Many years ago, when dealing with holiday angst, I realized something vital and important. I'd been watching a movie where the family all came together on a snowy November Thanksgiving Day, gathered around the table and laughter arose. "WHY ," I cried out, "can't my family be like that one?" Well then it hit me. These people weren't family! They were merely actors being paid to portray an idealistic view of a family. Had it been a real family I am sure the air at the table would have been rife with petty annoyances, jealousies, unforgiveness, anger, hurt...Hidden, or not, under laughter and teasing and polite conversation.
This past month I've dealt with a head-on crash course in that reminder. I find myself angry, upset, aggravated, hurt, frustrated. And confused on so many levels, I could barely sort myself out. At this time of life, the last thing I need is more confusion! I get quite enough as it is with the hormonal (or as my daughter insisted on calling them "Horror moans") changes. And I mightily dislike the bitter, complaining, whining woman I become when I try to tell others of the sheer perfidy, the angst, the manipulations of family relationships by one family member or another.
Which leaves me wondering why we are born into a family? How is it we feel alienated from the very people who are related to us by blood and genetics? And how is it that we are formed by that family into a person alien to them? Why do I feel like a stranger amongst my own people?
True, even within my own home there are those children who feel alienated by our beliefs and philosophies and who seek to distance themselves physically, mentally, and spiritually...but in the end, aren't we all we've got? And in the end, shouldn't we all just try to get along? And why is it that some are expected to go far greater distances to get along than others who prefer to wallow in their mucky messes?
Family....Now there's a real mystery of life!
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Saying No to a Return of the Past
Throwing all previously made plans to the wind, Mama made the decision to send Granny on to rehab in a city about 50 miles distant, one which has evening visitation hours only during the week. And one which has extremely painful memories for me. I balked when Mama suggested the place, not because it isn't a good facility, but there did seem so many more things going for the local nursing home, including its nearness to us all.
But it wasn't until it was all settled that Mama told me about it and then I bumped hard against a lot of emotion I didn't expect. And realized that I can't, I simply cannot go to this rehab hospital to visit. Thankfully Granny will only be there ten days and I can talk to her via phone.
There are just memories I prefer to set fully aside, and rehab is one of them. It was such a horribly painful time, such a place of complete aloneness, such a time of intense fear and worry, that I literally feel physically sick thinking of revisiting that place. And so I'm going to do something I seldom allow myself to do: I am not going to put the big girl panties on. I'm going to give in to my emotional response and say "No, sorry, can't do it." I've had enough just lately of putting aside my feelings, and this is a place I can't/won't/am not ready to, face again.
I've been reading a blog called, My Messy Thrilling Life. This young woman went through the break-up of her marriage, a career change, job loss, emotional struggle after struggle and more over the past four years. Recently she made the decision to stop writing the blog. She's turned thirty this month. She says she's ready for a fresh page. I know just how she feels. There's a point in your painful life where you simply have to pack up the past and let it be and that's what she's done. You don't have to save it for dealing with later, because by heavens you've lived every single intense moment of it already, dealing with it as it came along. But you realize that moving forward isn't possible as long as you leave the squirming, messy, stinking box of raw emotions wide open to be seen by all and sundry and to daily remind you of where you've been. It's when you say to yourself "Enough, already!" that you realize it's time to put it all away once and for all.
I've bumped up against that painful era in my life at least three times in the past five months. I had to forgive some really hurtful incidents in order to take over Mama's care when she broke her ankle. I tried to revisit a church I'd gone to at that time in my life and through a pure fluke missed the services. I realized later that day that the 'fluke' was God's intervention, that I didn't need to revisit that place in my life, nor dig up those memories. It took a little while for it all to gel for me, but I realized the same yesterday about physical rehab. I don't need to revisit that part of my past. And I will the moment I pull into the parking lot and walk through the front doors.
Will I catch flack for it from my family? You betcha I will, but the person who really counts is my husband who fully understands. I've been a glutton about revisiting the past, remembering the hurts and the pains and trying to sort that portion of my life out, to the point of almost compulsion. For me to say that this is a place I simply do not want to revisit is a relief to him. He's seen enough of that side of my life. And so have I. So have I.
