++I Pity the Fool++

   

Psalm 53:1 tells us, "The fool says in his heart, there is no God."  That scripture makes me feel like a small, white, female Mr. T.  I read it and think, "I pity the fool."


One time I sat in an adult Sunday school class and the teacher said, "If you think God comes to you in dreams in the bathtub, you are certifiably crazy."  I never went back.  Know why?  'Cause I don't see dead people.  I see God.

I see visions of me on a potting table made of old barn wood, with a one inch lip on all four sides for my fluids, just in case.  It's out in an open field and the sun is a brilliant yellow white.  I look like a life-sized, girl version of the board game, Operation.

God stands next to the potting bench.  His hands work inside me.  Tweeking a spleen.  Polishing a wishbone.  My friend I ask God questions to said it reminded her of this one part in Song of Solomon.  I love the translation that reads, "You are my private garden, my treasure, my bride, a secluded spring, a hidden fountain."

Another time, I watched God hold my heart.  Actually, I just saw his hand.  It looked like the giant hand chairs outside the Cool Ridge store on High Street.  My body's engine was nestled in his ginormous palm and it was huge too--beating, throbbing.  Ba-boom, ba-boom.  ba-boom.  And it was aqua.  God knows aqua is my favorite color.

When I consider God, it's like I have to set off an M-80 in my brain.  Not to hurt it, but to clear out the junk--the recipes, pin numbers, and vocab lists from high school.  I have to do that to even begin to think on God.  He made and he knows every person--past, present, and future.  He is aware of every thought, prayer, and deed they will ever come up with before they ever do.  He intimately perceives the detail of every creature, each cell.  He knows the greatest thing beyond my peewee comprehension, and he knows the least thing ever--sub, sub, sub-atomic stuff.

Sometimes when I pray, I picture God and Jesus and heaven.  There was a lady mystic who did the same thing, centuries ago.  I read about her in an A.W. Tozer book.  I'm glad I'm not alone.  I spend a lot of time wondering if I'll be able to see the Spirit when I get to heaven.  Will He be a silvery aqua mist, hovering over us all?

Some believers poopoo me trying to envision God.  They say I'm trying to create my own God like that guy who wrote The Shack.  To them I say, am I so very different than Moses?  He wanted to see God too and Bible scholars call him great.  I just want to look at whatever God'll show me, even if it's his backside.

Sometimes I picture myself up in heaven with God and Jesus.  I sit criss-cross applesauce on the floor of the throne room.  In fact, I'm snuggled right up to them.  My left arm is looped around God's right leg, and my right arm hugs Jesus' left calf.  Don't ask me if their appendages are flesh, spirit, or polished bronze.  They just are.  God and Jesus pet my hair as I take it all in--endless worship, passionate intercession.  Folks are flinging crowns and those wild, flying creatures--all eyeballs, wings, and praise?  I come undone.

One time--  No, there's been lots, Jesus asked me to dance.  We waltzed on the crystal sea.  Perhaps it was the Sea of Galilee.  When we dance I'm a cross between a kindergartner and an eighth grader at her first dance.  The kindergartner part of me stands on my daddy's feet to be taller, to let him lead.  The eighth grader in me laces my fingers behind my date's neck and melts against him, longing to be one.  And then the best thing happens.  A hole opens in my chest and his.  My heart beats inside him and his heart beats inside me.  We are one.

I'm not making this stuff up.  I saw it all with the eyes of my heart.  It's not imagination or fantasy as some will no doubt say.  Those people who put God in a wet matchbox?  I pity them too.

A Twisted, Backwards, Upside Down Cinderella Story

(Inspired by the true words of one of the step sisters, who while sitting on the toilet proclaimed, “I’m done, Cinderella!”)

            Everyone knows the story of Cinderella: endless chores, evil stepmother and stepsisters, fairy godmother, charming prince, and glittering glass slipper. While I can’t promise you’ll find all of these things in this particular story, just bear with me. Because this version of Cinderella, though at times slightly embellished for your entertainment, is true.

