Lord Jesus, Lift up all of the people who are suffering in the face of this death and destruction and send them Your peace that passes all understanding.
I'm sorry New York.
courtesy of Joe. My. God.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
My Old Hood, My Old Resilient Home
“I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world.” John 16:33
Lord Jesus, Lift up all of the people who are suffering in the face of this death and destruction and send them Your peace that passes all understanding.
I'm sorry New York.
courtesy of Joe. My. God.
Lord Jesus, Lift up all of the people who are suffering in the face of this death and destruction and send them Your peace that passes all understanding.
I'm sorry New York.
courtesy of Joe. My. God.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Mrs. Sunshine
"A happy heart makes the face cheerful, but heartache crushes the spirit. The discerning heart seeks knowledge but the mouth of a fool feeds on folly. All the days of the oppressed are wretched,
but the cheerful heart has a continual feast." Proverbs 15:13-15
Undecideds are an absolute enigma to me. Do they not know what they believe in? Or do they have this much difficulty deciphering between night and day as well?
There is a level of peace that has come over me regarding this election's results. And it has to do with the notion that I wholeheartedly believe we deserve what we get whether that be continual punishing or a gradual replenishing of our sense of strength and nationalism.
I do not want a celebrity president or a cowardice Commander in Chief. Right now, that's what I have. Still, what I may have to endure.
****
I had a foggy vision last night as I tossed my new forward weight from right elbow to left shoulder. If I recall, it was between my bouts of beating the crawling sensation from my thighs and buttocks with closed fists and chasing a Benadryl with brewed garlic clove tea to break up the cinder block of mucus that has formed on my susceptible and growing pregnant chest.
But of course my timeline could be off.
After the fourth train passed through my backyard with the conductor asleep on the horn, I peed for the eighth time, marveled at another vanishing roll of toilet paper, blew my nose with the last ply, and caught a glimpse of my ruddy complexion in the mirror.
It could have been near this moment that in my subdued horror, I vaguely remember thinking I'm not one of those women who have that proverbial pregnancy glow.
I'm the one that needs convincing. But believe it or not, 40 weeks is a SHORT gestation period.
And 22 weeks in, I realize I will regret focusing so much of my energy outward on my political stance and not more inward on my own blessed state.
After all, isn't it about finding the joy?
but the cheerful heart has a continual feast." Proverbs 15:13-15
Undecideds are an absolute enigma to me. Do they not know what they believe in? Or do they have this much difficulty deciphering between night and day as well?
There is a level of peace that has come over me regarding this election's results. And it has to do with the notion that I wholeheartedly believe we deserve what we get whether that be continual punishing or a gradual replenishing of our sense of strength and nationalism.
I do not want a celebrity president or a cowardice Commander in Chief. Right now, that's what I have. Still, what I may have to endure.
****
I had a foggy vision last night as I tossed my new forward weight from right elbow to left shoulder. If I recall, it was between my bouts of beating the crawling sensation from my thighs and buttocks with closed fists and chasing a Benadryl with brewed garlic clove tea to break up the cinder block of mucus that has formed on my susceptible and growing pregnant chest.
But of course my timeline could be off.
After the fourth train passed through my backyard with the conductor asleep on the horn, I peed for the eighth time, marveled at another vanishing roll of toilet paper, blew my nose with the last ply, and caught a glimpse of my ruddy complexion in the mirror.
It could have been near this moment that in my subdued horror, I vaguely remember thinking I'm not one of those women who have that proverbial pregnancy glow.
I'm the one that needs convincing. But believe it or not, 40 weeks is a SHORT gestation period.
And 22 weeks in, I realize I will regret focusing so much of my energy outward on my political stance and not more inward on my own blessed state.
After all, isn't it about finding the joy?
Monday, October 22, 2012
We the People... are Lost
"Let every person be subject to the governing authorities. For there is no authority except from God, and those that exist have been instituted by God."Romans 13:2
Yesterday's church service came just in time before my partisan eyes bled red and I threw myself on the mercy of the Lord with the knowledge that the world was going to end after November 6 if it didn't swing my way.
Proverbs 21 states that the king's heart is a stream of water in the hand of the LORD; he turns it wherever he will. But does the king's will go against the Lord? Are we the people so blinded by our partisan views that the loony left misinterprets the constitution and the crazy right misinterprets The Bible?
