Obviously I know as little as you do about who made and placed those two bombs, but it was clear from the get-go that this was a terrorist attack. That is, a planned, concerted attack on civilians, in a crowded space, designed to kill and maim as many people as possible at random, and to spread fear and panic.

So why avoid calling it what it was?  The reason given by White House insiders yesterday was that they didn’t yet know who did it and why.

Excuse me?  What exactly does that reasoning imply? That the bomber’s identity defines his actions? That “domestic” terrorism is somehow less fatal than “foreign” terrorism? That if the bomber turns out to be anything other than Muslim, then it’s not terrorism?

A similar tack was taken by many liberal online commenters. “Let’s hold off on determining if this is terrorism until we know more,” they kept saying.  But it seems to me that their caution was based on the same underlying assumption — that what they meant was “Let’s hold off on calling it terrorism unless the bomber turns out to be Muslim.”

In effect, they were acting as a kind of mirror image to Fox News, where the instant assumption was that since this was terrorism, the perpetrator could only be Muslim.

So to use one of Obama’s own favorite phrases, let me be absolutely clear:

If the bomber turns out to be a lily-white right-wing Christian whose ancestors came off the Mayflower, he is still a terrorist.  As clearly a terrorist as the stock image of the jihadi in a suicide vest.

Moreover, this was not “a tragedy,” as Obama called it — thus prompting countless television reporters to fall back on stock phrases like “a tragic day” and “this terrible tragedy.”  This was murder.  Mass murder.

“Tragedy” implies that it could not have been avoided, that it was somehow fated.  That was the whole point of ancient Greek drama, where the idea of tragedy was invented.  But terrorism is deliberate.  It’s a cold-blooded decision made by humans (or rather, people who pass for human).  And to call it tragedy is to imply one way or another that the perpetrator is somehow not quite responsible for his actions.  (Yes, almost certainly ‘his’ and not ‘her.’)

Of course I realize that Obama probably decided on “tragedy” out of the earnest desire to avoid spreading panic and thus terrorizing more people.  That’s part of the role of president, I guess:  the national reassurer.  But I was not reassured.  Sure, his first response beat continuing to read from “My Pet Goat” by several miles, but that’s setting the bar about as low as it can get.

The so-called “war on terror” has been a disaster for the US not least because even when it happens right under our noses, we still can’t recognize that it’s not who does it that makes terrorism, or why.  It’s what they do.

Whether they’re political or religious; white or brown or black; left-wing or right-wing; “domestic” or “foreign” or any combination of all of the above — if they target, kill, maim, and terrorize civilians, they’re terrorists.

And may every one of them — whether in Boston, in New York, in Oklahoma City, in Atlanta, in Beirut, in Jerusalem, in Baghdad, in Kabul, or in Benghazi — rot in whatever conception of hell you care to name.

I have chosen this picture for two reason, I read something on Molly’s blog earlier in the week which broke my heart, someone who hated everything about their appearance. I love this picture because there is nothing I don’t like about it, if that makes sense. No little voice saying loose weight or look at the sagging or wrinkles. Sometimes I think we need to look and find something we love about ourselves, to silence that voice.

Secondly it is so simple, especially compared to last week, but it is as much about us, D/s and what we do.

Chills.

There are more than 32,000 of the stolpersteine throughout Europe, and while I find them to be evocative, effective memorials, they’re not without their critics. Some cities don’t allow them, Munich for one, and detractors think that the bare, vital details reduce these individuals to simple statistics.

However, I watched for these little blocks wherever I went throughout Berlin, and they impressed upon me, in a physical and present way, how pervasive Nazi terror was. It occurred everywhere, on any street.

Including here in Rome:

Today I want to share my thoughts and feelings about facing our ugliness(sinful nature).

I had crazy dream in the morning of Easter. I was taking a shower in my dream. When I was done, bathroom I was taking shower turned into a large room full of people. They were drinking, taking drugs, and enjoying sex. I was stunned by what was happening in front of my eyes. As I was trying to get a grasp of what was going on, beautiful ladies surrounded me. They offered a plate full of unidentifiable plants and colorful caterpillars. I instintively knew those were drugs they were taking. First, I refused. But they insisted. Then they tried to convince that it was good for me just like how the serpent induced Eve. I would love to tell you I survived from falling into evil offer, but unfortunately I was convinced by their arguement in my dream. What those ladies offered no longer seemed harmful and I ended up eating that plant and one of colorful caterpillars.

