Prayer for SuperTUESday

I said it's dark in here.
Zygote's waiting for the light of day at the end of another long tri-term semester. . .

First, near complete NYmedia silence that Steve Job's had been adopted. Only Washington Times pondered the good fortune of consumers everywhere that RoeWade hadn't been legal in the 1950's.

Then, unconstitutional federal demands on faith based employers to pay for employee birth control.  Glaring Constitutional issues aside, I heard no one mention that every birth control pill has in place an ABORTIFACIENT FUNCTION whereby breakthrough pregnancies are ELIMINATED by a chemical obstacle to implantation.

The Pill IS abortion. Dutiful CB's everywhere are unaware that, by following their AMA doctor's orders, they're killing their children.

(How many don't even care? And how many pastor's wives qualify as CB's for telling concerned congregants that the church won't touch controversial issues? Answer: at least one.)

Now, Mr. Santorum has the upper hand. He's exposed the flipper, Romney, and come up smelling rosy.  I am so grateful to God for him, and if I could smell en utero, I'd inhale deeply right now.

Instead, I'll just savor the day I sent him flowers for being the only elected official to take a public stand for sacred marriage. The D.C. florist reported back that it took hours getting through the post 911 Capital security with those.

Last Friday's Wall Street Journal.
Nothing today; they puff Romney
(We zygotes depend on his personal views becoming policy)

And thirdly, thanks to facial expressions like these, Mr. Gingrich can start packing up the farm. . .

[Holy God, have mercy. Save our nation once again. Let down your glory, your eye-opening grace, ((your healing balm of forgiveness for my calling someone a CB)). Lift your curse of blindness from this people and give us a President with the anointing of your Son, our Savior, ChristJesus. - -  Amen.]

Observant of an Heritage

This fine Ash WedNESday tried:

The 280th, maybe, birthday

Of Greatness rarified.

Good George, the last best hope

Of this people's rotting pride;

Born before Greg - Julian split 

(That schism when the calendar plied).

Since the Bristol Farms man had no Shad, I asked him,

"What else Did Martha find to eat Along the mighty Potomac?" 

The fishmonger pushed a pricy venison, so tonight we'll eat his game, roots and tubers, peas and beans, and "salat" fresh from the herb garden. 

We'll sing an ode, read a speech and toast the name of him whose propriety ought to be the core of every man, and until Christ comes again, I'll cry because it is not.

"O eternal and everlasting God, I presume to present myself this morning before thy Divine majesty, beseeching thee to accept of my humble and hearty thanks, that it hath pleased they great goodness to keep and preserve me the night past from all the dangers poor mortals are subject to, and has given me sweet and pleasant sleep, whereby I find my body refreshed and comforted for performing the duties of this day, in which I beseech thee to defend me from all perils of body and soul.

Direct my thoughts, words and work, and wash away my sins in the immaculate blood of the lamb, and purge my heart by thy holy spirit from the dross of my natural corruption, that I may with more freedom of mind and liberty of will serve thee, the everlasting God, in righteousness and holiness this day and all the days of my life."

George Washington (1732-1799)

- - Prayer journal, undated, Mount Vernon.

HOUSE: Day In the Life

Suddenly, everything is a process. Everybody's gloating philosophically about "submitting to the process..." Recovery is a process. Grieving is a process. Sanctification is a process.

"Life is Process."

This week, the plans I made to be gone by March were stymied by children whose determination was greater than mine, and whose patience with my angry spirit had reached its end. I'd accused them for the nth time of being incapable of faithfully paying rent on time as our tenants, hoping a bevy of their rent paying friends would move in here with them, able and willing to convince me that THEY would rally the troops and not ONE rent payment would ever be late.

No such shot fired across my bow. Disgusted with my lack of confidence, they booked.

Moral Inventory:
Absorbed the end of my fantasy and the depth of their decades old dust bunnies while eating 10,000 calories in potato chips, chocolate pie, oatmeal, soup and buttered cornbread.

Happy Valentines Day, where's the seltzer.

MOVINGDAY MOMENTS:

Be it hereby declared, 
I owe no more for broken teacups and saucers.  
Pls sign and date this document.

What kind of world is this where there are no boxes for hoopskirts?

Not the discard pile?

OK, I finally see it. It's not your greatest work. 

Wo. It really did take three days. 

So glad this thing won't startle every time I walk down the hall.

Please tell the Elves and Fairies to leave an ambassador behind for future garden negotiations.

I painted on Diana's blue scarf, my finest work to date. 
!Take care of that priceless article.

At 2AM, found a bedless child asleep on the couch.
SOME headless sibling had taken his mattress.
A 3am survey of the pilfered room followed:

Under the boxspring (how kind of them to leave that),  and my 3AM candle

Confident this one could evacuate in two hours, tops.
But hire a maid service when you do: 
things WILL be found growing under the banana peels, 
coffee cups and Brit Lit tonnage.

 --- . --- . --- . ---

Turning Corner, going left.
WrongWayWrongTurn,
Sense Bereft!
But
Undersand
Freedom's heft
Notwithstanding monies left.

The $300/month difference
Could compel
Your
artist selves
To finally swell;
Desperation may work
well.

Time will tell.

Pray:
Remaining sibling's living hell
won't recoil him
Into shell.

Again.

200 years. And a day.

Bit of cake, whipped up quick,
Spot of tea 'n cream forthwith;
All to hail a great man's birth
Whose chapters leveled death and mirth.

For Dickens' British wit and breadth,
Span of centuries since death,
Yet lives on at bedstands here,
More than hints in J's demeanor.

Read out scene of Copperfield,
Had our beef, teacups upheld;*
Lauded greatness, laughed a bit.
TuckedIn till TwentyOneTwelve clicks.

Now for Downton, since it's clear
I always read The Greats NEXT year.


*[Oh blast; t'was mugs we was lift'in,
them teacups just sit in that hutch, starin' out at us.]