But it wasn't until it was all settled that Mama told me about it and then I bumped hard against a lot of emotion I didn't expect. And realized that I can't, I simply cannot go to this rehab hospital to visit. Thankfully Granny will only be there ten days and I can talk to her via phone.
There are just memories I prefer to set fully aside, and rehab is one of them. It was such a horribly painful time, such a place of complete aloneness, such a time of intense fear and worry, that I literally feel physically sick thinking of revisiting that place. And so I'm going to do something I seldom allow myself to do: I am not going to put the big girl panties on. I'm going to give in to my emotional response and say "No, sorry, can't do it." I've had enough just lately of putting aside my feelings, and this is a place I can't/won't/am not ready to, face again.
I've been reading a blog called, My Messy Thrilling Life. This young woman went through the break-up of her marriage, a career change, job loss, emotional struggle after struggle and more over the past four years. Recently she made the decision to stop writing the blog. She's turned thirty this month. She says she's ready for a fresh page. I know just how she feels. There's a point in your painful life where you simply have to pack up the past and let it be and that's what she's done. You don't have to save it for dealing with later, because by heavens you've lived every single intense moment of it already, dealing with it as it came along. But you realize that moving forward isn't possible as long as you leave the squirming, messy, stinking box of raw emotions wide open to be seen by all and sundry and to daily remind you of where you've been. It's when you say to yourself "Enough, already!" that you realize it's time to put it all away once and for all.
I've bumped up against that painful era in my life at least three times in the past five months. I had to forgive some really hurtful incidents in order to take over Mama's care when she broke her ankle. I tried to revisit a church I'd gone to at that time in my life and through a pure fluke missed the services. I realized later that day that the 'fluke' was God's intervention, that I didn't need to revisit that place in my life, nor dig up those memories. It took a little while for it all to gel for me, but I realized the same yesterday about physical rehab. I don't need to revisit that part of my past. And I will the moment I pull into the parking lot and walk through the front doors.
Will I catch flack for it from my family? You betcha I will, but the person who really counts is my husband who fully understands. I've been a glutton about revisiting the past, remembering the hurts and the pains and trying to sort that portion of my life out, to the point of almost compulsion. For me to say that this is a place I simply do not want to revisit is a relief to him. He's seen enough of that side of my life. And so have I. So have I.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Real Life Sometimes Sucks
My granny is 92 years old. She has been my friend, my shelter, my strength, my encourager...A rock, is what my brother calls her. She's always been a vital and strong woman. We have always been proud of her strength and wisdom, sharing her freely with our friends, with other family members, with strangers, because of who and what she has been to us.
Saturday evening Granny fell. She was outdoors and managed to pull herself inside her house but spent about 18 hours on the floor, doors wide open, until my brother found her when he went up to mow her lawn. At her urging, he got her up into a chair, called for my cousins to come help clean her up, and then with their help he put her to bed where she promptly fell asleep and slept, as she said, "Like a baby." She denied any pain, scoffed at their urging her to let them call an ambulance.
I didn't hear about her accident until late Sunday evening. I asked Mama if I should go up, but not knowing if she was still abed, concerned that my going to visit so late in the evening would cause her to rise from her bed and perhaps stumble trying to get to the door, discouraged me. I waited until Monday morning, and after dropping Kay off at the bus stop headed to Granny's. There I found my brother had spent the night though he had since gone home. His wife was with her, so that he could go home and rest.
I asked about hospital/doctor. No, no Granny said, we'd just wait. If she could just lie still she'd be better soon. Later, she had a spell of incontinence. I told her I'd clean things up and reached out and lightly touched her thigh. She yelped. I gently lifted her gown and saw the swollen thigh. "I think," I said to my sister in law, "that she's broken her hip or femur...and she's got to go to the hospital, regardless of what she says." I explained to Granny that the bone was likely broken and my brother called the ambulance.
I returned home after Granny was on her way to the hospital to call Mama and let her know I'd pick her up on my way through town and take her to the hospital. And at that moment it hit. I recalled my husband's remark a few months ago when Mama fell breaking her ankle in three places..."I thought we'd be looking after grandkids by now...Instead it's been parents and family members." This certainly was beginning to look like a season of caring for parents and grandparents. And I too had dreamed it would be grandchildren at this stage of our lives.