Once I swallowed the plant and caterpillar, everything just became slow-motion. It was really weird. Then I became just like them. Sinning along side of them. Deep down inside of me, my consciousness was screaming out loud saying ‘ What the heck are you doing? ‘
However, I was no longer under control of my consciousness nor Holy Spirit.

My alarm clock woke me up in the middle of my dream. I don’t even know how to describe how I felt when I woke up. It was just terrible feeling. I know I shouldn’t curse but honestly I felt like s**t. Well…yeah it was just dream but how can I be so volnerable? Is my unconsciouness so weak that I can’t even refuse the sin in my dream? Is my faith that weak? If so, how am I going to stop myself from sinning in real world?

I remember the time when my mentor said ‘ Looking into your true-nature deep down hidden underneath is not neccessarily good all the time. It’s more dreadful and ugly than you imagine. ‘ Well I know now. My sinful nature was so dominant in myself…full of stupidity and weakness…

So I prayed…just as David did in Psalm 51 after David had committed adultery with Bathsheba.

‘Have mercy on me, O God, according to your unfailing love; according to your great compassion blot out my transgressions. Wash away all my iniquity and cleanse me from my sin. For I know my transgressions, and my sin is always before me. Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight; so you are right in your verdict and justified when you judge. Surely I was sinful at birth, sinful from the time my mother conceived me. Yet you desired faithfulness even in the womb; you taught me wisdom in that secret place. (Psalm 51:1-6 NIV)…..’

I bet some of you who read this had similar experience as I did – realizing weakness inside you or facing your own ugliness. It definitely doesn’t feel good. And it makes you feel ashamed of yourself or what not. However, I believe God wants us to see/know those weaknesses not to discourage but to help us realize how great God’s love is. And I am sure God wants us to rely on Him more so we are lesser of ourselves and become more filled with His spirit. Just like Matthew 5 says …
“You’re blessed when you’re at the end of your rope. With less of you there is more of God and his rule.”
Excerpt From: Peterson, Eugene. “The Message New Testament With Psalms and Proverbs.” NavPress, 2005. iBooks.
This material may be protected by copyright.

Check out this book on the iBookstore: https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/message-new-testament-psalms/id392612491?mt=11

I am pretty sure this won’t be my last time to face my ugliness. But I decide to take those moments as reminders for myself to remember how much God loves me even with all of my sinful nature and how much I need to live within Him. Ugliness shouldn’t be a reason for you to walk away from God but should be a reason to walk closer to God. Bless you all!

What Price Beauty? (Musings About Ugliness)

Although it was a scorching summer day in Southern California, and my car’s air conditioner was broken, I had the windows tightly shut.

I sat in my hot car waiting for the traffic light to turn green. I felt like I was having a panic attack. I felt like I was suffocating. I felt like I was buried alive, trapped in a coffin; my sweaty t-shirt clung to my body, only stale air to breathe. My head throbbed, and my car shook. The man in a big-wheeled Toyota truck next to me was playing painful loud music, low-pitched repetitive thumping. The noise seemed to disorient birds flying by; they were wobbly, obviously in pain. Or maybe I’m just projecting.

When will the light change?

I needed to escape this earsplitting, pounding, deafening sound. It was violent. For some reason, closing my windows (my only line of defense) seemed to exaggerate the problem. The pulsing racket had a mind of its own, like a monster hammering on my car windows.

Finally the light changed. The guy in the truck looked at me with a sneer, flicked a cigarette butt out his window, and sped away. His oversized tires kicking up a cloud of dirt. I noticed he had a Five Finger Death Punch bumper sticker. I tightly gripped the steering wheel, my middle finger twitched, but I was free. I told my finger to behave itself. I opened my window to inhale the quiet peace of summer.

