That's "astEroid," my darlin'

Baa-aaa-hhh!

"I want to be the STAR!" - - - says Colleen, chirping.
"Watch OUT, Wise Man #3!" - - me, cracking up.

Silent.

Zygocrite

The house next door,
Aside my hedge.
Readied for more,
But not yet.

It's one thing to know a worldview is right; it's another to live it out.

It's one thing to have core values and convictions; it's a heroic feat to actually live up to them.

Truth will always be true, for everyone for all time. But we will always be, at our core, unfaithful, fallen and prone to compromise. Enough compromise becomes gradual corruption. That's what checks and balances are for. That's what confessionals are for.

That's what this blog is for.

I thought that's what Home-Ed was for, too. To instill "good" into our collective thinking. To ingrain it so securely and deeply that it would permeate the flesh as well as the heart and soul. My family will tell you I fell way short my ideals.  I've learned through our many talks and tangos that my techniques were, and are, sorely flawed; my aspirations a bit more lofty than my skill set allowed.

For starters, learning the depth of God's love for me is a lesson still just out of reach. Secondly, performing good works with the tenacity to make them sync into my character hasn't yet brought me much depth.  The Spirit-Authenticity of love and good works are bold realities that have yet to securly lodge within my soul; so, good luck trying to teach them to someone else.

Exhibit A:
As soon as OnlySon turned 19 or so (a college junior who's dormed at home), the fights we'd "enjoyed" for more than a decade over daily chores and keeping his bed made, evaporated as if merely a ghostlike bad dream.  It was no longer my job to stick it to him. If he hadn't picked up selflessness by now and willingly submitted to Christ as his Lord and Saviour, nothing I said or did was going to fix that, so all issues were officially 'off the table.'

And then I stopped caring about making my bed.

8:01AM Nov. 21, 2011

Sad truth. I am a hypocrite.

Exhibit B:
How I realized this sad fact only mildly involves unmade beds. It hit me hard when I discovered the property next door was purchased by a foundation for housing the handicapped. It was being transformed --retrofitted-- into an assisted living community for adults with Cerebral Palsy. When I met one of the caretakers, I was less than kind.

As per my usual run-at-the-mouth temperament, I told her I was ticked that our house values were low enough already without adding this new development to the mix; and I explained how our prayers for her house had always revolved around a hope that the next occupants might lead a Bible Study in the amply sized living room.

Then I started to cry.  I realized what a flaming contradiction I am.

Oh Great.

So much for my Pro-Life Christian "witness." I had outed myself as Pro-Life only to a point, and Cerebral Palsy folks who can't lead Bible Studies don't make the cut...

... I outed myself as a hypocrite.



I tried to regroup. I asked her to go back to her foundation and see about getting some nice quadriplegic residents with a penchant for theology. Or some drug addicts and maybe an alcoholic or two.

The poor lady. She just stared at me. Smiling nearly.

No wonder Hubby thought we needed to read this
(moldering on bedstand)

I'll bet she's a Christian. A real one.

Little AmZyg, you have such a long way to go.

Editors note: two years later, after crying constantly from depressing sounds emanating from over that wall, found a counselor who recommended we pack it in. Get out. Leave. So, we rented th house out to a youth pastor and his young family, headed north. Then, in my personal opinion, the entire neighborhood ...collapsed. This young pastor and his family were never going to pick up where we left off. Never attended the annual Christmas Brunch begun 15yrs earlier. This shocked me. Barely got to know any of th neighbors. I thought pastors were s'posed to be people persons. Hrumph. Even more shocking, the place went all to weeds. Oh, my poor heart.

Physician-Patient Arbitration Agreement

The medical profession is already behind the EightBall.  They present a public image the likes of which no self respecting professional should choose for himself. Then, there was yesterday, when...

...my next best hope of having a 9yr old painful ulcer removed from my thumb was dashed when Dr. Stewart Brown dissed me for not signing a patient arbitration agreement, and then played even more hardball.

But before I hit that collision, consider :

First, the AMA supports and defends continued legalisation of elective abortion. This puts them in the "Barbaric With Blinders" category.  The blinders are necessary for their continued comfort imagining ways poor people will just go away, because, darn it if those poor people make the average MD's life miserable. If they can be killed off genocidally in the womb, unabashed Sanger eugenics and all, so much better off will the average physician be. WHY do medical practitioners assume people will respect THAT? I for one cannot. No respect due them. Nada. None.

