Atomic Anguish

Very rarely do I ever read an article that focuses on human deformities. I feel it's an exhibition of someone's struggle in life; their own pain and suffering exploited for the "rest of us." As I am not physically deformed (no one can deny thought that what lies within is never perfect), taking notice and interest in articles such as the aforementioned are something I refuse to do. It's not a matter of denial and it's not a matter of not having the stomach for it; it's the matter of respect, it's my way of saying, "They (the afflicted persons) may not be like me, but they're human; they deserve any respect I can give them." It's the same as children with Down Syndrome and those who are blind; they do not want to be treated any differently.

This article caught my attention and led me to review it for one reason and one reason only: there is blame to lay and someone to fault. The ramifications for the actions in Kazakhstan are just the same as Chernobyl, nuclear fallout in Nagasaki and Hiroshima, the pollution infested rivers and lakes which in turn cause cancer and birth defects all over the world (I almost included the young blind man Christ heals in John 9:1-8 as he too could have blamed someone else (his parents) for his lack of sight; maybe I still will. The only reason for leaving him out of the above stemmed from Christ saying, "Neither this man nor his parents sinned..." I also did not include atrocities such as Darfur and the like as the children and adults who remain alive yet brutally disfigured were not born as such. Burn victims such as Yousiff were also born (forgive me for such a terribly incorrect term) "normal" and while the former and latter know exactly where to place the blame, at some point they had a fighting chance at life. Please forgive me for my callousness. )

I wanted to ignore this article on CNN as it was front and (leftish) center on the page. Who wants to be sucked into reading an article for it's "ooo" and "eww" factor"? If I'm going to read something, I want to read it because it's important, because if I do not read it I'll be an irresponsible and ignorant citizen of this world. Which is why after reading the tag-line, I gave myself permission to read more. Fury filled my veins and grief seared my heart. The children, like the others mentioned earlier, and the adults had no idea they were being blatantly destroyed by their government. Their government fully abused them with every intention to do so; they chose a place where the casualties could be dispensable and replaceable and no one would know until long after their "trial runs." Would that I had the fortitude to write what I really think of them, rhymes with "dastards."

Three things run through my mind right now. "God o' God, must they suffer?" "They (the government and the authorities in charge) should suffer as the people have, they must pay." And then, "I know forgiveness is supposed to be there. But how, how does one forgive after that? Not just a portion of their lives have been damaged or disrupted but their entire lives. From beginning to end." I am made aware of how easy it is for me to forgive, of how casually I can give it; how can they forgive? How can they get past an entire life filled with misery, how can the heart even separate itself from the physical damage to begin to mend? The two, in these cases, seem indivisible. To me there is no hope. And where there is no hope life ceases. Where life ceases to be, so does the importance of living. And therein is where I see no Jesus. I see no great plan where "the work of God might be displayed in (their) life."* Deep within I know He is there, deep within I know He cares, I know He is present in their suffering and their wounds are just as equally felt by Him. My soul within knows it but I can't see it. I. Can't. See. This must be where a deeper faith in Him and His love for this world takes the place of my physical vision. I do not sit on the sidelines now but I do have to trust that He is just as in charge and in control of their suffering as He is of my own non-suffering. This knowledge does not decrease the lust for vengeance; I still want to inflict pain and suffering. Just a work in progress I am.

*John 9:3. I do realize Jesus was speaking as this was for all to see Him as the light of the world.

Abbott and Costello

This is the comedy I was raised on. Beats rude and crude comedy any day.

Pirating Princess

Take that Blackbeard! Apparently this chick knew her stuff! Can't believed she survived to be a grandmother!

