With heavy heart from hearing an American Hero is no longer with us, I can only pray that Dr. Bernard Nathanson mentored replacements to occupy his truly great place in the history of Guardians of the American Zygote.
Fearing he did not, my already heavy heart is yet further weighed down.
God heal our land. God bless Kieth Mason & family. May his great heart dwarf Dr. Nathansen's.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Monday, February 14, 2011
Chuck Smith No More
An early start to a typical Valentines Day (except for the part where I kept coughing on DH, & ran out of Kleenex because last Friday I !ran out! of Zycam...), the 6am Valentines exchage included DH's annual humorous good nature: homemade, hot off the printer, insightful & timely. He's a genius in the Valentine dept. I went back to bed for the ultimate common cold cure, BEDREST. Darn the iPhone, however, as it's been 2 hrs. of emails and websurf, but NO REST. I blame D#1, Bryan Kemper, and Chuck Smith. The former's email documented the latter's incomprehensibly spineless pro-abortion waffling, and so my viral state continues in every way physiologic, Apple-technic, and metaphoric.
My email response, below, betrays my usual acerbity, proof that AmZyg still has a long way to go before growing up and OUT of angry arrogance. I will try to rest now, under the judgment of my Creator and my own worse self.
Only 2.5 months to go before I am 50. What a burden. As if I were not already in a lamentable state, my Valentine of 28 yrs. (+/- 3 break ups) told me I need to DO SOMETHING to halt my lately balding pate. PHILIPPIANS 4 would have me joyful at this sentiment. It indicates that my DH is finally growing serious about his convictions.
"We briefly met in the hallway of your Logos Bldg. You sampled my husband's meatballs served to a gathering of Eagle Forum guests & speakers; & we've since boasted to friends/family that 'Hey! Chuck SMITH likes Hubby's cooking...'
But after hearing you equivocate on the SANCTITY of all human life, we will boast no more, sir. We are awestruck and heartsick, & can't help but surmise whatother areas of moral compromise must be at work in your life for this counter-intuitive conclusion to be reached?? [OH, I shudder to have stooped to the hypocritical tactic of finger pointing.] Else, what Bible-based pastor could possibly counsel a woman to "deify" her doctors by holding their Darwinist opinions above Scripture & concede to kill her own offspring? Doctors are not Gods. The AMA's humanist agenda cultivates demi-gods bent on secularizing their realm. You, sir, above all others, should have seen right through their advice.
[I did not, in my headachey state, begin to address all that was offensive in Pastor Smith's answer to 'Nikki from Riverside' --see Youtube link from Mr. Kemper's StandTrue.com. It allowed that we may do whatever we wish in this life, and that the Compassionate Christ, who forgives all sin, will just look the other way! If this 'anything goes' sense of the Gospel doesn't indicate some morally abased compromise happening in someone's head or heart or doctrines, then AmZyg is not a wily sinner who's own record of justifying sin (pride? anorexia? bulimia? premarital sex? unfaithful anger?) has resulted in untold harm and sizable counseling bills... We cannot just wish away our willful behaviour on the un-biblical, semi-RomanCatholic assumption that "Jesus will just take away my sins." A Just God will press hard into us the ultimatums of right versus wrong, and His judgments are sure and heavy and painful when we refuse to surrender to what His Spirit & Scripture declare is Right. Certainly, when we repent, healing happens in time, and His forgiveness can be real, but the pain of a Believer's regret is a heavy price to pay for wrongheaded willfulness, and the toll it exacts is a lonesome distance between our repentant selves and His ready healing --Lamentations 3 to Psalm 130. This new mindset, if that is what this is, is surely the Emergent Church I keep hearing about.]
I am praying Nikki will get the benefit of true wise counsel and submit to the Awesome Sovereign God of ALL creation, rather than live out her life with the unconscionable memory of blood on her hands.
And the same for you, sir.
Sincerely, Elena Flores Blanco"
Sent from my iPhone
My email response, below, betrays my usual acerbity, proof that AmZyg still has a long way to go before growing up and OUT of angry arrogance. I will try to rest now, under the judgment of my Creator and my own worse self.
