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.