This is not the Kingdom in which I belong, but what earth do I want to dwell?
Yesterday's church service came just in time before my partisan eyes bled red and I threw myself on the mercy of the Lord with the knowledge that the world was going to end after November 6 if it didn't swing my way.
Spiritually kicked off my soapbox, I was brought to my knees and my angry tongue muted.
That's the power of the cross really. And nothing but the blood of Jesus can convict me in any other way.
That's the power of the cross really. And nothing but the blood of Jesus can convict me in any other way.
Our Government is We the People.
And We the People have never been more divided, more contentious, more greedy, more self-righteous, and more self absorbed in materials and image idolatry than ever before.
We the Conservatives.
We the Liberals.
We the Republicans.
We the Democrats.
The challenge at hand is to be We the People of God first.
We the Liberals.
We the Republicans.
We the Democrats.
The challenge at hand is to be We the People of God first.
And what I heard from my Savior was the only job I have in this election is to glorify Him. Wow, have I fallen short. Emotionally charged I have pined for what's right but had to grit my teeth at the fact that the earthly truth is simply... gone.
These are questions to ask when you pull the lever. Or punch the chad. Or bravely trust the computerized ballot to calculate correctly. Not who do you believe, but what do you believe in.
This is not the Kingdom in which I belong, but what earth do I want to dwell?
Friday, October 19, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Modesty-The New Mod
"Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it."
Proverbs 22:6
For years, I've been talking a great deal about the dire need for the morale pendulum to swing far the other way in this nation. Where the oversexualization of little girls sporting spray tans and sweatsuits with provocative words stamped across their prepubescent asses falls prey to the rise of imagination, back to homemade dolls and mud-pies. A nation where mom's protect their daughters from mainstream media's gnashing teeth and relish in their innocence. When did we lose hold of teaching reverence for one's body and succumb to our adolescents' lipgloss rings on the heads of penises?
My Aunt sent me a book about her maternal grandmother growing up in Montana in the late 1800's. This was without a doubt a simpler time, but what struck me was the joy that permeated the story. A time where pureness was a mainstay, family was essential, and the gift of a cinnamon stick in a stocking on Christmas morning stopped the clock.
Today, Tablets for Tots tops the wish list for the holidays. And Honey Boo Boo gets renewed for another season. Now, I'm not preaching piety or virtuousness. I grew up far too fast.
And this rise in sanctity for the youth is not because I am, as the nuns say gravid.
But I profess with every fiber of my being that I believe we the people are lost and our perpetual identification with the degradation of society and it's lewd behavior will continue to make for a weaker race.
My generation can help reverse this decline, starting with re-runs of Little House on the Prairie.
What bad could come from bringing goody two shoes back?
For years, I've been talking a great deal about the dire need for the morale pendulum to swing far the other way in this nation. Where the oversexualization of little girls sporting spray tans and sweatsuits with provocative words stamped across their prepubescent asses falls prey to the rise of imagination, back to homemade dolls and mud-pies. A nation where mom's protect their daughters from mainstream media's gnashing teeth and relish in their innocence. When did we lose hold of teaching reverence for one's body and succumb to our adolescents' lipgloss rings on the heads of penises?
My Aunt sent me a book about her maternal grandmother growing up in Montana in the late 1800's. This was without a doubt a simpler time, but what struck me was the joy that permeated the story. A time where pureness was a mainstay, family was essential, and the gift of a cinnamon stick in a stocking on Christmas morning stopped the clock.
Today, Tablets for Tots tops the wish list for the holidays. And Honey Boo Boo gets renewed for another season. Now, I'm not preaching piety or virtuousness. I grew up far too fast.
And this rise in sanctity for the youth is not because I am, as the nuns say gravid.
But I profess with every fiber of my being that I believe we the people are lost and our perpetual identification with the degradation of society and it's lewd behavior will continue to make for a weaker race.
My generation can help reverse this decline, starting with re-runs of Little House on the Prairie.
What bad could come from bringing goody two shoes back?
Monday, October 8, 2012
Aftermath
As suspected, Obama supporters are not looking at their candidate. In defeat, they are resorting to the easiest strategy of calling his challenger, a liar, liar, pants on fire.
