4.28.15

[ Calendar log taped to the headboard. Learned
how unfaithful I am at daily intercession ]

For this day I've knelt since January;
For a team of legal minds
Called upon to sweat and bleed and
Sow unearthly wisdom
So that rows of black and
White Truth
Might emerge for
Harvest time this June.

Their purpose was
Unthinkable a
Few short seasons ago; so,

Besides tough mental prep, scouring
Briefs and sparring
States of mind,
Research, counsel, and divine epiphanies
Beyond mere common sense,
They stand down scorn and threats of scorn
The likes of which few men have ever known.

Might there be anyone on earth
So prepared to Stand
Up to such an ever widened gap,

Against so enormous a foe as
Everyone Else in The World
of
Man birthed power?
Who are these few who hold the destiny of
An entire nation within the folds of
Accordioned case boxes?
And
Where does your courage come from?

Whomever you are, know we're glad it's you
Instead of us who wither
At the smallest hint of hate.

[ Huzzah to Bursch and Whalen ]

Armanian Yield

My Dear, Dear Armenian,
Instead of mania after 100 long years since injustice meted out your bitter dispersal, instead of remaining a bitter, abused people, instead of outcry and just demands,

imagine with me, a different scenario:

Imagine that, after enduring horrific atrocities mercilessly inflicted and then ignored by all the world, teams of God invested and God fearing Armenian survivors determined to lock arms with the entire world in an unusual display of concerted obedience, setting up prayer pods aimed to intercede for the nation of Turkey; purposing to heal by means of something hitherto unheard of (unless you sit alert and attentive in a Christian church every Sabbath Day); a long term method of praying for those who persecute you which finds comfort in actually blessing those who despitefully use you.

Imagine, without so much as an uttered word about harm done and trauma suffered (and nothing about genocide, because that iron word hadn't yet been invented), a new idea sprang up from the dirt and dust of heartbreak and despair in 1915.

Imagine some unprecedented pursuit bent on a 100 year long strategy to counter hate and bile and anger.  Imagine ignoring the passionate need for retribution that we all suffer from when we can taste nothing but the hoped for flavor of justice exacted right before our eyes, and instead, dying to all that out of obedience to scripture?

Let's say this drive to dismantle these demons of fallen men and angels became an orchestrated response through the setting up of merely ONE prayer pod in every nation of the world, wherever Armenians find themselves, organized to meet weekly, albeit weakly, and to replenish its members every few months so that it would spread; and before long, every city in every nation had one. Prayers for the government of Turkey would be multiplied.

Let's say this effort went off silently, pacing itself week by week, month by month, until years passed, and then slowly, imperceptibly, the Church, The Body of Christ, began to take note ... and

BAM. Organic change: a generosity of spirit manifested by these holy saints leaks out onto the heart of Christianity across all cultures, nations, and denominations. Then,

suddenly, after 100 dutiful years had elapsed, all the world has unknowingly been schooled by the power of the long since animated Holy Spirit who is quickened by such an inordinate, uncommon and truly unheard-of determination to remain obedient to the Word of God.

History would be changed. Turkey would have been changed. This world we now face would not be as it is and Western Christianity would not, I daresay, be a hedonistic exercise in entitlement and material acquisition. 

Rather,

all the world would clearly see The Way to Christ through a humble preference to love one's enemy. The example set by the persecuted among us would have given all of us new eyes for what genuine forgiveness looks like. And genuine repentance. And genuine everything.

And I would be changed. Instead of licking my wounds and clinging so much to my victim status, I would realize a larger purpose for my pain.

AmZyg might be a cheery puddle of sunshine, not the Eeyore cave she so delights in. Her DnA would refract different hues altogether.

And therein lies my dream.  To at last see offenses as if they were committed against God himself, instead of against me. For He is where my final justice comes from. I can be certain that, as sure as the sun will rise tomorrow, a just God will have his day.

I, and you, too, little AmZyg, must stop forever taking offenses personally. Sin, ALL sin, is an offense against the Almighty. Not you.

So get over yourself?

Thus is the essence of our PRO-Life ideal.

To WAIT for the justice we know is coming, even if it takes 100 years. or 1,000.

Times ten.

And to hope, meanwhile, for our enemies to see The Living Christ through our longsuffering, and embrace Him.