Second, they take no sane position on health care reform, tending to settle for whatever status quo guarantees them the best chance of earning opulent salaries rather than promoting an historic call to "serve" others in the best Judeo-Christian tradition out of which hospital care arose in the first place.

Thirdly, they administer a pro-vaccine agenda that harms many with the justification that all of humanity is one giant evolutionary herd in need of management using the agricultural "cull the herd" mentality: it's OK to lose a few victims when the interest of the "greater good" is paramount, and individual rights are messy notions that get in the way of effective herd welfare. When that victim is you, and you spend five years lobbying for PERMISSION to see specialists because a simple flu shot just ended your life as you had known it, this bummer takes on a whole new dimension.

Now, the latest wrinkle: before I left Dr. Stewart Brown's office after being told he refuses to treat

Does his staff need to know I am "Up Nights to Urinate" if I am not even their patient?

anyone who will not sign away their right to traditional malpractice arbitration, the front staff refused to give me back my paperwork.  "What is the reason for this?" I asked. They would not answer.

I had not seen any medical professional, they had given me back my Co-Pay, I had not trespassed beyond the lobby window. . . Did my thumbing through Architectural Digest in the waiting room somehow disqualify me from all privacy rights?  Was it my irritable comeback when they first claimed that I should've JUST KNOWN that service would be denied anyone who fails to kiss the doctor's arse? To be fair, I did deem to rewrite their cover letter for them, verbally inserting the preferred edit that should've been included in the mailed packet so their policy would be crystal CLEAR to prospective patients.  They didn't like me deigning to edit their paperwork for them, methinks. Crazy people. I could've charged them $55 for that service, but I gave it away for free.

Then they said that I wasn't allowed to have my paperwork returned.  Excuse me? I gently pushed back. And I mean, really gently, since I had just come off of a three hour Bible Time in Malachi and Luke, and my spirit was feeling really soft and squishy. Almost totally not the doctor-hater-unbidden-copy-editor-privacy-rights-activist-confrontationalist I usually am.

She then shoved a photo copy of my personal information through the window.  Wait, I said. This is a photo copy? I am not asking for a copy of my own information. I am not your patient, remember? I'd like the original back, please. She said she had to go ask the office manager.  I think I see the game being played here.  They want to bill my insurance company anyway, even w/o actually seeing me. After some three or four minutes, she gives me back the original.  I am sure they just made another copy.  As I am half way to the elevator outside, it occurs to me that they've kept the yellow Medical History portion of the paperwork.  Whoa. ANOTHER invasion of my privacy! I go back yet again.  Office girl insists that's not mine to have, either.  Let me speak to your office manager, I say.  Office manager comes back and gives me the evil eye.  Then the MD, Mr. Stewart Brown himself, loiters in and gazes at me inconspicuously.  MY. It's a power play.  If they are trying to intimidate me, it's working. But I just kept taking nice long breaths of air and holding my ground.

"I am not your patient. You are not my doctor, I have been seen by NO one, and you have no right to my medical history." Front Office Girl tells me to hang on while she makes a phone call. I wait. She takes her time and, after another three or four minutes, she leaves to find the Office Manager again.  Then they don't come back for a long while.  I imagine they are now photocopying this, too.  When saucy blonde Office Manager hands me back my yellow Medical History, she makes no eye contact, no apologies, no  explanations.  I beg her to tell me: Did you photo copy this one, too? She blubbers something about the white copies but doesn't actually answer my query about the yellow.  I just stand there in disbelief, wanting to drill my eyeballs deep into hers and use the classic Celebrate Recovery line that gets them every time: "ARE YOU LYING TO ME?" But, I resist.  She is glaring at me with such venom that I am sure any further inquiry would lead to something naughty emanating from my mouth.  So I thank her and leave.  I did indulge in a little prideful sentiment as I finally took my exit: "SCAREEEY..." I whispered under my breath as I pulled on the heavy door.

I just can't resist getting in the last word. . . So, I am wondering: If I had the self controlled temperament to always handle conflict with poise, would life still be such a scandalous affair?