Sweetly Broken

To the cross I look, to the cross I cling
Of its suffering I do drink
Of its work I do sing

For on it my Savior both bruised and crushed
Showed that God is love
And God is just

Chorus:
At the cross You beckon me
You draw me gently to my knees, and I am
Lost for words, so lost in love,
I’m sweetly broken, wholly surrendered

What a priceless gift, undeserved life
Have I been given
Through Christ crucified

You’ve called me out of death
You’ve called me into life
And I was under Your wrath
Now through the cross I’m reconciled

Chorus:

In awe of the cross I must confess
How wondrous Your redeeming love and
How great is Your faithfulness

~Sweetly Broken, by Jeremy Riddle (emphasis mine- nota bene: non-emphasized words are as moving as the ones in bold)

Here is Jeremy Riddle singing it, from YouTube. Now as much as I hate sappy Christian videos as they really make me groan in agony, this one wasn't bad. The kids at this church did a fine job and outside of the "Passion of the Christ" clips (which for the most part weren't a melodromatic groan inducer) and the ending clip, it was a proper good piece.

Lunch Break Epiphany

Epiphanies come in all shapes and sizes; some mind-set shattering (the jolt that comes with touching an electric fence) and some as a second-long fragment of a thought. Today's epiphany lasted a mere 2.5 seconds (or so it would seem) and until I sit down and let it slowly wind around within my mind and develop into something with more substance (although it is substance enough as is), it is as follows (and thanks must be sent in J.K. Rowling's direction as it is so due-- highlighted words are the original flashes of thought):

This is a maddening world, this fallen world with no security and no guarantees, always death. Oh my, to be placed under protection from God's wrath by the covering of an innocent man's blood. God has not changed; He did send Christ however. Oh that I might never wander out from underneath this umbrella of safety. What better place to be than in the shelter of the house whose door has been painted with the blood of a Lamb. A more close-call rescue I will never know.

Title Unknown

With every morn my life afresh must break
The crust of self, gathered about me fresh;
That thy wind-spirit may rush in and shake
The darkness out of me, and rend the mesh
The spider-devils spin out of the flesh –
Eager to net the soul before it wake,
That it may slumberous lie, and listen to the snake.

George MacDonald

Going Home.

My family is out of town this week for vacation. At a beach. On the eastern seaboard. Having loads of fun.

Jealous?

You'd better believe it.

I decided on Wednesday to run down to the farm to give Caleb a little mid-week support (with 11 horses, a Great Dane, Jacks ( Jax, or Jack), and 5 cats (apparently some of them went to God's Great Litter Box in the sky before the Parents went to God's Luxury Litter Box for Kitties on this earth- not that they actually went to a giant cat-poo location for vacation-- yee, sounds gross.. "So, where'd the 'rents go for vacation?" "Oh, the litter box" Right. I'm done) .

So I left work at 6 and did not arrive in B until 9:15. The drive is an hour, max. 15 minutes from home I decided to take Sweet B for a trip down one of the twistiest roads in Fairfield county, the strip of 664 that runs from West Rushville to Logan. The B was looking B-utiful and (hey! license plate name!) a car that red, shiny, sporty, and vintage must be on a road that curvy. So I head down Coonpath and as I get closer to my Aunt and Uncle's place, I decide to pull in and give a quick "Hello! Just in the neighborhood" visit.

(side note: this route takes me past my grandfather's old house- it just sold- and THEY'VE STUCK THE MOST-OBSCENELY OUT-OF-PLACE-UGLY-BEYOND-IMAGINATION barn RIGHT SMACK DAB NEXT TO THE HOUSE! It is a grotesque piece of architecture (FAT ol' pole barn next to a classic cape cod with cedar siding and large front porch. Despicable. It makes me tremble with rage. I need to stop, I'm starting to see spots... blast it, it's UGLY. It's so u-g-l-y, it ain't got an alibi, it's ugly. But really, it is. It makes me want to throw up. Oh the abominable structure. YUCK!))

Grr, I'm still so angry! Must move on. Food. Family. Right. So I zip into the Aunt and Uncle's and pop in for a quick hello. Which turns into dinner and a long discussion on whether or not Josh and I are extroverted, introverted (which we are), or just verted. I'm mostly verted. We also discussed various family members and had a great old time just staring out over the pond and weeping willows, chatting about our families.

So the B and I head home, roaring around the bends, flying past the cornfields, whizzing by the herds of cattle. As we crawl up the long hill of the long driveway (no racing up gravel driveways for my B), I heard a faint "HEY!" come from above. "God? Look, I know I was speeding and I know I got mad at that driver on 33 but.." oh wait, Caleb!