Granny was admitted and today went through surgery to repair the hip God gave her. But there's more. An increasing tendency to drift in her thoughts, odd remarks, forgetfulness...This is not the strong woman I grew up knowing. This woman is frail and pitiful, plucking at her bedcovers, and looking a little confused at the babble of voices around her. The woman I knew is still there. More there than not, mind you. But there's this old woman who has crept in, too.
I watched my mother as she used her walker to move around the hospital hallways. She looks fragile, too, in a way that she didn't four months ago. Who are these two women? Who are these people who need me to be stronger and more outspoken and call upon my strength and my humor and my knowledge to keep them going?
It's been hard. There's no lying about it. To care for the parents and grandparents who cared for us; to comfort, coddle, encourage and struggle with those who did so much for us once upon a time, to reverse our roles and become the child/parent, struggling to keep the division of lines, being respectful and at the same time firm and commanding as needed, is truly difficult. And there is a whole new meaning, a poignancy to the phrase "This too shall pass," because that is an inevitable moment looming ahead of us as well.
I know there are moments in all our lives when we must do things we'd rather not do; when we wonder how on earth we can possibly go forward; when we think we'd like to be anywhere but where we are at that given time. As the commercial says, "I'm there." In that spot. In that place.
Saturday evening Granny fell. She was outdoors and managed to pull herself inside her house but spent about 18 hours on the floor, doors wide open, until my brother found her when he went up to mow her lawn. At her urging, he got her up into a chair, called for my cousins to come help clean her up, and then with their help he put her to bed where she promptly fell asleep and slept, as she said, "Like a baby." She denied any pain, scoffed at their urging her to let them call an ambulance.
I didn't hear about her accident until late Sunday evening. I asked Mama if I should go up, but not knowing if she was still abed, concerned that my going to visit so late in the evening would cause her to rise from her bed and perhaps stumble trying to get to the door, discouraged me. I waited until Monday morning, and after dropping Kay off at the bus stop headed to Granny's. There I found my brother had spent the night though he had since gone home. His wife was with her, so that he could go home and rest.
I asked about hospital/doctor. No, no Granny said, we'd just wait. If she could just lie still she'd be better soon. Later, she had a spell of incontinence. I told her I'd clean things up and reached out and lightly touched her thigh. She yelped. I gently lifted her gown and saw the swollen thigh. "I think," I said to my sister in law, "that she's broken her hip or femur...and she's got to go to the hospital, regardless of what she says." I explained to Granny that the bone was likely broken and my brother called the ambulance.
I returned home after Granny was on her way to the hospital to call Mama and let her know I'd pick her up on my way through town and take her to the hospital. And at that moment it hit. I recalled my husband's remark a few months ago when Mama fell breaking her ankle in three places..."I thought we'd be looking after grandkids by now...Instead it's been parents and family members." This certainly was beginning to look like a season of caring for parents and grandparents. And I too had dreamed it would be grandchildren at this stage of our lives.
Granny was admitted and today went through surgery to repair the hip God gave her. But there's more. An increasing tendency to drift in her thoughts, odd remarks, forgetfulness...This is not the strong woman I grew up knowing. This woman is frail and pitiful, plucking at her bedcovers, and looking a little confused at the babble of voices around her. The woman I knew is still there. More there than not, mind you. But there's this old woman who has crept in, too.
I watched my mother as she used her walker to move around the hospital hallways. She looks fragile, too, in a way that she didn't four months ago. Who are these two women? Who are these people who need me to be stronger and more outspoken and call upon my strength and my humor and my knowledge to keep them going?
It's been hard. There's no lying about it. To care for the parents and grandparents who cared for us; to comfort, coddle, encourage and struggle with those who did so much for us once upon a time, to reverse our roles and become the child/parent, struggling to keep the division of lines, being respectful and at the same time firm and commanding as needed, is truly difficult. And there is a whole new meaning, a poignancy to the phrase "This too shall pass," because that is an inevitable moment looming ahead of us as well.