But, I mean, really? To have a front office staff tell me that my own personal information, details of which took me 1.5 hrs to dig out of my home medical files, is no longer mine just because I had the misfortune of darkening the door of a paranoid doctor? I feel like having someone arrested.  I feel violated; and once again, it's the "worship us because we are god-like" medical community demanding that I cowtow.

LORD, Holy God, may I dare to ask you to exact a coup in the med schools of this SICK and sorry nation, and require of all medical students and professionals a course IN THE U.S. CONSTITUTION?

≈ Amen?

Fall Leav and Leaves

It's finally time.  For twenty three years I've languished in service to a Baptist Body Of Christ led by a tidy pod of cringing clique clackers.  So, after asking him more than a few times, Hubby has finally relented and I'm frEEE at last. We're looking for a new church.

It's been a six week journey, visiting local and not-so-local houses of worship.  They are all alike in how comfortable and familiar they seem, with exceptions like responsorials, communion queues, and, at the last one, a sermon that actually challenged us to fast during Advent. My, how refreshing!  After  twenty years of hearing sermons which, at their most profound, simply utter ". . . just stop it! Stop it!" over and over again, attempting to address some habit or sin, well, teachings on spiritual disciplines have been sorely lacking.

We keep a list of pros and cons on each one, but with so much to like, we're really scraping to find critical negatives. "...The pastor didn't sign this welcome letter! That's a CON!"

- - - - - - - -

Between the psychic scarring from the old church, and not being able to find my trusty box of Thanksgiving decor before our guests arrived, today's holiday observance felt like a misfire. Food was great --DH never disappoints-- and his prayer was somewhat packed with meaning; songs were sung with gusto, the company all cheery... but, still, there was a tilt.

Was it the alcohol? For the first time, an alcohol free-for-all was welcomed to our home's Turkey Gathering.  (Beyond the token bottle of champagne or wine we've always indulged in, the kids bought spirits such as I've never before partook). I find that unnerving on it's face,  but,

no.

It's the church thing.

LORD God. From whence cometh my help? Leaving feels like failure.

I go to the seasons and the colors and the outdoor chill; lose my shame in the beauty of Creation, and find solace in the certainty that a God who prized the simplicity of children when he bid them "COME TO ME" will coax me onto His lap and bid me to trust this new season.  Little Zygote can grow up into someday adulthood while Phil Keagy's Pandora station sings What Can Wash Away My Sin. [Keagy's an ex-Catholic too. What a gift.]

The Blood of Jesus surely heals, but giving it time never hurts.

Thanksgiving was a misfire. But the Certainty-Of-Seasons is a promise. There will be beauty until Christ returns.

buddleia (bottom), anise (cntr), Mexican marigold (rt)

If the TurkeyDay Box won't turn up, the T'mas linens will do.

Box found by hero Dad. It was hiding in the Christmas Cabinet. Reunited with the orange, yellow and browns only after the last guest departed. 

Remains of The Day

Coffee Spill, Shattered Will. Happy ALL HALLOWS Eve?

This door mat does two things. It's at the kitchen sink keeping my feet dry when power washing through my dishes, and it hides the spilled hookah pipe burns that somebody trailed across the floor.  I like it.

But it's a mess to clean under every Monday, so I usually avoid looking too closely until something really ugly finds its way down there, or guests are expected.

My mantra over big spills is, 'must be God's opinion that I should finally mop in here!' But the other day, that old furious cursing which began mysteriously at recess one day in the 4th grade, popped out from hiding, and beat my mantra to a pulp before I think to wax philosophical and resign myself to another calamity clean-up.

It was a quiet blurt, kept under my breath for the better part of 40 years, hidden from good Baptists and children. . .  G-- D---It rang out as I tried to balance a newspaper, purse and mail pile while holding a full mug. Tepid coffee splattered down my pant leg and foot, then spread along under my hearty sink mat.

D1 and DH didn't even wince, so I swabbed away, pretending I didn't care that they just heard what I just heard.

But privately, all I could think of was Alice.

Two days prior, she reminded our Bible Club kids what a sinful, horrid thing it is to use The LORD's name this way, and that people who do are so utterly lost. {"...for the LORD will not hold anyone guiltless who misuses His name." Ex 20:7}

WAIT!  THAT'S me she's talking about. I ... really... need... to...

