Praising God for John Michael Talbot and Pandora, and, seven days post election day, for His enduring WORD, Jesus, who can still my heaving breast with promises that He loves California and won't let her fall into the cold, mean seas just yet. I do not love CA that much, and rather brashly protest her too many Democrats who vote like a robotic union machine, aiming the state straight for annihilation and heaping more ruin on her rubble while the rest of us wonder how to salvage the mess.
But a few pairs of walking shoes and some magazines thrown into a suitcase later, we are in the nation's capital attending an OpenText conference at a pornicious hotel in National Harbor MD. God bless my man. He requested the Adult fare off our TV, and when we entered room 8-215, he checked this time. (Remember the Alamo at September's Westin? A hurried departure at 11:59PM will not soon be forgot...) It was still there upon the TV menu, so he grabbed the phone and dialed the "Consider It Done" line. It got done.
No TV has emitted since that moment, the times and seasons calling for more hymns & less HGTV. The LORD of Hosts and Hearts wants to still my complaining spirit, so with no kitchen and bath remodels to behold, I can train my mind on 'importanter' matters than having my own bathroom: a seven month backlog of unstudied sermon notes and an artsy new journal to chronicle them in --a BD gift from she who still calls me friend.
The monuments were wind whipped yesterday as the Mister & I prayed round the National Mall, chased a squirrel half up a tree when it tried to pinch my sunglasses case, and drank cocoa next to Constitution Pond. It's all to one effect: tears lept out when "Battle of the Bulge" came into view on the WWII Memorial, sure that the supply of valorous, duty bound young men who will stand in the gap for a righteous nation will soon run out. Victoria's Secret, MTV, cable porn, prayerless schools full of sexting children seem to indicate one thing: righteousness is dead in America. With respect to Rory and Nick, fine soldiers and valor filled, what's left to fight for? Bigger happy meals? Vomitoriums on every corner? A thong on every female?
We head for Old Town Alexandria now, and while I will not freeze with my man's warm belly fat to snuggle into whilst the water taxi speeds us across the Potomac, I will have to put away my tears, with time only for pondering I Cor 3:22 +/- which speaks to those self possessed, power seeking metro riders living off over-taxed citizens, paying heed to unspoken rules of public decorum: speak only if the one asking is elected to a position of power or makes more money than you. All others deemed invisible.
"Let no man glory in men. For all things are Yours... and ye are Christ's; and Christ is God's."
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