S u p p o s e
some profound removal of Zygote's notorious psychoses occurred this very minute. How would she better manage daily upsetting challenges vying for her attention this - and every - second, without a million thoughts a day of a nasty church tribe who hate her?
She dreams that the end of her 'issues' would automatically translate into an ordered dream life where the Bible gets amortized into her mindFlesh first thing every morning; the Rosetta Stone Spanish would slip into the schedule in equal proportion to the morning coffee/green tea and the daily kitchen clean-up. The photos and videos on all family cameras would become shuffled into amazing spreads of digital story-telling, and all without the faintest hint of vainglory or idolatry of family. The other chores would magically become NoBigDeal while the daily dust and detritus becomes as manageable as workouts at the bathroom sink: butt crunches while toothbrushing, leg lifts while folding towels and torso stretches while the toilet cleaner soaks...
Only the volunteer jobs that are true callings would fill up her calendar, & her tutor clients would learn and grow with seeming effortlessness. No letters to the Better Business Bureau always pressing in on the psyche, but always a protest letter fresh off the printer to Planned Parenthood's corporate donors.
The Weed and Feed outside would actually work, organically; & every Permaculture concept firmly wrested OUT of theory and into all areas of outdoor faith and practice....
Lunch with a friend once a week (grocery money always leftover for this), and never a contact who spurns the invitation like that feisty pastor's wife one time. Never have recovered from that...
No evil looks to process; no evil remarks to ignore; no misspoken criticisms to wish away; no grudges ever, especially against oneself; and when funerals roll by, never a regret. Only that quiet confidence that eternity overlaps with this present world in God's perfect time, every time...
Oh. Yes: and never another fall off one's bicycle, slip-off from some slimy Nature Center rock, or over stressed tendons unused to new gardening implements and contortions. All well, all the time, except for those burdens strictly orchestrated by The Potter, clearly intended for my betterment, not brought on by sheer folly; by a seemingly continual lack of sound judgement.
How perfect life would be. How sun kissed. How blessed. How not so very far off, on second thought:
I could just "WiLL those thoughts" of resentment to fade away into the amorphous glow of Christ's daily resurrection.
Live the dream: take every thought captive & be your own best self by the power of the Holy Spirit, praying without ceasing--esp. for the ones you call your Enemy.
(While I dream this, I am praising God for the way canker sores break out in my mouth every time I overdose on sugar, when trying to deal with thoughts of people I must have offended grievously, or why else would they behave like my enemy?
Now, THEre's a blessing. Those canker sores have saved me at least twenty-five pounds of fudge and candy bar weight. H-OoRa-H.)
some profound removal of Zygote's notorious psychoses occurred this very minute. How would she better manage daily upsetting challenges vying for her attention this - and every - second, without a million thoughts a day of a nasty church tribe who hate her?
She dreams that the end of her 'issues' would automatically translate into an ordered dream life where the Bible gets amortized into her mindFlesh first thing every morning; the Rosetta Stone Spanish would slip into the schedule in equal proportion to the morning coffee/green tea and the daily kitchen clean-up. The photos and videos on all family cameras would become shuffled into amazing spreads of digital story-telling, and all without the faintest hint of vainglory or idolatry of family. The other chores would magically become NoBigDeal while the daily dust and detritus becomes as manageable as workouts at the bathroom sink: butt crunches while toothbrushing, leg lifts while folding towels and torso stretches while the toilet cleaner soaks...
Only the volunteer jobs that are true callings would fill up her calendar, & her tutor clients would learn and grow with seeming effortlessness. No letters to the Better Business Bureau always pressing in on the psyche, but always a protest letter fresh off the printer to Planned Parenthood's corporate donors.
The Weed and Feed outside would actually work, organically; & every Permaculture concept firmly wrested OUT of theory and into all areas of outdoor faith and practice....
Lunch with a friend once a week (grocery money always leftover for this), and never a contact who spurns the invitation like that feisty pastor's wife one time. Never have recovered from that...
No evil looks to process; no evil remarks to ignore; no misspoken criticisms to wish away; no grudges ever, especially against oneself; and when funerals roll by, never a regret. Only that quiet confidence that eternity overlaps with this present world in God's perfect time, every time...
Oh. Yes: and never another fall off one's bicycle, slip-off from some slimy Nature Center rock, or over stressed tendons unused to new gardening implements and contortions. All well, all the time, except for those burdens strictly orchestrated by The Potter, clearly intended for my betterment, not brought on by sheer folly; by a seemingly continual lack of sound judgement.
How perfect life would be. How sun kissed. How blessed. How not so very far off, on second thought:
I could just "WiLL those thoughts" of resentment to fade away into the amorphous glow of Christ's daily resurrection.
Live the dream: take every thought captive & be your own best self by the power of the Holy Spirit, praying without ceasing--esp. for the ones you call your Enemy.
(While I dream this, I am praising God for the way canker sores break out in my mouth every time I overdose on sugar, when trying to deal with thoughts of people I must have offended grievously, or why else would they behave like my enemy?
Now, THEre's a blessing. Those canker sores have saved me at least twenty-five pounds of fudge and candy bar weight. H-OoRa-H.)
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