereading the Book of Isaiah I think a couple of weeks ago... but I haven't really been able to finish chapter 1 yet. I've been stuck in / obsessing over verse 3. It's basically saying that, in this particular context, an ox and a donkey are smarter than Israel. Or I guess you could also say that my cats are smarter than I am.

From what I understand about Isaiah chapter 1, God isn't cool with how Israel dissed Him. Out of all the other peoples of the world, God chose Israel to be His very own. But all throughout the Bible, they repeatedly turned away from God and worshiped other gods. I guess you could say that Israel was like a giant rebellious teenager who would get in serious trouble, beg for forgiveness, turn around and get in serious trouble all over again, rinse and repeat.

Nothing against Israel, of course, because I'm the same way. To a degree, we all are.

I think Isaiah 1:3 is saying that an ox knows who owns him/her. Even a donkey knows where he/she belongs. (Yes, even my cats know where their home is and where their snuggle spots are.) But Israel was clueless. I've been clueless, too, and God has had to continually retrain me.

"The beloved of the Lord shall dwell in safety by Him, who shelters him all the day long; and he shall dwell between His shoulders." (Deuteronomy 33:12)

I think that space between God's shoulders -- that snuggle spot that God wants me to have with Him -- is right there on His chest.

During my most recent round of psychotherapy, I discovered that I'm addicted to turmoil. (And I blogged about it, of course. You can read about it here if you like.) That was a huge discovery for me last year. Since then, I've learned that there are healthy ways for me to get my turmoil "fix," such as watching reality shows (where there are always tons of conflict), yelling at demons whenever I do spiritual warfare, etc.

But lately my life has been settling into a very nice, quiet routine that is almost turmoil-free. Of course, during the past several years, my soul has been getting used to peace and quiet -- things that are actually supposed to be normal, but had been foreign to my soul.

Sometimes emotional things will churn and boil inside my heart/head because I need to work through them. This is healthy. But other times, my heart/head will boil and freak out unnecessarily. Perhaps this is the turmoil addiction that I've been gradually getting a handle on.

God recently told me something that has helped me immensely: "Don't go shopping for strife inside your head."

I'm a woman, but for some reason I don't have the clothes-shopping gene that most other women seem to have. In case you can't tell from the way I dress, I royally hate clothes-shopping. When I was a kid, shopping with my birth mother was torture because after taking forever at every store at the mall, and dragging us all with her, she would be almost out the door... and then she'd spot something else on a rack right by the door... so we'd end up shopping for like another hour. D'oh! So exhausting!

During one episode of Duck Dynasty when Miss Kay took forever to shop for furniture, Phil wisely observed that when we women shop, we "browse." That's why it takes forever. We may not necessarily find what we need/want right away; we'll spend time looking at every single one of our options before making a purchase. (If we make a purchase.)

So, I missed inheriting the clothes-shopping gene, but I definitely have a browsing gene. I hate shopping for clothes, but I could shop for CDs or DVDs till the cows come home. Seriously. If you want to get rid of me for an hour, just take me to Movie Trading Company and drop me off. I'll get lost in browsing heaven. I won't necessarily even buy anything; I'll just explore options, compare prices, read song lists, scan movie summaries -- oh, gosh, I love to do that.

One time, my obsessive browsing possibly freaked out a manager at a DVD rental store. I was looking for a movie to watch, and I almost found a couple of them, but I decided not to after all, and I insisted on looking at almost every shelf, and I think I combed the entire store like two or three times. I almost bought candy but decided not to after all. When I walked out of the store with nothing, the manager exclaimed exasperatedly, "The whole store?!?" Um, yes. Sorry. (It ain't my fault you have a crummy selection.)