Photo by Smoky Zeidel

Some people swim in a sea of ugliness. Obviously, this statement is subjective, a matter of opinion, judgmental. What is ugliness? What is beauty? I have no right to judge someone’s artistic sensibilities. Judging others is such a pointless waste of time. But, on the other hand, the obnoxious man in the Toyota truck deserves my judgmental condemnation. He hurt me. His behavior was deeply insensitive, even violent. If he can be so loud, why should I be quiet?

How does Toyota-man’s choice of music affect him? Does such ugly aggression eventually seep into his mind, his soul? Does it then leak out again, touching his neighbors, touching the environment? Does it finally sleep on everyone’s shoulder, on the entire earth? What does his music, and his need to share this music, say about his spirit? I have nothing against loud rock music; I use to play guitar in a noisy rock band. It was a wonderfully creative and rebellious outlet. And it was so much fun.

But to everything there is a season, a time, a place—it’s a matter of context. The context makes all the difference. The context can turn something lovely into something ugly.

Last weekend Smoky and I drove up the California coast to Carmel and stayed at a quiet, charming hotel—a much-needed rest after completing our book, Trails. The purple lupine and orange poppies! The dog-faced elephant seals! The crystalline aqua ocean! The sharp rocky shore! The lush green, wind-swept coastal cypresses! Everything screamed beauty. Loudly. We drifted in nature’s music, completely at peace.

Photo by Scott Zeidel

When we arrived at our hotel, we opened the windows to let in the cool ocean breeze. Smoky basked in a hot bath, while I rested on our comfortable bed and read the latest issue of Shambhala Sun. Outside I could hear a family, a man, a woman, and a young boy. Suddenly the man started screaming at the woman. “You f*cking this! You f*cking that!” The child started to cry. The woman was silent. The scene was truly ugly. Was this screaming man the return of Toyota-man, leaking into the world his previously absorbed violence and aggression?

Yes, some people do swim in a sea of ugliness. Ugliness in all shapes and sizes. They gladly swim in the ugliness of nihilistic movies and television, ugly pop culture, ugly attitudes and words … they become ugly.

But now I’m being ugly: narrowed minded, judgmental ugliness. I’m becoming what I abhor. Please forgive me. How can I cure my ugliness?

Photo by Smoky Zeidel

Through beauty.

What’s the price?

It’s free.

Where do I find it?

Open the door and step outside.

Open the door and look inside.

See it!

See it!

It’s there.

I am dancing with ghouls again! I am dancing with the left over remains of a year past, not much there anymore, but what is left, I hold hands with and do the two step, smiling with the dead. Green and the start of another year has surfaced, and I let go, and grab the newest hand, and for the first time in what seems ages, I dance with Spring. Yes, Spring! Have never paid much attention to you, Spring, but I must say, you are a welcome season into my world. Don’t get to excited, Spring, Summer or Winter, for my heart will always be attached to the death I see rotting on your doorstep every year. I pick up a leaf left over from last year and gently lay it on the ground, and tell it: ‘This year, your brothers and sisters will get my proper attention, as has been in the past.’ Sorry for the momentary lapse of reason. Ugly, just ugly, and I have no excuse for my absence, other than I am human. Funny, how one realizes at times in ones life, how easy it is to fall victim to someone that is not there. No fault of anyone other than ones self. Beat yourself up, beat yourself senseless until you are scarred, beat yourself silly until you are left with nothing other than today. Time to see today.

The Great Pumpkin smiled and asked: ‘Are you done?’ ‘Yes’ ‘Are you really? Are you done with hate?, are you done with anger?, are you done with resentment?, are you done with bitterness?, are you done with your life being spent in ugliness?, over nothing other than your ego being questioned?’

‘Yes’.

The Great Pumpkin smiled and said, ‘Kinda stupid, huh?.’

‘Yes’.

The Great Pumpkin smiled again and said: ‘Cool, now go get your goblin shoes on and join me, Dracula, Frankenstein, the Werewolf and all things that go bump in the night, and dance with Spring while we can, for Spring is opening its door to us, this one time only. Next time, we will need a password.’

I am dancing with the ghouls in a season that is kind enough to let us. Thank you Spring!

I am dancing with my favorite season, again!

I Love You Fall.

And who are these ignoble beasts; this throng,
Who mutilate and rape Them, unbeknown,
Then take their turn upon each vacant Throne,
While still They fall, unknowing, from this wrong?