Turns out 'Vanna had escaped and Caleb and Jacks were on the hunt. I put the B in reverse and we start to make our way down the driveway, heading back to the road when out of the corner of my eye, a giant black and white monster comes hurtling towards the B. It's "The 'Vanna." She comes galloping up to the B and in a moment of self-preservation, instinct calling to catch the animal, and B preservation, I stuck my arm out and latch on to her collar. Well then Jacks in my lap is growling at 'Vanna for the intrusion into his territory (I'm his territory) and 'Vanna is slobbering to beat Beethoven, and I'm screeching at her to stay off my car and for Caleb to get out of it. Except Caleb's never exited the car and so he has no idea how to pull the handle. So there I am, one hand holding Jacks, one hand desperately trying to cling to 'Vanna, hurling violent threats of dismemberment towards her and yet trying to calmly instruct Caleb to "PULL THE BLACK THING, NO, THE OTHER BLACK THING! GET HER, SHE'S GOING TO KILL MY CAR! BACK UP 'VANNA BEFORE I HURT YOU! NO NOW PULL NO NOT THAT ONE, PULL THE..." and then he got it and whipped out and around to save my B from 'Vanna's claws, literally. She put her two front paws on the B and I nearly kicked her face in, except I had forgotten to put the B in neutral and had both feet on the clutch and brake. After 'Vanna is under control, Jacks and I oh so gracefully make our way up the rest of the drive. Jacks is the perfect dog for my car. Jacks is to my car what my car is to curvy roads.

More to come...

Two of Me.

Last night I had another one of my wedding dreams. In every wedding dream I've ever remembered (I would say about 5+-), in the dream it never fails that I am never present during the ceremony. I walk up the aisle, either tell the groom "Nope, not doing it" or I blank out during the ceremony and arrive back in my body afterwards. I never know if I married the groom or not, although I always lean on the side of not being married, so as not to spend my wedding night with someone who is not my husband. Not once do I say "well, maybe I am married!" and move into a life with the groom (although in one dream I did as I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I had married him-- I really wanted to be his wife).

Last night I dreamed the wedding dream, only this time there were two of me- one to make sure all went well with the wedding (say that 5x fast!) and another to be in the wedding. Which body did my mind elect to stay with? Apparently not the one in the ceremony because I had to ask the groom afterwards how it went! For some reason I think I stuck with the "wedding planner body" as some table cloths needed sewing! All I remember is coming up to the groom afterwards and wondering how I handled it and if everything went smooth. The funny thing is I dislike immensely weddings that are a production, so why in the world, when given the option, would I have stayed with the "wedding planner body"?

As my wedding dreams go though, the emphasis on the actual ceremony has become more and more heightened. There are no details covered in the wedding and I dream of nothing pertaining to the wedding except for the very minutes before and during the walk down the aisle. Very briefly do I dream of the reception (many times I'm sitting around a table with the whole family and quietly trying to determine whether or not I am married [quietly so I don't embarrass myself for not knowing]) Also, I never like my dress. This past one had very little attention was given it by me, so possibly the dress was attractive.

Why were there two of me?
Why did I opt for the body running around tying up the loose ends? (i.e: avoiding the ceremony?)
How is it that in every wedding dream, I am never ever there for the actual ceremony?!
Why, for the past 8 years, have my dreams centered so specifically on a wedding?

The built-in investigator wonders what is it that needs attention and healing.
The Spirit inside me must be telling me I need to address something, something in me needs looked over, otherwise I would not continue to dream the same dreams with the same scene running over and over.

I am trying to remember in my dreams to force myself to be mentally aware during the ceremony. I want to ask myself in the dream why I am so eager or willing to avoid it; there is hope that while in the dream state I can answer these questions.

Screech I am not.

Confirmation: I am not a full fledged nerd. This has been disputed at various points in my life but I am here to tell you, I am not a bonafide nerd.




Booyah.

Blocked from Blogging

I haven't posted in quite awhile. It's slightly ironic that I check others' posts frequently and when they haven't posted, I get a little antsy, "Sheesh, come on, it wouldn't hurt you to post every now and then!" yet if I don't post for a month, so what?! I expect to have something new to read every morning; this is assuming however, that people actually read this post and I'm not blogging to a readerless blogging cosmos.