So, when God tells me to not go shopping for strife inside my head, I know what He means. Say, as a very silly example, that somebody tells me that I remind them of their Aunt Harriet. Aww. And they love their Aunt Harriet. And I take it as a compliment. Shopping for strife would be sort of like looking for trouble where there is none, and you just browse until you exhaust yourself. "Wait. When she told me I remind her of her Aunt Harriet, did she mean that she only wants to see me at Thanksgiving and Christmas?? Or that she secretly hates her Aunt Harriet, and now she hates me, too??? Or that I'm old and dorky????? You know, I never liked that chick, anyway. I should unfriend her. No, I should tell her off before I unfriend her. No, I should crash the restaurant where she's having dinner with her friends and tell her off in front of them. You know what? I'll rehearse what I'm going to say right now! Um... no... that would result in her calling the police... getting a restraining order... and I'll probably have to go through therapy again... and who will feed my cats for me while I'm in the psych hospit-- WAIT, WHY THE HECK HAVE I TAKEN IT THIS FAR IN MY HEAD??? There probably wasn't even anything there in the first place. Gosh."

I know, silly example, and it honestly happens much more vaguely than that for me. But maybe you get the idea.

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

 

Regarding my cat Choochie, perhaps one reason why she's so close to me is because I HAVE TO keep her close so that I won't lose her. She is a very extroverted, outgoing, friendly cat. Years ago, before I got her "fixed," she had what vets refer to as "a tendency to roam." Of course, "fixing" her curbed that tendency (for the most part). But if I were to open the front door to my apartment, and if Choochie were unrestrained, she could possibly wander off and never be heard from again. And I would be heartbroken. So, I keep her close to me, and I daresay she likes it. Perhaps she adopted that snuggle spot that she owns on my chest way back when she was a kitten. But she knows that's where she belongs.

Of course, it's the same with me and God.

Oxen, donkeys, and cats know where they belong. They know who owns them.

I want to know who I belong with, the One who owns me, more deeply than ever. I don't want to wander off. I don't want to go shopping for junk that I'm not designed to use, store, nurture, or distribute. If junk boils up in my head/heart, I need to keep pouring it out to my Owner and letting Him help me work through it.

That spot between His shoulders is my space!

The fragrant chuppah

Yesterday on my way home from work (while I was stuck in traffic that was bottlenecked due to construction), I snapped a photo of a couple of trees that I thought were forming a familiar shape. As Owen Wilson told Ben Stiller in Meet the Parents, "It's an altar. Or you might call it a chuppah?"

I'm not Jewish, but Wikipedia tells me that a chuppah is a canopy that a bride and groom stand under while they are getting married; the chuppah is a symbol of the new home that the husband and wife will build together.

I thought the photo that I snapped while I was in traffic yesterday caught an adorable nature scene. Aww. Or, since there is a football and/or soccer practice field in the background (under the tree-chuppah), perhaps you could say that the photo could symbolize Texans' crazy autumn addiction to sports. I now pronounce thee football fans and wife. Heh, heh.

But I didn't sit down next to my purr-drooling cat today to write about sports.

"Of the wood of Lebanon Solomon the King made himself a palanquin: He made its pillars of silver, its support of gold, its seat of purple, its interior paved with love by the daughters of Jerusalem. Go forth, O daughters of Zion, and see King Solomon with the crown with which his mother crowned him on the day of his wedding, the day of the gladness of his heart." (Song of Solomon 3:9-13)

Recently when I began rereading through Song of Solomon, I was a little bit weirded out. I've read the Book before, and it was awesome, and it ministered to me (especially chapter 6, verse 4). But this time, I was a little bit disappointed, and I thought Song of Solomon was like a weird opera.

Perhaps Mike Bickle had a similar experience many years ago. I heard him explain once in a sermon that God told him to familiarize himself with Song of Solomon because he would basically be teaching God's heart for His people through that Book. So, Mike Bickle read the Book and was a little bit weirded out. He described himself as "a man's man," and now God suddenly wanted him to explain this flowery, girly Book to people? I think it really stretched him at first. But Song of Solomon is one of his specialties now.

As for me, when I recently tried to understand Song of Solomon, and I was having a "what the heck" moment with God, He simply told to me, "Love is messy." Indeed it is. And perhaps that explains the entire Book in a nutshell.