Do these believe their acts are in the right;
As though belief could claim to sanction rape?
Do these take carnal pleasure in the night,
While horrified Their past devoted gape?
Or do these quake with fear, while knowing well,
Their lie alone will have them burn in Hell?

Let me start this off by saying I have never watched the Real Housewives of Beverly Hills nor am I a country music fan. In spite of these two facts I have become very aware of Brandi Glanville and Leeann Rimes vicious feud. A little back story for those of you blissfully unaware, Brandi Glanville was a model who married a man named Eddie Cibrian. They had two children before it became public knowledge that Eddie was in fact a douchebag who cheated, repeatedly. How it became public knowledge is that one of his affairs was with Leeann Rimes, also married,who was apparently a famous country artist. Now, normally I wouldn’t even look twice at an article about these people but the way it all played out was so scandalous and distasteful it was hard not to notice. Video and photo evidence of Eddie with Leeann were everywhere and by everywhere I mean every rag mag and paparazzi fueled gossip website to which I am embarrassed to admit I pay attention. Following the big reveal of the affair was an apology by Eddie and then endless stories about Leeann stalking him because she just couldn’t give him up. Having never met any of the involved parties I just shook my head and moved on because none of it affected my life and I would never know what was true and what wasn’t. Then came TWITTER WARS!!!! -cue dramatic music here.

Again, through gossip sites I started hearing about how Leeann Rimes now in a relationship and then a marriage with Eddie, was constantly battling it out via Twitter with Brandi. This made me curious because how could a woman who did something so shameful as have an affair,  to a married man, have the balls to talk smack about the scorned ex-wife. What could she possibly be saying? I had to know. I must admit I then became fascinated by the whole debacle. At times I was even tempted to shame Ms. Rimes myself on Twitter but then thankfully I realized it isn’t any of my business. However, there are many, many people, men and women who seem to think it is their business. People who spend a great deal of time either harshly criticizing or adamantly defending either Leeann or Brandi. These two women have managed to rile up some pretty intense emotions in people. The online bullying among the “adults” is astounding. They viciously attack whichever women they despise and then when the fans “defend” that woman they viciously attack the fans. It truly is a toxic environment. The hot button topics are Leeann constantly rubbing her “happy” marriage in Brandi’s face and frequently mentioning the two sons Brandi and Eddie have together as if they are her own. As a mother I can understand how this would be painful for Brandi because your children are so precious to you the mere idea of another person competing with you for their affection is excruciating. However I think with time and healing it would become a relief to know that the stepmother loved and cared for your children while they were with her. Unfortunately it doesn’t come across as sincere with Leann and more like an unnecessary attempt to hurt the woman who had her man first. Maybe that isn’t the case but is definitely the vibe being given.

Brandi herself is a polarizing character because instead of fading into the background and suffering in silence she has been shouting her pain and anger from the rooftops. She went on a reality show, wrote a book and has given countless interviews about what happened. Some people see her as a hero to all women scorned and others see her as an opportunist who used this terrible situation to gain notoriety.  The self admitted “filter-less” ex-model is brash, over the top and unafraid to say whatever enters her head. Her personality is at once admirable to some and a major turn off to others. Leeann on the other hand has taken the unusual route for someone who played the role of adulteress and has portrayed herself in interview after interview as the victim, unable to help the fact that she fell in love. Obviously not a popular take on the situation for a lot of people. Though, because she will respond to people on Twitter, feeding the delusion that they know her, there are people who fervently defend her and feel she has been unfairly treated.

The part that bothers me about all of this, aside from the fact that I ever cared to follow the story, is the way that people on Twitter feel they can say the most unbelievably hurtful things to these two women and to each other. Hidden behind a computer screen they attack fearlessly. Not an ounce of human decency is shown. Rarely do you see anyone encouraging these women to put the ugliness behind them and never an instance where someone tries to see both sides. More importantly, it never seems to occur to either Brandi or Leeann that making their personal lives an off limits topic may be the best thing for the two children involved. To them I would say-Talk about your careers, such as they are, but leave your personal issues for behind closed doors. Stand up to this nastiness by being united in this and I’m sure you would both find life a lot easier and the healing would begin.