I know there are moments in all our lives when we must do things we'd rather not do; when we wonder how on earth we can possibly go forward; when we think we'd like to be anywhere but where we are at that given time. As the commercial says, "I'm there." In that spot. In that place.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Where ya Been?
I've felt such guilt each time I'd go to read a blog and realize that I hadn't posted an entry here. And then this morning, as I was trying to view another blog, I had to research my password, not an uncommon occurrence with a periomenopausal mind, believe you me. And suddenly this blog was up on the screen and I saw that it had been almost a year, a full whole year, since I last wrote.
So where have I been?
A year ago a friend of ours, age 45, died unexpectedly of a massive stroke. It was a horrible shock to us all. We'd seen him just a few days earlier in church. He was asked to give the closing prayer and he ended not with the traditional "Amen" but a sincerely stated sentence, "Talk to you later, Lord." His ending generated a warm chuckle from all the congregation, but it spoke volumes about Dutch and his relationship with the Lord and we all knew it. He missed church that Sunday due to a spring cold, and again the following Wednesday night, and Thursday morning they found him in his apartment. By Sunday, he had suffered two more major cerebral strokes and finally, he died.
We loved Dutch and while you might think my absence was a prolonged grieving for him, it wasn't. His funeral was the most remarkable funeral I've attended to date. His mother sobbed uncontrollably. BUT his family and his friends laughed and laughed and laughed as one story after another was told of this man who lived his life fully and well.
However, I was not feeling well the day of the funeral. We'd planned to head to Lakeland, Florida to attend the Revival that was ongoing at that time. On the day of the funeral, I took my husband back to work and got lost on my way home. I felt so ill. I so desperately wanted to not disappoint my husband about the trip to Florida. I was in pain and nearly disoriented with it and missed a road I knew well. I finally found my way back to a familiar road, went home and packed.
As we headed to Florida I knew that I was well and truly ill but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why or how. I had shooting pains all over the right side of my face and head. I could feel a cold sore coming up on my lip, something I've never had in my life. My teeth hurt on that side of my face, so badly that I couldn't bear to bite down. My ear ached. I felt awful and that is the truth.
We arrived in Florida and went to our hotel to check in and while I waited in the car, a woman walked up to me and laid hands on me and prayed for me. I guess I looked sick even to her. We did attend the Revival meeting that night and I am here to tell you it was totally awesome, so wonderfully marvelously awesome! But I was so ill, all the same. Odd, here I was at a healing Revival and I was sick.
The next day I was worse. We had a long drive home, and stopped off at Ignited church. Another woman laid hands on me and prayed and the swelling in my lymph nodes on the right side of my throat considerably reduced. I felt better, still ill, but better and we were almost home before I began to feel badly again.
It wasn't a life threatening illness that had me in its grips I discovered the next day, but shingles, a remnant of my old chicken pox virus from childhood. But because I'd been ill for three days at that point, the virus was deep seated and it took nearly two months for the blisters on my face to disappear. And really it took the remainder of the year to once again begin to feel like myself.
Have things changed in that long year just past? Oh yes.
I met my new DIL for the first time. It was a difficult visit in many ways. Not her fault. Not my fault. Just two people forced into a relationship where they don't know one another. A lot of insecurities to deal with on both sides. What held it all together was her obvious love for my son, and her awareness that though I am step mom, I am Mom in his eyes.
I grieved for my grandchildren who live so very far away and went through yet another rough patch with my daughter being noncommunicative due to another imagined slight.
My grandmother experienced some TIA's which made her uncharecteristically angry and upset. Mama and I went to search for Granny's missing purse and found paperwork and junk mail stuffed in boxes dating back to 1967. As we sorted thru things, Granny became increasingly upset and confused. In the end, we decided she'd lived with the mess for all these years, she could live with it a bit longer. The house is essentially clean, just stacked to the ceiling on all walls with boxes of stuff she feels it's necessary to keep.
I faced a 15 yr old 'in love' with a troubled young man with a very difficult mother who felt she should be involved every step of the way.