I certainly assume a lot by putting up a post:

• That what I'm putting up is worth even reading,
  
• that there are people who stumble upon this post and stay long to read these random thoughts,
  
• and that people actually find it interesting enough to come back to and stay "in the loop" with whatever is going on in my life (when I actually do post something about my life).
  

Why am I posting?

Better yet, since I really shouldn't care whether or not people read because it is for me, not them, why haven't I posted in so long? And not just a random historical rant, "My Utmost for His Highest" daily devotional post, or news blurb; I wonder what is going on within that has me blocked from blogging about me.

My Utmost- July 9

July 9th.
	THE GREAT PROBING
"Ye cannot serve the Lord." Joshua 24:19 Have you the slightest reliance on anything other than God? Is there a remnant of reliance left on any natural virtue, any set of circumstances? Are you relying on yourself in any particular in this new proposition which God has put before you? That is what the probing means. It is quite true to say - "I cannot live a holy life," but you can decide to let Jesus Christ make you holy. "Ye cannot serve the Lord God"; but you can put yourself in the place where God's almighty power will come through you. Are you sufficiently right with God to expect Him to manifest His wonderful life in you? "Nay, but we will serve the Lord." It is not an impulse, but a deliberate commitment. You say - But God can never have called me to this, I am too unworthy, it can't mean me. It does mean you, and the weaker and feebler you are, the better. The one who has something to trust in is the last one to come anywhere near saying - "I will serve the Lord." We say - "If I really could believe!" The point is - If I really will believe. No wonder Jesus Christ lays such emphasis on the sin of unbelief. "And He did not many mighty works there because of their unbelief." If we really believed that God meant what He said - what should we be like! Dare I really let God be to me all that He says He will be?

Tiny Warrior

This little boy is my kinda big brother. Bravissimo bambino!

He'll have something heroic to carry around all his life, that is priceless; he's a true defender. Can you imagine having done something so brave while so young? I hope he remembers this and carries it humbly and proudly at the same time his entire life. I pray he is entitled to carry it and does not abuse the honor; may he grow up a noble and integrity-filled youth.

Incredulous Bystander

This is so ridiculous. Unfair, uncalled for, diabolical, and I'm outraged. I feel like the tourist on the bus driving through Yellowstone who can only comment on the enormity of it all.


What am I going to do?

The price paid.

What is the cost of freedom?

Is the price paid worth it?

Why is it that I look around and feel guilty to be an American... ashamed at all that I have, embarrassed to admit I have it. I have it all. I'm living on stolen land, living a stolen life, preparing for a future that, by basic human rights, should not be mine.

I have nothing to be proud of, everything to be ashamed of, and so much for which I will never be thankful enough.

I enter this July 4th wondering if I will join the masses emblazoned in the red, white, and blue. Pieces of me want to paint it all over my body and display these mighty colors for all to see. The other pieces want me to quietly offer up my thanks and duck my head in shame for all that we as "Patriots" have done.

What right have I to be a proud American?

I am so confused. Do I gather the beautiful banner and wrap her around me, relishing in the glory and the pain and the triumph that is our history and future? I cannot be ungrateful towards all those that have fought, suffered, and died so that my life may exist. I realize that part of what they fought for was the right for me to air this question out and allow it space within me. I cannot say, "Thanks... but no thanks."

Can I really be honestly proud to be an American? Can I dare not to? Do I separate myself from the masses who would blindly and wantonly wear these universally known colors and think that my thankfulness is much deeper and more sincere than theirs?

This is almost parallel to how I feel about mainstream Christianity and my honest desire to know Christ and be known for loving and following him- without hating/despising/looking down on all others in utter ignorance.

Corn-fed (by that I mean hear it and believe it and then speak it)Christians (funny they're all Americans--except for that crazy "I am the new Christ" South American or Mexican) make me so angry! They only believe because they've listened and they only speak that which they've heard or read from mainstream sold-out-for-celebrity-status Christian authors. Where is the "real" Christianity? It's really not that much work to seek and find and question until you do. Put some elbow grease into it people.