            As the sun slowly began rising above the horizon, Cinderella struggled to open her eyes. Her stepsisters were up early this morning, screaming her name. She groaned and rolled over in bed, hoping that if she didn’t respond, they would give up and leave her alone.

            “Cinderella! Cinderella!” they yelled.

            I know it’s early in the story, but I’m going to go ahead and change things up. You see, while the sisters in this story could be demanding at times, they were not your stereotypical, evil stepsisters.

            Cinderella pulled the covers over her head and tried to ignore them until a single question shattered her resistance.

             “Can we come in and snuggle?” they pleaded.

            With a sigh, she dragged herself out of bed and opened the door. The blonde, blue-eyed beauties bounded into the room and began bouncing on her bed. Soon, a smile lit up Cinderella’s face and her frustration vanished. Time to start the day.

            After a few pillow fights and some tickling, Cinderella walked into the kitchen. She looked up as she saw her stepmother.

            Of course, this is where you’re expecting the story to turn nasty as the stepmother looks down her nose at Cinderella to snidely give her a long list of chores, right? Wrong!

            Cinderella’s stepmother gave her a bright smile and a friendly “Good morning” as she flipped a frying egg.  Not until they sat down to breakfast did Cinderella’s stepmother mention some of the things she would like Cinderella to do that day. Every one of them ended with a “please” or an “if you can.” Yet Cinderella inwardly groaned.
            As she worked through her list of things to do, her stepmother often worked alongside her, replete with kind thank you’s and expressions of gratitude. Nevertheless, there were times when Cinderella did not feel like washing dishes, sweeping, cooking, cleaning, and caring for two kids and a baby. However, this Cinderella could not blame a cruel stepmother or evil stepsisters for her woes. The problem came down to her. She was not a perfect Disney princess, and frankly, at times, she was lazy and selfish.
            Contrary to common belief though, what Cinderella lacked was not a fancy outfit or a trip to the ball. What she needed was some perseverance and the humble heart of a servant.
          Based on other Cinderella stories, you’re probably expecting this to be the part where her fairy godmother swoops in to turn her life around. Well, I hate to break it to you, but FAIRY GODMOTHERS AREN’T REAL.

            Cinderella did not need a flick of a wand or a bibbity bobbity boo--a temporary transformation that would fade away when the clock struck midnight. Yet she did need help. So instead of crying out to an imaginary fairy godmother, she knelt and prayed.
            And the Lord changed her. As days turned to weeks, she learned to serve joyfully and humbly, to put the needs of others above her own. She strove to work with her heart and not just her hands. She ceased doing the minimum and sought to do all that she could. At times, she still had to fight her selfish nature, but each day, she could feel her old self slipping away. Her clothes were just as dirty (the baby liked to spit up) and her hair just as wild (did I mention that it was ridiculously curly?), but her heart was being made over.

            Cinderella realized that being a princess isn't all about being swept off your feet. Sometimes it's about sweeping under someone else's. Being a servant and still living happily ever after.

            This Cinderella’s story may appear to have a very different ending--no ball, no glass slipper, and no prince (at least, not yet). But I assure you that her story ends just like that of any other Cinderella--with a life transformed. And because of God’s faithfulness, which far surpasses that of any fairy godmother, we can be certain that the changes in Cinderella’s heart will not slip away when the clock strikes midnight.  

“So you also, when you have done everything you were told to do, should say, ‘We are unworthy servants. We have only done our duty.’” Luke 17:10

(This story, ladies and gentlemen, is a guest post, written by our oldest daughter, Josephine Joy.  Josy is currently in Honduras, serving at Rancho Oasis for Youth--http://ro4y.blogspot.com// Her trip to Honduras is the third component of her gap year.  You can read about her endeavors on her blog--Adventures of a Potter's Daughter--http://www.josytarantini.blogspot.com/.  Hope you enjoy this piece as much as I did.)