I really need to do a cussing study, and quick. Either we teach the kids that legalism is not our friend, or I have to quit going to Bible Club.

I mean, after 40 years, why would this hidden little curse of mine suddenly resurface?

Alison G. told me to find a Deliverance Service.  Something about demonic oppression.  WELL. I don't doubt that!

But at least I have a spotless sink mat and my hookah burns don't show.

While I don't dispute there's something evil lurking just under the surface of my soul, I'm not sure we don't all suffer from it equally. It's called original sin. It's just that my will to do battle against it has flagged lately... been fighting with Hubby for (counts fingers...) @ 19 days. . .

Scratching my head. I recall the same thing happened last Halloween Week. And that one week when I had planned a neighborhood Bible Club for the squirrley boys? My mouth went haywire then, too. (My DEAR. Your mouth is always haywire. Really.)

Let's do an experiment: let's move to a nice street where the house next door doesn't have a yard-full of death-on-display for three full weeks, and see if I don't have a clean mouth by Halloween.

I LOVE SCIENCE. When can I start packing?

[And I love my dear neighbors; but wonder how I switched from boycotting Halloween to becoming a Boo-Booster without FIRST besting my demons.]

(AND P.S. - u were drinking tea, not that demon coffee)

Iron Out My Congresswoman

The sum of Congresswoman Laura Richardson's response to a proLife appeal is sadly lacking in sanity, truth and substance.

[Hums tune to TheGrinch...]  "Her heart is a greasy black peel..."

KUDOS to Joe Pitts.

Thank you for contacting me about the Protect Life Act.  I appreciate the opportunity to hear your thoughts on this issue. As you may be aware, Congressman Joseph Pitts introduced H.R. 358, the Protect Life Act on January 20, 2011.  The Protect Life Act imposes an unprecedented limitation on abortion coverage and takes extreme measures to prevent women from accessing safe and legal abortion services. This legislation will prevent women from purchasing private insurance coverage for abortion [OH really!?] while exempting hospitals from treating women in need of emergency abortion care.  The Affordable Care Act already contains strict safeguards [strict?!] at multiple levels to prevent federal funds from being used to pay for abortion services beyond those in cases of rape, incest or where the life of woman would be in grave and eminent danger. But the Protect Life Act wants to go further.  The Protect Life Act will make it virtually impossible for insurance companies in state health-insurance exchanges to offer abortion coverage, including those paying for coverage entirely with private dollars. The bill also prohibits all individuals who receive federal subsidies from purchasing a plan that includes abortion coverage, as well as barring insurance plans from covering abortion if they include even one individual who receives a subsidy.  [Why is it wrong to tell a woman to pay for her own death deed? The taxpayer is supposed to underwrite her child's demise?] Today, nearly 87% of private employer-sponsored insurance offer plans which include abortion coverage. This bill would deter insurance companies from offering plans with such options and would likely force millions of women to drop the coverage they currently have. [How's that?] Currently, all hospitals in America that receive Medicare or Medicaid funding are bound by a 1986 law known as the Emergency Medical Treatment and Active Labor Act (EMTALA), to provide emergency care to all patients, regardless of the circumstance. Under EMTALA, if a woman required an emergency abortion to save her life and she was a patient at an anti-abortion hospital or being treated by a health care provider against abortion on religious or moral grounds, the hospital would be forced to either perform the abortion or transfer the patient.  [Transfer away! We've allowed the draconian Feds to tell Catholic hospitals they have no right to obey their conscience!?] The Affordable Care Act leaves laws that protect medical providers [not according to the above paragraph!] who have religious or moral objections to abortion services intact. But the Protect Life Act goes even further by not requiring medical providers who are not willing to terminate a pregnancy to either perform the abortion or facilitate a transfer. This bill would override the requirement that emergency room doctors provide emergency care to patients and would essentially allow a hospital to let a pregnant woman die rather than perform a life-saving procedure [Doc's don't consider an ectopic pregnancy treatment to be an elective abortion, my dear]. The Protect Life Act prohibits the Affordable Care Act from ensuring access to abortion [child killing] services. This broad language could prevent states and state-based health insurance exchanges from ensuring that women get information about the health care coverage options available to them. It should be an ethical healthcare provision that patients be presented with accurate and complete information about their medical options in order to make the best decisions regarding their health care [Here!Here! That would include requisite ultrasounds showing the woman how alive her child is, yes?!]. This bill denies women that fundamental right [to an ultrasound!?]. In addition, a subtle provision of the Protect Life Act could allow insurers to refuse to offer important services that are part of the minimum standards for health coverage such as services and supplies related to contraception, infertility and sexually transmitted diseases. [OnceUponAtime in the UNITED STATES of America, private companies weren't forced by the government to compromise their principles.] This extreme anti-choice bill is about protecting [did you mean 'removing' ?] the reproductive rights of Americans in our country. A woman's right to choose [choose to do what? OH. Right. "Choose" to kill her unborn child...] what is best for themselves and their families is a constitutionally protected right [Not for long, my friend The Supers who voted for Roe/Carhart/Doe/Casey are soon to be pitied, prayed for and pilloried.]. Eliminating access to legal abortions denies women the right to make their own health decisions in accordance with their religious and moral beliefs and as a result, infringes on their equal rights. When it comes to attacking women's freedom and privacy, this legislation knows no bounds. It is an extreme attack against women's reproductive right and undermines women's access to quality healthcare.  [again, what part of the Constitution instructs us to pay for the mistakes of lied-to women? And what part of High School English did you sleep through, rendering the above paragraph permissible?] On October 13, 2011, the Protect Life Act passed the House by a vote of 251-172. I voted against H.R. 358 because this bill is not only unconstitutional, but it is dangerous. H.R. 358 now awaits consideration in the Senate. It is a fundamental right [RESPONSIBILITY] of every woman to manage her own fertility [You can say that again! WHY are all these children sleeping around?] and we must continue to condemn bills [and Supreme Court Edicts] that threaten that right [ROE was such an EDICT]. In a time of such tough economic instability, we should be concentrated on creating jobs and stabilizing the economy, not advancing extreme legislation that is nothing less than the most comprehensive and radical assault of women's health [freedom to live irresponsibly] in our lifetime.  Again, thank you for taking the time to contact me about this issue.  As your Congresswoman, I hope that you will continue to inform me of your opinions so that I can best represent you in the future.  Sincerely, Laura A. Richardson Member of Congress