I'll clean this all up later. Thanks for letting me vent.

SONO GIUSTA!

I WAS RIGHT!

Rome, America, correlation? Oh yes. The Colbert Report has verified my findings here. Or you can watch it here

G.K.C

Here dies another day

During which I have had eyes, ears, hands

And the great world round me;

And with tomorrow begins another.

Why am I allowed two?

G.K. Chesterton

6-6-44, cont'd

It's awesome (read: awe-inspiring, shocking, puzzling) to me the idea that we were right and they were wrong. Hear me out: in no way do I condone the Nazi treatment or mentality towards those of non-Aryan blood; it's just amazing to me that one group (Allies) could be so right and the other (Axis) could be so wrong. For those citizens who, by the determination of their leader's association and pact with the Axis powers, would have been called the "enemy," I have much sympathy (and empathy). It's just the same nowadays, countries being judged by their leader's political inclinations. How is it, that in a world that so questions the existence of God, or a purpose/Natural Law for all, can be so aligned with an idea and find themselves facing half of the world against them.

The good guys vs. the bad guys. And the kicker is this: they were really bad. Vile, evil, and determined to destroy all that prohibited their idea of perfection. To think that even evil longs for perfection as well. Therein lies another puzzlement. Both good and evil long for their idea of perfection. They strive to create worlds where their "utopia" exists. Why such the need for perfection, for a perfect world and existence? This has turned into a much different post than I intended.

So "good/right" (that which is selfless and desiring happiness for their neighbor- I don't think I would receive much argument against that definition) desires to live with best intentions for all manifested in everyday life, striving for an utopia for all. "Bad/wrong" (that which is completely selfish, desiring that the self be served first and foremost) almost expectantly assumes that those around must sacrifice in order that aforementioned "self" receive their utopia first, others might benefit from that when self has arrived in utopia, not before. (keep in mind I still maintain vast amounts of sympathy for those who were forced to fight for "wrong," it takes a strong soul, stronger than mine, to accept death instead of fighting for that which is wrong.)

Is it not amazing that we were faced with "good/right" and "bad/wrong"? How often are we faced with such blatant examples as we had in World War II? How often do we really get to fight for "right" and do it freely? So often I am reminded of how the United States is much like the Roman Empire: absolute domination in the world, a formidable opponent to all who would seek to strike against it, their citizens having the keys (citizenship of Rome/US) to the world. We have such awesome opportunities as Americans, opportunities we take, I take, for granted. Aside from the Spanish War, Panama, the Philippines, Vietnam, and now even Iraq and Afghanistan (not forgetting that while the war itself is failing, we still are doing quite a bit to help those developing countries, let's keep that in mind), we have waged war against the most formidable foes, the "wrong," and won. No doubt that had we lost the War for Independence, we would still have the same opportunities. Again, not saying that as Americans (also demonstrated by the Romans) we are always right, or even slightly right, but we have the keys to strive towards the "good/right." We've had the opportunities to show the world what "good/right" is all about, that it is necessary for life.

Thank you Allies, thank you for persevering towards "good," for laying your lives down for the "good," even as we now take advantage of that, even as we now abuse that.

Thank you Christ.

6-6-44

During high school I used 6-6-44 to remember D-Day/ Operation Overlord. I also know that the 25th amendment is the one stating the vice-president shall assume the presidency should the president become to "sick" to retain the position. "Sick" starts with an "S" which looks like a 5, hence 25th amendment = sick president. I actually did that for all the amendments and for quite awhile had them all memorized. Not so much anymore....

Right, turning back around and heading from that tangent to the main subject. (Seriously, my attention span needs some thorough examination, the places my mind wanders to when triggered... Mmm, Roy Rogers, did you know his name was actually Leonard Slye? I read somewhere that he grew up so poor that he used to run barefoot over fields of cut corn, building up callouses so he didn't need boots. Ack, I'm doing it again!)

Point is this: Yesterday was the initiation of Operation Neptune (heading into Operation Overlord) and it has been 63 years since they first landed. One of my absolute favorite film productions is Band of Brothers.