Where there is beauty, there is ugliness.
When something is right, something else is wrong.
Knowledge and ignorance depend on each other.
It has been like this since the beginning.
How could it be otherwise now?
Wanting to toss out one and hold onto the other
makes for a ridiculous comedy.
You must still deal with everything ever-changing,
even when you say it’s wonderful.

Ryokan

sea elephants as if I gripped something at last very slowly quite clearly somewhat like Ponge with vegetation or with snail or shellfish etc

sea elephants nice and plain they are ugly but quite huge sluggish fat they look like they are lazy

they roam the ocean they bear the cold they know fear when killer whales are hungry yet somehow they are the biggest their pride when they fight when they fuck is limitless grandevous dripping

they can look like aliens what is behind this black eye suddenly somehow they reach cuteness

behind the waves unseen passive fairly unloved they bark some rough rocky slushy unfinished wisdom

Beauty’s tough gruff grunt

We would like to believe that we would never betray Jesus in the way that Judas does.  Surely nothing could ever lure us into such a treacherous act.  Unless, of course, we think Jesus needs a little motivation.  Many have argued that Judas’ betrayal is caused by his desire to push Jesus into the role of a political Messiah – to assume the military power that rightly belongs to Jesus.[i]  If we believe as Judas does that Jesus is the political Messiah that we had been waiting for, perhaps we too might find some way to give Jesus a push to fight back.  Surely we have all experienced impatience and pushed others along the way.  Judas’ ugliness seeps into even us at times.

If we have to admit that some of Judas is in us, then at least we can imagine that we would not betray Jesus as Peter does.  We all know that Jesus has said following him will lead to death – we would say “Yes,” to that servant girl’s question because, come what may, we would stand with Jesus.  But how many of us have failed ourselves and our friends under similar pressure.  That survival instinct – that desire to protect ourselves takes over all the time – even if only in the form of white lies that cover our interests.  We have to remind ourselves that Peter wants to be a better disciple – he does attempt to protect Jesus with the sword, and he at least follows Jesus into the cold courtyard.  Who knows if we could have done that?  So parts of Peter must be in us too.

If we concede some of Judas and Peter in us, surely we can at least claim that we are not like Caiaphas.  Surely we would never look at Jesus and claim, “It is better for one person to die for the people.”  Surely we always stand on the side of goodness – except, of course, when we are choosing the lesser of two evils, as Caiaphas claims he is doing.  I remember a classic ethics case in seminary.  A group of Jews were hiding from the Nazis.  A baby in the group starts crying.  The ethical question is this:  Do you suffocate the child in order to protect the lives of the whole group, or do you save the child, knowing that the entire group will be discovered because of the crying baby and most likely murdered.  Just because one option is less evil does not make the option good.  Unfortunately, Caiaphas can be found in us also.

Perhaps, then, we can still deny the Pilate in ourselves.  We see in Pilate a man who knows the right thing to do, but who keeps waffling, trying to weasel out of a decision.  But we too have had times of indecision, even when we know what to do; because the right thing is rarely the easy or popular thing.  How do any of us fare when faced with a group who is staunchly opposed to what we know is right?  Yes, Pilate is in us too.

Having experienced many passion narratives where we have been required to say the “crowd” part, “Crucify him,” we would like to believe that we would never be like the chief priests who shout this line.  Surely we would not succumb to that same behavior.  But in the last several years, we have heard enough stories about mob mentality to know the power of the mob to deteriorate morals.  People say and do things they would never do otherwise when egged on by a crowd.  I think about that school bus monitor who was taunted by four boys on a school bus.  When the parents saw the video, they could not believe their children had done such a thing – had fallen in with the group.  We look at those boys and wonder how that could have happened, forgetting the times we have been swept up in anger or pushed to the point of breaking.  Yes, we have some of the chief priests in us.

So if we cannot deny all these individuals, perhaps we can at least deny the behavior of the soldiers.  We would never flog Jesus and mock him in the ways that they do.  We would not nail him to that cross or gamble for his clothes or pierce his side.  But all we have to do is remember those scandalous photos of the military prison in Abu Ghraib less than ten years ago to realize how corrupted judgment can become, especially for those who have to desensitize themselves to violence as soldiers often need to.  We all take on the behaviors of those biblical soldiers from time to time.