In October, we returned to South Florida, and wandered the streets where my husband grew up. It was cathartic and healing and wonderful. But it was upon this 'vacation' that I realized my physical strength was seriously compromised. My 'brick wall' days as I describe them, were coming with increasing frequency. My pain levels were very high. I didn't visit a doctor for a variety of reasons. Number one, no insurance. Number two, I couldn't very well describe any of my symptoms as something tangible. I hurt. I was tired. I slept a lot. A lot. The whole vacation I did nothing but doze: in bed, in the car, on the balcony of the condo overlooking the ocean. And when we left I was just as tired as I'd been all along.
My mom broke her ankle, just about the time I realized that as far as she and I have progressed, I still had some rather deep seated unforgiveness towards her. As I spent December and January and February and some of March caring for her I've learned to stand up for myself, to forgive, to state my boundaries (both physical and personal) and stick to them even when mother guilt threatened to push the limits. I had to insist that she find someone to help care for her. That she learn to manage as much as she could on her own. That I had only limited time and I would not give up my entire life to her needs. It was hard, so hard.
Because of Mama's disability, Granny's needs were also heaped upon my shoulders, so suddenly I found myself running three households.
I passed the half century mark and celebrated my 50th birthday. And yes, there was a bit of fuss this year. My husband, though he was working, came home armed with all the necessary things to make my most favorite cake in the world: strawberry shortcake. It was such a lovely thing and I was so thrilled with his remembering that it was my favorite cake, that the cake itself hardly mattered.
This year, my husband said he wanted to sow a seed into my ministry and my dream. So he bought me a laptop and encouraged me to go into my room, shut the door and write. It isn't far along, but I've a few thousand words of my first fiction novel on that computer. And a couple of submissions for print venues.
And two weeks ago, inexplicably, I felt as though I'd turned a corner. My energy levels are so high that I can't believe it is me, the same brick wall person. I've been doing physically demanding things like lifting bags of mulch and digging up deep rooted plants and moving furniture and I've not had a twinge of pain. And finally I feel like I can be the strong person I claimed in my resolutions for this year.
So that's where I've been. And this is where I'm at. And it's so good to be back!
So where have I been?
A year ago a friend of ours, age 45, died unexpectedly of a massive stroke. It was a horrible shock to us all. We'd seen him just a few days earlier in church. He was asked to give the closing prayer and he ended not with the traditional "Amen" but a sincerely stated sentence, "Talk to you later, Lord." His ending generated a warm chuckle from all the congregation, but it spoke volumes about Dutch and his relationship with the Lord and we all knew it. He missed church that Sunday due to a spring cold, and again the following Wednesday night, and Thursday morning they found him in his apartment. By Sunday, he had suffered two more major cerebral strokes and finally, he died.
We loved Dutch and while you might think my absence was a prolonged grieving for him, it wasn't. His funeral was the most remarkable funeral I've attended to date. His mother sobbed uncontrollably. BUT his family and his friends laughed and laughed and laughed as one story after another was told of this man who lived his life fully and well.
However, I was not feeling well the day of the funeral. We'd planned to head to Lakeland, Florida to attend the Revival that was ongoing at that time. On the day of the funeral, I took my husband back to work and got lost on my way home. I felt so ill. I so desperately wanted to not disappoint my husband about the trip to Florida. I was in pain and nearly disoriented with it and missed a road I knew well. I finally found my way back to a familiar road, went home and packed.
As we headed to Florida I knew that I was well and truly ill but I couldn't for the life of me figure out why or how. I had shooting pains all over the right side of my face and head. I could feel a cold sore coming up on my lip, something I've never had in my life. My teeth hurt on that side of my face, so badly that I couldn't bear to bite down. My ear ached. I felt awful and that is the truth.
We arrived in Florida and went to our hotel to check in and while I waited in the car, a woman walked up to me and laid hands on me and prayed for me. I guess I looked sick even to her. We did attend the Revival meeting that night and I am here to tell you it was totally awesome, so wonderfully marvelously awesome! But I was so ill, all the same. Odd, here I was at a healing Revival and I was sick.
The next day I was worse. We had a long drive home, and stopped off at Ignited church. Another woman laid hands on me and prayed and the swelling in my lymph nodes on the right side of my throat considerably reduced. I felt better, still ill, but better and we were almost home before I began to feel badly again.