"With God, there is no injustice..." 

~ Jehoshaphat in II Chronicles 19:7

(i.e., He will see to the job of avenging the weak. In due time, He will do it. 

It is not our job to exact it ourselves.)

*** SUPPORT this group:

Women for Middle East Hope

Box 2770 Easton MD, 21601 • (866) 744-7287

womenformiddleeasthope.org

http://www.womenformiddleeasthope.org/

Juan The Pirate

Remembering my Dad on Thanksgiving.

Juan The Pirate, who early dreamed of becoming a sailor in the Mexican Navy...

...or, not.

Because our Family Secret is that much of what he pontificated about every night at the dinner table during the 50's, 60's and 70's was, well, embellished; and all the stories told about his Mexican childhood were probably more a grand fiction than a grand survivors tale (did Mexico even have a Navy in the 1930's?).

Grander still was that bigger-than-life place in the world that my dear Dad occupied in his own mind. Yet, despite that overbearingness, we all endured his ego well enough; and mostly recall his memory with fondness all these years later.

As I ponder and plan the purposes and blessings of the Thanksgiving Feast, I keep harkening back to the promise that was "Sir Juan The Great."  Were his purposes on earth mostly met? Did he accomplish what he set out to do?

What did God put him here to do?

Purpose One was to discipline and hone his gifts in the chemistry lab. Pegged to be an MD, he reconsidered the plan once he transferred from his home in central Mexico to two Catholic colleges here in the United States, 1945.

He came to love the intellectual rigor of the research lab, and before too long,  he was all about the study of entomology, pesticides, herbicides and plants; patents, published papers, a stint in Sittingbourne, England, and a dream-come-true retirement all folded together to make a keen and tidy all-American life.

And that's all well and good (if you're not a Rachel Carson fan), but what remained once he was cremated and gone?

There was his man-cave study (oh, goodness, NO TV for Juan); his mountains of slides and photos; a collection of sporty British hats and sweaters; a faith tradition that mostly meant church on Sunday bunches of assorted prayer cards in drawers and closets; a few patents and even a published paper I found on the web that was so technical I became bleary eyed within the first paragraph.

But there was one more element to Juan The Great.  Purpose Two was to reproduce a faith in his progeny.

What legacy remains for his six offspring?  Would the proof be in 13 grandkids? Are they picking up the mantle of faith he lived? Uh, not really.

A tidy stack of monthly Magnificat devotionals only materialized in those final years, when he knew his imminent departure would come from a heart condition he would not treat; but this was long after the grandkids were grown. Nevertheless, LIFE with GOD got suddenly real in those latter days.

The Magnificat is put out by a slice of Roman Catholicism which actually subscribes to genuine Jesus talk. Born Again Faith teachings. RELATIONSHIP with CHRIST assumptions. It might even teach ideas about how Christ alone saves you rather than depending wholly on a life well-enough lived, generous donations or a well funded patronage. That time honored reliance upon any old priest or parish or pope to get the job done is mostly missing from The Magnificat, and Dad relished each one.

That is what finally inspired me about Sir Juan before he died: the way he allowed God to humble him during the last five years or so of his life on earth.

IF ONLY HE'D KNOWN SOONER THE DIFFERENCE CHRIST MAKES on one's temperament, time, talent and treasure.

THINK what a difference his grand kids might now be making.

I once told him that when he is gone, I would tell people what a GREAT man he was, and I meant it. The earlier disrespect I had for him that so marred my childhood, took an about-face in those final years; because he truly did become great, no longer as a figment of his own ego-filled imagination, or by virtue of his rags to riches life story, but because he lived out a vibrant RELATIONSHIP with His Lord and Saviour by repenting of sin, forgiving others, and faithfully reading the Scriptures; all of it leading to authentic life-change...

... by the Grace of God.

ZY-Going Goes Back Seat

   While midlife hammers on my tin-thin tiny conscience, I've taken to trying any therapy but the REAL kind of therapy . . . This doesn't get you very far.

     Oh, little Zygote.

     When will you learn to just deposit Truth In Your Inward Parts and leave your proud little objections on that 4th Grade Playground, where they belong?