Why Then, Vote At All?

When vetting presidential candidates and exploring their positions on issues of import, I am always shocked at how far from the mark my "gut" assessment is.

The New American magazine had outed Mr. Perry on four huge "redflags," and my heart sank. I thought those rugged good looks were a can't-lose-qualification for highest office.

Today's little Bible Club lesson for 30 K-5th graders said it all: 1Samuel 16:7.

With that, here's what Doug Phillips' ReportCard on the Candidates reveals  (OH, why can't Ron Paul find a handler who will teach him to stop gawking?)

http://adv.visionforum.com/email/2011/10/17_reportcard/reportcardIII.pdf

If I can't vote for the best looking, most dashing, rugged looking candidate, well, I'm just taking my marbles and going home.

Meanwhile, Paul's Texas Straight Talk phone-line is a weekly MUST: 888.322.1414

("If we pose Ron Paul next to this cactus, maybe he'll look presidential")

Fight

If the doctor is perceived as your ally and friend,
a provider of quality service,
do you then allow him the right to
inject his patients without their prior consent?

If the provider of police protection,
military protection and inter-state commerce
objects to private commerce, do you acquiesce to such a
provider's demands
to purchase all your food at one store?

Or borrow money at only one bank?

REcall (Solzhenitzyn's commrades were shot for growing thier own food and reading the Bible).
REcall (Europeans were put out of business for refusing to adopt the Euro).

If the monopoly utility company installs a new device
on your property that spies on you
for their stated purposes
even as it delivers promised and paid for electrons on demand,
do you look the other way?

No, no. And
NO.

BeingBusyGreatnessDies

First to drop off Jon in rain
Then drizzled stop in parking lot
for haircut from
JO-anne,

(Not in.
Supercuts wins.)

Then to find a carry all for
Wedding gifts
we bought;

Now a mirror for Jon's truck
Ordered for a drive
up north

To Woodland wedding.

Next,  provender of
massive
toffee makings

(Woodland is a potluck).

Lastly, MasterTech:
Will Jon's truck
ford
The grapevine...?



All the while a great man gasped.
All the while a hero lapsed.
All the while the figurehead

Of a generation

passed.