Yet days ago on CNN, Obama's campaign manager Stephanie Cutter conceded that Mitt Romney isn’t actually planning to run up a $5 trillion tab via tax cuts and she and President Obama grossly inflated that number.
And yesterday, Intelligence surfaced that the Secretary of State, her department, and the President made false claims about the truth behind the Libyan terrorist attack and their part they played in the murder of our US Ambassador by pulling out security.
But, the adoring pundits leave these facts out of their rundown.
This is playground antics and bad journalism.
Yet days ago on CNN, Obama's campaign manager Stephanie Cutter conceded that Mitt Romney isn’t actually planning to run up a $5 trillion tab via tax cuts and she and President Obama grossly inflated that number.
And yesterday, Intelligence surfaced that the Secretary of State, her department, and the President made false claims about the truth behind the Libyan terrorist attack and their part they played in the murder of our US Ambassador by pulling out security.
But, the adoring pundits leave these facts out of their rundown.
This is playground antics and bad journalism.
Friday, October 5, 2012
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Oh The Places You'll Go...Sniff. Sniff.
“You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go...” Dr. Seuess
Monday, October 1, 2012
19 Weeks
“You made all the delicate, inner parts of my body and knit me together in my mother’s womb. Thank you for making me so wonderfully complex! Your workmanship is marvelous—how well I know it.” Psalm 139:13-14
In the past I would have called myself multifaceted. Intricate in my thought patterns. These days I wonder...
I haven't been writing. I've been reading. Vonnegut, Hemingway, and now Bradbury.
Damn, they make it look so effortless. They make me question my capacity to let my most inner dialogue pour out and into the lives of my greatest critics or those near that thought they knew me. They make me reexamine my aspirations of opening a vein, letting it bleed out exposed, while naysayers throw salt and call a heart a spade.
Still I'm compelled.
Not everybody is gonna be a fan. So it goes.
I want to write about the short nine month time span it takes to miraculously make a human being of flesh, blood, soul, and my DNA. I want to candidly write about the modifiers I would use to describe this blessed event. And I want to do this with full intention, knowing I run the risk of having no fans or sympathizers.
First, it is impossible for me to look at another woman who has carried a child and not mouth the words with complete sincerity, "You're Amazing."
Secondly, if I hear one more woman describe her "gentle" pregnancy as a beautiful experience where she glowed with radiance from within without a tinge of nausea, I might bite the tip of her nose off and violently throw it up with my daily dose of bile that ends up in the closest toilet, sink, or bucket I can reach.
With that said, I begin the written pilgrimage that could be just for me. Pulling on my threadbare stretch pants whatever time of day and wrestling with the conflicting feelings of grateful, awestruck elation and a downright miserable existence where raising my head off the pillow is my greatest feat of accomplishment.
Won't you join me?
In the past I would have called myself multifaceted. Intricate in my thought patterns. These days I wonder...
I haven't been writing. I've been reading. Vonnegut, Hemingway, and now Bradbury.
Damn, they make it look so effortless. They make me question my capacity to let my most inner dialogue pour out and into the lives of my greatest critics or those near that thought they knew me. They make me reexamine my aspirations of opening a vein, letting it bleed out exposed, while naysayers throw salt and call a heart a spade.
Still I'm compelled.
Not everybody is gonna be a fan. So it goes.
I want to write about the short nine month time span it takes to miraculously make a human being of flesh, blood, soul, and my DNA. I want to candidly write about the modifiers I would use to describe this blessed event. And I want to do this with full intention, knowing I run the risk of having no fans or sympathizers.
First, it is impossible for me to look at another woman who has carried a child and not mouth the words with complete sincerity, "You're Amazing."
Secondly, if I hear one more woman describe her "gentle" pregnancy as a beautiful experience where she glowed with radiance from within without a tinge of nausea, I might bite the tip of her nose off and violently throw it up with my daily dose of bile that ends up in the closest toilet, sink, or bucket I can reach.
With that said, I begin the written pilgrimage that could be just for me. Pulling on my threadbare stretch pants whatever time of day and wrestling with the conflicting feelings of grateful, awestruck elation and a downright miserable existence where raising my head off the pillow is my greatest feat of accomplishment.
Won't you join me?
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