SHOPPING THERAPY
(they mostly went back)

NEWSPAPER THERAPY
(I'm over fifty, after all)

VOODOO THERAPY (just kidding)

PUZZLE THERAPY
(never could get this one)

GARDEN THERAPY
(these mostly died)

WALK THERAPY
(proves asthma cAn be treated w/o drugs, but you need lots of hills)

ART THERAPY
(this one landed in the dust bin. Now that I see what it lacks, I want it back.)

CHORE THERAPY (er, hello, looks like Champagne Therapy?)

THINGS THAT BEGIN WITH "C" & "H" THERAPY

ANTI-SELFIE Therapy

"REAL kind of therapy": knowing the heart of God

    Proverbs 18:2:

"A fool does not delight in understanding, but only in revealing his own mind..."

Proverbs 28:14:

"Blessed is the one who always trembles before God,

    but whoever hardens their heart falls into trouble."

Just Tears

Depression.

Tears.

Forty one years?

Legalized child killing allowed to cast a deathpall

Over the entirety of a nation.

My MomKeeper just cries.

Even the Israelites found their final freedom in less time.




"No RSS for this feed..."  Whatever.

http://liveactionnews.org/live-action-marches-for-life-in-2014/

Remnant Pall. How Long, O LORD...

Fall of Mandela

Fall orange and chill
Not very gone
As 'Cember rolls along,
But year end props puddle the news:
Mandela breathed and gone.

Better hero, Steve Biko?
I think he lobbed no bombs,
And look, now this. A demon monarch
Bled THIS man who
Thought alone:

http://youtu.be/HKO7MmJ60zY

UNHINGED By Fetal Pain, My Ears Are Burning

I have my ear horn out, pressed hard against the uterine lining of my Mah's midsection listening to the radio. I can hear talk show host Larry Mantle interview an EXPERT on fetal pain.  This dapper fellow explains his reasons for believing the 20 week old fetus does not experience pain, and that a bill in the great Republic of Texas should not be passed, disallowing any abortion over 20 weeks gestation.

Mr. Mantle's guest is smarmy and intellectual; an authoritative voice of reason, mainly because he speaks with a British accent and is an ASSOCIATE professor.

His name is Mr. Stuart Derbyshire.

Derbyshire teaches at the National University of Singapore. He explains that because I cannot formulate adult level, "higher order" thought processes, I cannot possibly experience pain.

"It isn't sitting in the womb worrying about what is happening, thinking 'Oh my God, my leg is being removed! 'What am I going to do? How do I get out of here!? Why is this happening?!' That existential angst many of us have about what is happening to us...

that autobiographical response, I think we can all agree, that is NOT happening to the fetus...

... he's not comprehending what is going on. It might be apprehending something, in a very immediate fashion, but that's not pain as we typically think about someone experiencing pain..."


Well.
I'm glad he cleared that up.  I've been concerned my lac of wokabuLArry mite ghed mhe in hhod wadder sumdaee...

BRITISH THINGS ARE SO INSTANTLY RESPECTABLE

Dr. Emidio Novembre took my position. An anesthesiologist and MD/PhD, Mr. Novembre's speech is lumbering, painstaking.

He does not have a British accent.
He unfortunately speaks with a Brooklyn taxi driver's accent.

You can see how these grown up arguments go. It's all about smoke and mirrors. If you're not articulate, even if you're ten million times SMARTER than your opponent, you can't possibly win in the grand and glorious branded marketplace of ideas.

But hear this without your ears; read this with your very own mind.  Yes, put down that ear horn and just read:

Senor Novembre speaks from his experience; his 25 years in medicine, 5000 OB deliveries,  his extensive training in anatomy wherein he learned that the subthalamic plate transition feature is intact in the fetus (that would be ME...) at 16 weeks, much earlier than Sir Knighted "Charley" Stuart Derbyshire said.

Mr. Novembre's long experience as a fellowship trained, board certified obstetric anesthesiologist is decisive:

"...the babies born at 24 weeks definitely feel pain when I put an IV in their arm!"

I think I can concur with that statement.
I am feeling pain right now just thinking about my leg being "removed," actually. Owww...!

Also, feels somewhat hot in here, and in a very immediate fashion, I feel my adrenal glands are getting pumped just a little. That can't be anger, however, as I am far too young a zygote to ever experience anger.

Must just be gas.
Oh, how I love the way science makes everything so very crystal clear.