Steve Jobs died.

I cried.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mr. Kawasaki, please
Tell me that he bent the knee.
That he

Like we,
The profit seized,
Won

by He Whose death
Time greived,
And pow'r
retrieved,

Buddism alieved.

The Roach You Will Always Have With You

Way to go, OS. Quick reflex the victory won.

As I prepare to compare
The ROACH to what
ails us

I kill another mosquito.
That's two since last night,
a big moth before that, plus

Those small kitchen moths,
an all-summer haunt, daily smashed
(...sourced to cereal/seeds).

The knats in big numbers from
who knows what plunder, we just ignore
usually,

But none of this matters
like roaches in houses.
They're proof

Something vile lives here.

(It's OK with you? Can
Insects be doomed?
I've no patience with PETA bug lovers.)

 Every headline that lands
On my driveway
Concurs with the Bible's meanest assertion.

Mean, yes, but true.
Bertrand Russel can vouch.
Daily wickednesses proves human nature.

Fallen and need prone
It's not just the criminal.
All of us sin every minute.

Today's banner reads,
"Mom gets 5 years" cause she
Repeated a folly post-Eden

That's legal in 50 states
and 'round the world: She just
ended the life of her newborn.

WHY WHY do the Democrats
and glib GOP'ers
equivocate killing of life?

OK when it's in the womb,
A crime if not.
Insanity.

Roaches come calling.

Filling in all the cracks left by incompetent cabinet makers.

Ran out of duct tape, so Joannie N said
"use unwound Brillo" to keep out the pests.

Pencil tucks it between wood and wall.

What pencil will tuck in a national salve of Bright Brillo Cure
For cultural blindness?

Babies slaughtered legally
every day,
right down the street
or
right on our street
or
right in our homes.

What madness.

And Then Creation Fell

The six years when
I drowned within

The certainty
God hated me;

The six years when
I kept the sin

Hidden deep and outward in,
Impinged.

Not one win.

It's true you die when sin is hid.

I did.

But never once, no never, did

I justify it.

It owned me. I was it's slave;
Gerasene complete with cave.

Bulimia became my Schwinn;

My cycled anorexic twin,

As long as it stayed secret.

I could've said it's "who I am"
Because it was.

Had I surrendered to its way,
Had I sought others in its sway,

Willing it, to us, define,
Then scrawled a hundred angry signs,

Formed us rallies, demonstrated,
Labelled enemies who hate us.

Victim status.

Instead I begged. Upon my knees,
One thousand guilty anguished pleas.

Most took place beside commode,
Wondring why this God had shown

No mercy.

Plodded long, 'till came a day
Asked ONE to pray.

How dare I let my demon down!
"Out" myself to one so round?

But then, the gates of Heav'n opened.
Soft Word spoken:

"Hate your parents, you'll stay broken."

Repent of deeper wounds impressed?
Forgive the authors of my mess?

I'd do anything to earn
Good graces back to me returned.

So I admitted. Acquiesced.
Withheld resentment. God, impressed,

Hauled up the black immersing pest.

Bound my breaks, gave psychic rest.

I just confessed.

No one asked, but I told one.
Then Healing from the FatherSon
And HOLY SPIRIT,

ThreeInOne

Wrested evil;
Jesus won.

Creation Calls

http://youtu.be/-KEwhLvIQrk

What buoyed me last fall season
By watching time and time again.

I still sit rapt until it's through
Incapable of moving to

My things-to-do.

Someone's time used deftly,
Wisely. Blessing untold

Thousands.

911 - 101

= = = = = = = = = = = = =

Simple. Sensitive. Settled.

Battle to Deflect 911 oVERLoAD

Access the content below at:

http://www.focusonlinecommunities.com/blogs/Finding_Home/2011/09/08/the-hero-youve-never-heard-of

The Hero You've Never Heard Of

Posted by Jim_Daly on Sep 8, 2011 9:24:33 AM

Over the course of the last ten years, in the shadow of the White House, Richard Retta has quietly saved over 350 lives.

But he's not a doctor, fireman, paramedic or a policeman.

The 79-year-old grandfather is a sidewalk counselor outside a Planned Parenthood clinic in Washington D.C.