Talking about BoB can be my way of honoring the soldiers who landed on the beaches and those who fought before and after. Growing up I've always watched war movies, read the books, (remembered little), and latched onto whatever else I could find to connect me with that era in history. Through all of that though, little has stirred me like Band of Brothers has; little else aside from visiting the "sbarchi" ("disembarkments" in Italian) and battlegrounds. I'm sure in real life Maj. Winters is not as great as he seems in the movie (although, I did read his autobio and was even more impressed), but the entire time I'm watching the series I can barely keep it together. This interpretation of what happened really does break my heart. It's the cinematography, it's the script, it's the lighting and costumes; it's how true to life it feels. Deep inside I am torn between weeping and "hurrah"-ing; knowing their lives are in peril and death so near, all the while so proud of them and wanting each of them to make it home to freedom and joy.



In BoB, the enemy is not portrayed as vile, demon-possessed fanatics, fighting for an vile (evil), demon-possessed dictator. Not that you actually see much of the enemy, really it's only when they're getting spiked by a bayonet or killed in some other manner that you catch a glimpse of their humanity. There's a scene where one of the men from Easy Company comes across some POWs and overhears one of them speak with a familiar accent. Turns out the "German" was from Jersey (I think.. Bronx maybe) and had grown up only a few neighborhoods from the American soldier. The German's parents had paid heed to the Der Fuehrer's request that all Germans of pure blood return to the Mutterland and so he joined up with the German army. Not five minutes after having this conversation, the American soldier leaves to catch up with his Company and having gone a ways, hears gunfire behind him. The POWs had been killed as a answer to the squadron leader's question of, "What to do with them?" Aside from their brutal and uncalled for death, I greatly appreciate the demonstration of the enemy's humanity. They were and are real people too: following what they thought was right.

If you ever have time to sit and appreciate Band of Brothers, and have not had the pleasure to do so yet, I highly recommend it.

Celtic Knot

Deep within I seek to find
a hand-hold to the depths of mind.
Where it begins
Where it ends

Something to grasp
Something to hold
Something to make sense
of all I know.

Yeah, it's a pretty elementary poem, but it's all I've got right now. Deep inside I feel like a Celtic knot, no beginning and no end! Joy abounds within me, great delight as well, yet part of me is cast in vast loops and turns and twists. I wish I could step within myself and bring out a great clarity of self. I really want to write right now, I want to pour myself out on paper (err.. screen) and write something beautiful and true.

Something beautiful and true... that's really what I want to convey! Thinking now I am reminded that there is so much within me that I want to share but yet want to keep tightly secure, as precious gems. It is true though, my heart is like a treasure box and many gems have been poured in lately. Right now I feel as though I'm running my hands through the loose jewels, letting them trickle down between my fingers into the pile. This started out with each gem making up but a mass of color. However, as I write, these little pieces have become less overwhelming as a whole and more intricately precious as individual pieces. Now I need to sort through them, pick each one up and cherish it, and then appreciate the beautiful mosaic they are needed as a whole to create. Mosaic in a treasure box? Mmm..... oh yes.

That resounds within me. Yes, it is a beautiful mosaic and when I step so closely to it I am overwhelmed by the beauty of the intricate pieces. Making out the picture at this point is not necessary, the gems themselves are a delight and joy to behold. The gems take on a whole new value of worth if you move forward and just reach out and touch them, if you just grasp that they are real and tangible. They were poured in separately in some cases, or many together at other times, meshed together as a mass in the box, and then hand-picked so that each specific piece would create a whole new exquisite dimension of beauty. I love this picture they are creating, I love how I cannot pick out what it will be.

Sometimes locating neither the end nor the beginning of a Celtic knot is important, sometimes all you need to do is just start. Start at any point, no matter where on the end/beginning spectrum it is located, and go. I may not be progressing with any discernible pattern or path or even sense, but I've started.

Sometimes you just need to go.

Or type.

Sizzle

I can't help but brag. The Sweet B is hot.

Way hot.

I know I'm smiling in this picture, but really my fingers are on fire.

What a lovely way to burn.