Only 2.5 months to go before I am 50. What a burden. As if I were not already in a lamentable state, my Valentine of 28 yrs. (+/- 3 break ups) told me I need to DO SOMETHING to halt my lately balding pate. PHILIPPIANS 4 would have me joyful at this sentiment. It indicates that my DH is finally growing serious about his convictions.
---...---...---...---...---...---...---
My email to Pastor Smith:"We briefly met in the hallway of your Logos Bldg. You sampled my husband's meatballs served to a gathering of Eagle Forum guests & speakers; & we've since boasted to friends/family that 'Hey! Chuck SMITH likes Hubby's cooking...'
But after hearing you equivocate on the SANCTITY of all human life, we will boast no more, sir. We are awestruck and heartsick, & can't help but surmise what
[I did not, in my headachey state, begin to address all that was offensive in Pastor Smith's answer to 'Nikki from Riverside' --see Youtube link from Mr. Kemper's StandTrue.com. It allowed that we may do whatever we wish in this life, and that the Compassionate Christ, who forgives all sin, will just look the other way! If this 'anything goes' sense of the Gospel doesn't indicate some morally abased compromise happening in someone's head or heart or doctrines, then AmZyg is not a wily sinner who's own record of justifying sin (pride? anorexia? bulimia? premarital sex? unfaithful anger?) has resulted in untold harm and sizable counseling bills... We cannot just wish away our willful behaviour on the un-biblical, semi-RomanCatholic assumption that "Jesus will just take away my sins." A Just God will press hard into us the ultimatums of right versus wrong, and His judgments are sure and heavy and painful when we refuse to surrender to what His Spirit & Scripture declare is Right. Certainly, when we repent, healing happens in time, and His forgiveness can be real, but the pain of a Believer's regret is a heavy price to pay for wrongheaded willfulness, and the toll it exacts is a lonesome distance between our repentant selves and His ready healing --Lamentations 3 to Psalm 130. This new mindset, if that is what this is, is surely the Emergent Church I keep hearing about.]
I am praying Nikki will get the benefit of true wise counsel and submit to the Awesome Sovereign God of ALL creation, rather than live out her life with the unconscionable memory of blood on her hands.
And the same for you, sir.
Sincerely, Elena Flores Blanco"
Sent from my iPhone
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Super God
It felt like failing to curtsey before the king.
Holding a two hour long story time & hike to Turtle Pond at a County park without being able to recommend the Creator Savior responsible for it all, was like giving twelve children a bag of potato chips and not a drop of milk to wash it down. I ache at the feeling following me around all evening, that I was rude to a KING.
Thus, to honor this CreatorSaviour, AmZyg is pondering the three months remaining before she must necessarily become 'grown up'; a self respecting fifty year old American citizen-survivor of laws which make it legal to kill a child throughout all nine months of pregnancy.
From a little brochure by L. Brenegan, 2004/LittleOnePublishing.com:
"Month 6. 'I am fourteen inches! I'm sitting up straight now!'
The baby's oil and sweat glands are functioning; these help regulate body temperature. A white filmy layer covers the baby and protects her delicate skin from the surrounding amniotic fluid and from scratches as she twists and turns. This waxy substance will be quickly absorbed into her skin soon after she is born. She can now respond to sound. Her lungs are fairly well developed and she would stand a good chance of survival if born at this time."
As Super Bowl champions return inflated to Green Bay and the defeated Steelers sulk home to Pittsburg, our nation sighs under the pains of opulence. What comes supersized always exacts a fallout. Nehemiah 9-11.
And thoughts of cherished survivors listening to today's reptile and amphibian stories will haunt my thoughts & prayers.
Holding a two hour long story time & hike to Turtle Pond at a County park without being able to recommend the Creator Savior responsible for it all, was like giving twelve children a bag of potato chips and not a drop of milk to wash it down. I ache at the feeling following me around all evening, that I was rude to a KING.
Thus, to honor this CreatorSaviour, AmZyg is pondering the three months remaining before she must necessarily become 'grown up'; a self respecting fifty year old American citizen-survivor of laws which make it legal to kill a child throughout all nine months of pregnancy.
From a little brochure by L. Brenegan, 2004/LittleOnePublishing.com:
"Month 6. 'I am fourteen inches! I'm sitting up straight now!'