Mr. Retta's approach is understated and gentle, but direct. As a woman approaches the entrance, he walks within earshot of her, politely striking up a conversation. In those few fleeting seconds he tries to convince her to spare her baby’s life, and, in doing so, save herself from years of grief and torment. 

He fails far more than he succeeds, and each loss strikes him hard. But when you consider the number of children he's saved, and add it to the 1,300-plus other babies his pro-life colleagues have rescued at the clinic in Washington, their ministry has irrefutably helped change the world, and in no small way.

If you ask me, Richard Retta is a modern-day hero, but according to the Department of Justice, he's a suspected criminal, having allegedly violated the Freedom of Access to Clinic Entrances (FACE) Act. Charged with intimidating a woman, walking too closely, and blocking her entrance, he stands to pay a $25,000 fine if convicted.

Mr. Retta denies the charges. It should be noted that FACE does not prohibit a counselor from walking next to somebody on a public sidewalk. As for the claim he blocked the woman's entry, insiders say the charge is "dubious" - especially when you consider that Richard Retta himself wrote the guidelines for his group's conduct outside clinics.

Item two on his list of “don’ts”: “DO NOT block the woman’s path.”

Particularly galling about the charges, however, is the apparent bias against pro-life advocates inside the Department of Justice. Writes the Heritage Foundation's Legal Fellow, Hans A. von Spakovsky:

Retta was not dressed in a black paramilitary uniform, he was not carrying a nightstick, and he was not yelling racial epithets or blocking the entrance to a polling place. Yet this is the same Justice Department that dismissed a voter-intimidation case against the New Black Panther party, whose members engaged in exactly that behavior. Somehow the behavior and speech of a 79-year-old sidewalk counselor violates federal law against intimidation, but the speech and behavior of the New Black Panthers in Philadelphia in 2008 was just fine…

He continued:

The circumstances of this case cast great doubt on the legitimacy of the DOJ complaint, which describes Retta as “among the most vocal and aggressive anti-abortion protestors [sic] outside of the Clinic.” Of course, even “vocal and aggressive” speech is protected by the First Amendment — or so the Justice Department claimed when it dismissed the New Black Panther case. Retta’s real problem appears to be political: He offers women an authentic choice, in a one-option zone.

I thank God for Richard Retta and all of those courageous men and women who have devoted their lives to saving the most innocent among us. Won't you please join me in praying for justice in this case? But also, let's pray for every woman who is, even this very day, walking on a lonely sidewalk towards an abortion clinic, preparing to end her child's life. May the Lord place a hero like Mr. Retta in her path, and may her ears and heart be open to choosing life.

Follow me on Twitter @Dalyfocus

"Peace With God Means War"

So mad at Eve. Been in a summerlong funk, lusting for just one chance encounter with her in some dark Edenic alley.

By extension, AmZyg is distressed to admit: she is really peeved with God for standing alongside, watching Eve do the deed.

D1 calls me a controlling parent, so that must be where this peevedness comes from.  I demand of God my self same self righteous right to grab the woman's arm, twist it half off, and, short of breaking her will, at least get in her face and demand "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

I fantasize about it. I take sick pleasure in rehearsing the moment.

"HAVE YOU ANY IDEA WHAT ONE BITE WILL DO?"

"CAN YOU PICTURE MILLIONS OF CHILDREN, DEAD AND DYING? DO YOU WANT THAT ON YOUR CONSCIENCE?"

"CAN YOU PICTURE MILLIONS OF DEAD NAKED BODIES, GASSED AND PILED HIGH FOR CENTURY AFTER CENTURY BY MEGALOMANIAC DICTATORS FROM EVERY STINKIN' CORNER (cause maybe she thinks the earth is flat) OF THE EARTH ?"

"HOW MANY THOUSANDS OF SICK MOTHERS, DEAD OR DYING OF BLACK PLAGUE ARE YOU READY TO APOLOGISE TO?!!!"

Or, at the very least, if I were there to stop her because God was keeping out of it,

"HAS YOUR EVERYDAY FACE TIME WITH THE CREATOR OF THE UNIVERSE TAUGHT YOU NOTHING????!!!!"

OK.

RATHER than determine that my own megalomaniac nature is showing, then shut up, go to my room, kneel down and confess this as sin, I will only admit that it looks bAD to get in Eve/God's face, demanding answers. Also admit that, yes, I skipped my prayer time this morning. Again. Getting the fall off to a bad start. Whhoosh.