It wasn't a life threatening illness that had me in its grips I discovered the next day, but shingles, a remnant of my old chicken pox virus from childhood. But because I'd been ill for three days at that point, the virus was deep seated and it took nearly two months for the blisters on my face to disappear. And really it took the remainder of the year to once again begin to feel like myself.
Have things changed in that long year just past? Oh yes.
I met my new DIL for the first time. It was a difficult visit in many ways. Not her fault. Not my fault. Just two people forced into a relationship where they don't know one another. A lot of insecurities to deal with on both sides. What held it all together was her obvious love for my son, and her awareness that though I am step mom, I am Mom in his eyes.
I grieved for my grandchildren who live so very far away and went through yet another rough patch with my daughter being noncommunicative due to another imagined slight.
My grandmother experienced some TIA's which made her uncharecteristically angry and upset. Mama and I went to search for Granny's missing purse and found paperwork and junk mail stuffed in boxes dating back to 1967. As we sorted thru things, Granny became increasingly upset and confused. In the end, we decided she'd lived with the mess for all these years, she could live with it a bit longer. The house is essentially clean, just stacked to the ceiling on all walls with boxes of stuff she feels it's necessary to keep.
I faced a 15 yr old 'in love' with a troubled young man with a very difficult mother who felt she should be involved every step of the way.
In October, we returned to South Florida, and wandered the streets where my husband grew up. It was cathartic and healing and wonderful. But it was upon this 'vacation' that I realized my physical strength was seriously compromised. My 'brick wall' days as I describe them, were coming with increasing frequency. My pain levels were very high. I didn't visit a doctor for a variety of reasons. Number one, no insurance. Number two, I couldn't very well describe any of my symptoms as something tangible. I hurt. I was tired. I slept a lot. A lot. The whole vacation I did nothing but doze: in bed, in the car, on the balcony of the condo overlooking the ocean. And when we left I was just as tired as I'd been all along.
My mom broke her ankle, just about the time I realized that as far as she and I have progressed, I still had some rather deep seated unforgiveness towards her. As I spent December and January and February and some of March caring for her I've learned to stand up for myself, to forgive, to state my boundaries (both physical and personal) and stick to them even when mother guilt threatened to push the limits. I had to insist that she find someone to help care for her. That she learn to manage as much as she could on her own. That I had only limited time and I would not give up my entire life to her needs. It was hard, so hard.
Because of Mama's disability, Granny's needs were also heaped upon my shoulders, so suddenly I found myself running three households.
I passed the half century mark and celebrated my 50th birthday. And yes, there was a bit of fuss this year. My husband, though he was working, came home armed with all the necessary things to make my most favorite cake in the world: strawberry shortcake. It was such a lovely thing and I was so thrilled with his remembering that it was my favorite cake, that the cake itself hardly mattered.
This year, my husband said he wanted to sow a seed into my ministry and my dream. So he bought me a laptop and encouraged me to go into my room, shut the door and write. It isn't far along, but I've a few thousand words of my first fiction novel on that computer. And a couple of submissions for print venues.
And two weeks ago, inexplicably, I felt as though I'd turned a corner. My energy levels are so high that I can't believe it is me, the same brick wall person. I've been doing physically demanding things like lifting bags of mulch and digging up deep rooted plants and moving furniture and I've not had a twinge of pain. And finally I feel like I can be the strong person I claimed in my resolutions for this year.
So that's where I've been. And this is where I'm at. And it's so good to be back!
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Oprahzation
Years ago, as we were flipping channels, we bypassed Oprah's show on television. My husband, who had never voiced an opinion about Oprah one way or the other, asked me, "Why don't you watch Oprah? I know women at work who can't bear to miss her program. Many of them tape it." I struggled for a few moments and then told him, "I guess because I don't need Oprah to tell me how I feel or what I should read." He nodded. "I think she thinks the world needs Oprahzation. She needs to tell people how to live and think and read so that she feels more comfortable in the world. I'm glad you don't need Oprahzation."
We left it at that. But I've watched and I've listened and I've seen the absolute heights and depths this meglamaniac is willing to to go to in order to transform the world to her point of view. We not only can watch her program, we can contribute to her charity, buy her magazine, read the books she deems readable and now, we can align our spiritual life with hers as well.