The baby's oil and sweat glands are functioning; these help regulate body temperature. A white filmy layer covers the baby and protects her delicate skin from the surrounding amniotic fluid and from scratches as she twists and turns. This waxy substance will be quickly absorbed into her skin soon after she is born. She can now respond to sound. Her lungs are fairly well developed and she would stand a good chance of survival if born at this time."
As Super Bowl champions return inflated to Green Bay and the defeated Steelers sulk home to Pittsburg, our nation sighs under the pains of opulence. What comes supersized always exacts a fallout. Nehemiah 9-11.
And thoughts of cherished survivors listening to today's reptile and amphibian stories will haunt my thoughts & prayers.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Mere Poetry
If I can believe my Good Earth Tea tag, John Adams said, "You will never be alone with a poet in your pocket."
That is why gardening captures the soul. Since nature declares God's poetry, then weeding in The Midst, one is never alone. Unhealthy as it may seem, solo stints in the public gardens where I donate time are reparative, cleansing, thrilling; and yet as calming as an hour with Scott or Stevenson. Unplugged, uninterrupted, birdsonged, sublime.
But sometimes there is a loudmouth in proximity, usually in the flock of volunteers that serve a particular garden area at the same time each week. One recoils from within, doubled over in emotional abeyance, wishing to be anywhere else... enduring the exaltations of this one fellow's petty grievances and lonely proclamations that spoil the salve that is a well tended garden. I understand he is most to be pitied but my practiced patience is mere feigned interest in his conversations.
Would that I could really love from The True Heart of Christ. (That would be like having patience with a narcissistic son. I have so, so far to go.) I ponder the fact that I am assigned to this pack, this gardening team, because I was prone to prune outside the bounds; caught resenting an authority who said NOT to uncover the hidden cafe sign, but I meanly pruned anyway, revealing my own narcissism, even if the spanish tiled sign was now visible for the first time in well over a year. So, this suffering is born of my own rebellion! I am my OS's mother.
PS...
RE: rifled poetry
I think you were on to me, Daughter#1. I did mess with your poetry the other night. You left your laptop open, and when trying to find a podcast on bee hives, there it was, a 'Book I' in the making: 47 pages of your writing from high school to early college. I wondered 'how long till you notice my meddling??' Ah, some 24 hours later, i heard you mutter some lament @ a ...hacker? You waved me off when I inquired, so that means you like my edits?
Maybe leave your laptop off from now on. You know how I crave polished poems. And do delete Zubeo if you like. I have not had one hour at home to listen all week. Someday, when it's my time to paint, maybe.
---Your mum, aka, Clean Freak.
That is why gardening captures the soul. Since nature declares God's poetry, then weeding in The Midst, one is never alone. Unhealthy as it may seem, solo stints in the public gardens where I donate time are reparative, cleansing, thrilling; and yet as calming as an hour with Scott or Stevenson. Unplugged, uninterrupted, birdsonged, sublime.
But sometimes there is a loudmouth in proximity, usually in the flock of volunteers that serve a particular garden area at the same time each week. One recoils from within, doubled over in emotional abeyance, wishing to be anywhere else... enduring the exaltations of this one fellow's petty grievances and lonely proclamations that spoil the salve that is a well tended garden. I understand he is most to be pitied but my practiced patience is mere feigned interest in his conversations.
Would that I could really love from The True Heart of Christ. (That would be like having patience with a narcissistic son. I have so, so far to go.) I ponder the fact that I am assigned to this pack, this gardening team, because I was prone to prune outside the bounds; caught resenting an authority who said NOT to uncover the hidden cafe sign, but I meanly pruned anyway, revealing my own narcissism, even if the spanish tiled sign was now visible for the first time in well over a year. So, this suffering is born of my own rebellion! I am my OS's mother.
PS...
RE: rifled poetry
I think you were on to me, Daughter#1. I did mess with your poetry the other night. You left your laptop open, and when trying to find a podcast on bee hives, there it was, a 'Book I' in the making: 47 pages of your writing from high school to early college. I wondered 'how long till you notice my meddling??' Ah, some 24 hours later, i heard you mutter some lament @ a ...hacker? You waved me off when I inquired, so that means you like my edits?
Maybe leave your laptop off from now on. You know how I crave polished poems. And do delete Zubeo if you like. I have not had one hour at home to listen all week. Someday, when it's my time to paint, maybe.
---Your mum, aka, Clean Freak.
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