If I want to know God's peace, I'll wage war against the background noise in my head that angrily hums doubting static everyday, flying off the handle at stubbed toes, thoughtless drivers, dirty dishes, 97 degree heat in my livingroom...

...and rest in humble satisfaction that His forgiveness for sin is enough, even without having to know answers to all the WHY's just yet.

I did find help on YouTube yesterday (see above). It overpowered the static for about 15 hours. It's genius.

WEED interrupted 

The weeds in my life will get the better of me if I don't suffer to get deep underground and pull out every last filament of root. Beneath the anger at God & PowerWoman, there's buried a lifetime of resentment toward somebody else. Better start probing.

"You cannot stop the birds from flying over your head, but you can stop them from nesting in your hair." - - Martin Luther, as heard on today's Philip DeCourcy broadcast 

On Sinks With No Shame

I been to the desert

On a horse with no name

And paid little heed to 

How poets are lame;

Much better than words

In a world of disease

Are Doers who Do, without

So much as a 'please.'

THANKYOU!THANKYOU!THANKYOU.

I'm Confused

My Mom had no idea that she'd bought into feminist ideology as she raised her six children. To her Post Depression Era way of thinking, our college educations were to be a magic ticket back to the plantation penthouse, with, at the most, maids and servants; and at the least, an automated future  - -guaranteed by post WWII optimism- -  wherein we would never have to slave over a hot stove or wash a window. Hence:

We were never required to do chores. At least the youngest three who I grew up with.

Enter adulthood and childrearing.  My poor nubbins have endured the crippling effects of more dysfunction than AmZyg can begin to describe, given all her pre&postPuberty freedom; therefore it's a natural part of her current family dynamic that confusion reigns alot.

Chock it up to basic zygotish blindness; or maybe it's lack of sleep from having to hand water the yards at 4:30 this morning, or maybe it was cutting out 23 leaf decorations for D2's new classroom she starts teaching in tomorrow. It's all of the above, so, bleary eyed and fighting sleep...

...I can't help whining: why is my kitchen always a mess?

This is AFTER an hour of attention

We had a reunion meal tonight. The kids returned from far flung opportunities, exchanged funny souvenirs, hugs, stories & laughter... and the obligatory big meal complete with lots of pots and pans, plates and condiments, and the usual off-putting sensation that the cyclone is all someone ELSE'S problem...

I never knew what it meant to own a mess.  Mom always worked magic over the sink after every meal. And now, waving my magic ticket from a top university, I keep wondering: when is that magic fairy going to show up? Mom??!

After dinner, one of the "offspring" was less engaged than the rest, so I did a grown up, very functional thing. I assigned a chore! Loook how I'm growing!  Just put the food away, I requested. (Now, this twenty-UP-THERE-year-old just today finally finished a nine-day-long clean up of a teaTray/teapot/teacups & saucers that I placed atop her unmade bed in order to finally bring them to her attention... so it made sense to me that she'd be especially eager to please a veryPatientParent.

And furthermore, I know this one to be very detail oriented. Witness her little pen/ink hanging on the wall:

Little fences, little soldiers, little tree-lined grassy hills and vales

... Yes, this ones knows details. Has a gift for the tiniest triviality. So why, then, would she walk away after doing these:

... and leave these:

... and these?

Or, heaven forbid, THESE...

...and all the GreenCurry jars, spices, lemonade, salad dressing and tomatoes not shown here 'cause I became my own magic fairy and hurried them off to their magic perches in the 'fridge b4 the camera began snapping pictures...

Well, you would be a genius if you guessed the answer.  Could it be because I didn't ask her to do the dishes? THAT'S RIGHT! Years of guilt over no chore requirements while growing up have produced an incapacity for asking my children to get in there and work their own magic.

What a simpleton AmZyg is to have never sought a MagicFairy therapist to explain all this to her.

And now it is easy to understand how this fifty year old zygote could sprain a wrist simply scrubbing a kitchen floor.  It gets that dirty waiting weeks for someone to notice that feet are sticking.

= = = = = = =

Yet, amidst my confused and unkempt state, I praise God for OS's composed, mature satisfaction over what transpired at Summit Ministries.  He grew. Phew.