This is what makes Good Friday so difficult.  Certainly we are devastated about what happens to Jesus.  But more importantly, we are devastated because we know deep down, in the most sinful parts of ourselves, we too have betrayed Jesus, denied him, judged him, condemned him, rejected him, mocked him, cursed him, flogged him, and killed him.[ii]  What is so painful about this day is not so much Jesus’ painful death, but our own participation in that death.  That is why we leave here in silence, and why we keep watch in the face of our sinfulness.

But even in this most despairing of days, there is one sliver of hope for me.  Just as we can be Judas, Peter, Caiaphas, Pilate, chief priests, and soldiers, perhaps we can also be like Mary and the beloved disciple.  Perhaps we could also find the goodness in ourselves that would take the risk of standing at the foot of that cross.  Perhaps we can find in us the one who keeps watch until Jesus draws his last breath.  Surely we have all done this throughout our lives.  We too have set at the bedside of a loved one in their final hours.  We have fought sleep, given in to grief, rubbed a withered hand, and waited through the ambiguity of those last hours.

This is the image that gives me hope today.  I think of the countless bedsides I have joined, as we loved someone through to death.  We have spoken in hushed voices, patted each other on the back, and shared hugs.  We have shed tears, reminisced with stories, and prayed the prayers and psalms.  We have stumbled through goodbyes, hoping our words and presence show forth our love.  We have simultaneously felt helpless, and felt like we were doing the right thing.

This is our invitation today.  We claim all of the Judas, Peter, Caiaphas, Pilate, chief priests, and soldiers in us, but we also claim those who stand at the foot of the cross in us too.  The beauty is that we can do both – in fact we can stand at the foot of the cross more honestly if we recognize all the parts in us.  And we can stand at the foot of the cross more vigilantly when we look around and see the community of faith who stands there with us.  We can lean on one another, giving one another strength to live into the light over the darkness.  Even as we see him hanging on the cross, we stand as a community unwilling to let the darkness overcome the light.  Recognizing the dark and light in each of us, even on this darkest of days, we can choose to stand at the foot of the cross together, and claim the light.  Amen.

The ugliest thing in life is not helping them get there.

I live in a place where women are seen only as sex toys. What’s worse is that I live in a place where women believe that about themselves. Every single day, I walk past girls wearing very little clothing. The smirks on their faces tell the guys they’re DTF. After the guys pass, however, anguish is played out across their faces, pointed toward the ground in shame.

There is one girl in particular who stands out to me, for some reason or other. Even if I was interested in telling you her name, I couldn’t because I don’t know it. I’ve never cared enough to ask. She comes across as a girl who would never ask for a helping hand, but the pain reflected in her eyes says she needs it.

I passed her in the hall this morning on the way to my 8am class. Outwardly, she looked like she had everything together. Her clothes were perfectly clean and showed just the right amount of her stomach. She had natural colored make-up, not too much, but not too little. Her heels suggested that she’s classy, but ready to party whenever she feels like it. Any guy who passed her would think she looked amazing. But her face… She was so sad. I can’t imagine what she did last night, but she was obviously not happy with herself about it. I thought nothing of it at the time, but later, I wanted to talk to her about it, to ask her why she was just so sad. I imagined talking to her and helping her in the process of getting her life together. I actually saw how genuinely happy she could be. It was an amazing moment for me, to see someone who is always downcast and forlorn, suddenly happy with real joy. I wanted so much for that to be real for her.

“Nobody made a greater mistake than he who did nothing because he could only do a little.”-Edmund Burke

This has happened to me before, when I was able to see a better life for someone else. Only, I didn’t do anything with it. The girl had the most horrible experience with some guys, and her self-esteem was completely shot. She went from being out-going, open, and happy, to pushing people away and barely saying a word to anyone. We had been sort-of friends for a few months or so, and I just had no idea what to say to her. I knew that there was something I could say to make her feel better, but I kept my mouth shut because I didn’t have the perfect words. She wound up failing her classes and leaving school for good. I haven’t seen her since.