I mean, in Song of Solomon, you have this young girl gushing all over her beloved, and she has an entourage of chickfriends following her around and getting an earful of how she feels about her beloved. And you have the girl getting all fickle and being like, "Eh, don't bother me, beloved, I need my beauty sleep," and she starts looking for him, and the city watchmen beat her up while she's looking for him. And throughout the entire Book, the girl and her beloved totally gush all over each other like two very hormonal teenagers who seem way too young and immature to get married. In most places, the Book reads a lot like a loveletter that a teenage boy would sneak away into his parents' attic to write to his girlfriend.

(And yes, Song of Solomon is also about sex, which is why some churches are too uncomfortable to preach sermons about the Book. But really, if you can't use the Bible to talk about sex, how are you going to discuss it? Are you going to just let your teenagers do whatever the heck they want behind your back? And then wonder why you suddenly have so many unwed pregnancies in your family?)

During my recent "what the heck" moment with God regarding Song of Solomon, Jesus told me, "I spilled My guts out for you." Indeed He did. You don't give up Your body to die on a cross just because You kinda like somebody a little bit. You do it because You truly love them, and the only way to have them all to Yourself is to sacrifice Yourself for them.

Of course, the entire Book symbolizes Jesus' heart for His bride (us, the Church, the bride of Christ). It's basically a love song that Jesus and His Church need to constantly sing to each other: "I am my Beloved's, and His desire is toward me. / You are beautiful, My darling, My love." And the world is supposed to see it and get all swoony over Jesus, too. Ideally, that's what needs to happen.

"Now thanks be to God who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and through us diffuses the fragrance of His knowledge in every place. For we are to God the fragrance of Christ among those who are being saved and among those who are perishing. To the one we are the aroma of death leading to death, and to the other the aroma of life leading to life. And who is sufficient for these things? For we are not, as so many, peddling the word of God; but as of sincerity, but as from God, we speak in the sight of God in Christ." (2 Corinthians 2:14-17)

Sometimes when I scoop my cats into my arms, I press my nose into their adorable little fur and take a nice, big breath. Sometimes they smell awesome, and I'm like, "Wow. Did you put on some kitty cologne?" One time, I had Macho in my arms, and I breathed in his furry aroma, and I was like, "Wow. You smell really nice... Oh. You walked into the air-freshener spray, didn't you?" Heh, heh.

Yes, my cats smell like my "fragrance" because they live in my home. They can't avoid what I smell like or what I want my home to smell like.

If I am part of the bride of Christ, then He and I have built a home together. I live in God's house. I am going to smell like Him. God smells like love, so I hope I smell like love, too. And yes, love is quite messy.

Loving people is hard. Sometimes they don't understand you, and they hurt you. Other times they change their minds about liking you, and they decide that they hate you, and they think everyone around them needs to hate you, too. They spread rumors about you that aren't true. They mock you openly in front of people who you thought would stand up for you, but they just keep their mouths shut while the mockers -- the ones for whom you've spilled your guts out -- just keep dissing you.

And yet, Jesus just keeps on loving.

Sometimes after sowing love, you reap it back, and when that happens, it's very rewarding. Sometimes people will surprise you and suddenly bless you with an awesome gift. Sometimes people will bend over backwards to spend time with you. Sometimes people will rush to your defense so fast, it will make your head spin, in a good way. And sometimes your cat will crawl up to your chest and lounge-purr so hard that she'll drool on your sleeve.

If this type of thing makes my heart skip a few beats, I can only imagine how good it makes God feel whenever I express love for Him so hard that I nearly fly through the ceiling, rip through the roof, sail up to heaven, and smooch His face off.

Yep, love is messy indeed. But I don't think my Bridegroom Who stands under the chuppah with me would want it any other way.

"Your Obviousness"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The bathroom mirror

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

...and what's in Proverbs?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jalapeños, last straws, and tough love

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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