My point is that sometimes you are the only person who sees the brightness in another person’s life, and sometimes, all that person needs to know is that the light is there. You can’t just sit there holding onto their hope. You need to give it to them.

I can’t guarantee that I will ever change this girl’s life, but maybe one word from my mouth can spread a little light into her world. That could help her make it through. I probably won’t ever get up the courage to say anything more to her, but I like to think that giving her a smile and telling her hello like she’s an actual human being helps, just a little.

Reblogged from Lucy’s Football:

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I was a skinny kid. Photos of me from back then are all pigtails and smeary glasses and I'm usually covered in mud. And I'm sometimes brandishing things like frogs or buckets of mucky water, for whatever reason. I probably had a plan for those buckets. Maybe I was going to put the frog in them. I don't know.

Then puberty hit.

Read more… 3,519 more words

If I looked with my eyes, all I would see is despair and hopelessness. If I listened with my ears, hummm, my ears link closely to my heart and it tells me God is there. Okay, it has to be what you choose to allow your ears to hear. For me, when I get to the point where the enemy is telling me I am not worth the Lord saving and that I am just an ugly mess that no one wants, I hear Jesus saying, “I love you, Renee” I hear sweet songs that my soul sings to the Father and He answers my heart. He wakes me in the darkest hours of the night to comfort me with His love. I am different. I have found that my suffering has brought me closer to God.

Moreover, when I want more of Him, I embrace my suffering, as I know it sheds more of me and fills me with more of Him, His Beauty. I am bought in that only He can make me whole and beautiful, without Him, I am an ugly mess. Therefore, I fill my ears with songs and words to Him. I want the songs to be the words my eyes see when I look around me. I want my mind to be the mind of Christ and I want to see myself as God sees me. I don’t ever want people to just see me…. I need them to see “we” – God in me. What are you seeking?

Then if we truly look at the idea of being exposed, it goes so much deeper than that. I had emotions that I’d never dealt with before I was an adult. To go so many years without having said anything to anyone or spoke them out loud or even admitted to myself they existed…I tear up just thinking about some of it. The enemy of our souls wants us to keep that stuff in the dark. Feelings of remorse, guilt, shame, ugliness, meanness, cruel thoughts, hurtful words, the list continues for miles upon miles. I had a lot of fears surrounding childbirth and raising children. I saw the struggle some had with both and the complications that could ensue. I saw how awful children could behave (and in public!! Gasp!) and wondered if I could ever handle those situations. What if I couldn’t even have kids? That was a biggie for quite a while as my husband and I first decided we had been wrong; children were indeed a gift from the Most-High God and we wanted that gift desperately! Years later, we wondered why we didn’t deserve that gift, or if we had made the Almighty God upset that we hadn’t realized how precious kids were in the first place. Those feelings can overtake you if you let them…wondering what you did wrong, realizing you were wrong, then dealing with that fact. That nasty blame game we play is one in which no one wins and it’s not any fun playing!

God exposed my feelings and showed me what exactly I was dealing with and not only that, but how to overcome it! Once I started dealing with the issues, instead of trying to run from them, or soak them in booze (see earlier post–”Brutally Honest”) God and I were a united front. And if God is on our side, WHO can be against us? I pray today that you are brave enough or maybe curious enough, to ask God to expose your fears and thoughts because I’ve learned that it is through this act that we gain freedom from chains we weren’t even aware of.

She must have sneaked up behind me, I never heard her until she spoke in my ear.

“Have you seen the news?”

I jump a little and turn round to her, alarmed.

“There’s tornadoes… Hundreds of Tornadoes… From here, to Alabama… To Idaho… Right now. Hundreds of tornadoes… Have you seen?”

I don’t answer. She turns and walks away along the road.

I find out later that she’s right, that a tornado super-storm was sweeping through the country, that superstorms sweep through every country. But staring back over the blanket of battered, soul-sucking buildings, I find it hard to believe for some reason. The land is flat around me.

The next thing to stop by is the cops, which they do en masse.

“You can get on a bus.

“Or you can go to jail.”

I get on a bus for Baton Rouge, Louisiana to see my brother who is studying there. Churches and McDonalds and Walmarts lighting the way.

The Creeping Death Of America…