And why did she finally go the depths of the spirit? Because, according to her, she didn't like a statement a pastor made in church. He'd said "God is a jealous God." "Why would an omniscient, omnipotent God be jealous of me?"
Uhm, I think she missed the point.
God wasn't jealous of Oprah, He is jealous for Oprah. It is His desire to be the only God, the only source, the only truth, the only way, the only One we worship, the only One to whom we turn in times of trouble. Because all those other things we use and abuse and confuse with God only harm us in the end and mislead us. Because he LOVES us.
No, I don't want Oprahzation. I'll choose to do my best as a true Christian, following the path that Jesus laid before me and God help those poor souls who follow Oprah to hell!
We left it at that. But I've watched and I've listened and I've seen the absolute heights and depths this meglamaniac is willing to to go to in order to transform the world to her point of view. We not only can watch her program, we can contribute to her charity, buy her magazine, read the books she deems readable and now, we can align our spiritual life with hers as well.
And why did she finally go the depths of the spirit? Because, according to her, she didn't like a statement a pastor made in church. He'd said "God is a jealous God." "Why would an omniscient, omnipotent God be jealous of me?"
Uhm, I think she missed the point.
God wasn't jealous of Oprah, He is jealous for Oprah. It is His desire to be the only God, the only source, the only truth, the only way, the only One we worship, the only One to whom we turn in times of trouble. Because all those other things we use and abuse and confuse with God only harm us in the end and mislead us. Because he LOVES us.
No, I don't want Oprahzation. I'll choose to do my best as a true Christian, following the path that Jesus laid before me and God help those poor souls who follow Oprah to hell!
Friday, March 21, 2008
Once Upon a Time....
On a misty Spring day in March, I was just 15. Riding home from a church service along backroads with my parents. It was a misty grey day, cold, and lonely in the way that only Spring can be lonely. The green leaves on the branches of trees, tiny and barely there, so tenderly green that I ached inside with the very delicate beauty of them. And what was I doing? Gazing out of the car window wondering what it was like to really be loved and to really love...
So let's skip ahead a good 34 years later. On a sunny Spring day in my 49th March and the leaves, the tiny green leaves, so tiny and barely there, glimmering on the trees in the sunlight, so lovely they make me ache inside. And what am I thinking?
That we know nothing at 15 when we think life will be over when we've reached 30. That love is far more than anyone ever dared try to explain to me. That loving is more complicated than the sciences of nature and man put together. That sex can be far better and far more disappointing than you'd ever imagined when hormones were raging and emotions tumbling about like puppies in your soul. That spring comes again and again and is always a most welcome wondrous thing. That love does too.
And that this too shall go on and on...
So let's skip ahead a good 34 years later. On a sunny Spring day in my 49th March and the leaves, the tiny green leaves, so tiny and barely there, glimmering on the trees in the sunlight, so lovely they make me ache inside. And what am I thinking?
That we know nothing at 15 when we think life will be over when we've reached 30. That love is far more than anyone ever dared try to explain to me. That loving is more complicated than the sciences of nature and man put together. That sex can be far better and far more disappointing than you'd ever imagined when hormones were raging and emotions tumbling about like puppies in your soul. That spring comes again and again and is always a most welcome wondrous thing. That love does too.
And that this too shall go on and on...
Faux You or God Bless You!
Do you realize, on a day to day basis, how very many 'faux' things we come across? Plastic made to look like patent leather, fake fur to resemble the less politically correct real thing, fake smiles when a heart is damned near breaking, Tofu-rkey, faux taters, faux leather, faux friends....Oh the list goes on and on and on.
Why all the need to have faux anything? Why not just have the real thing and be done with it? Why do vegetarians, folks who claim that meat makes them sick want a fake piece of veggie meat? I mean, wasn't the point of vegetarianism (or is it veganism, forgive me for not being up on the correct terminology, being a carnivore myself I can't keep it straight) to not eat meat? Like the lo-carbers (and I have been one of these so no arrows being slung) desire to have faux potatoes or rice made from cooked cauliflower. Actually both are rather tasty, but it's the term 'faux taters' and 'faux rice' that bothered me no end. I couldn't have the real thing and in the case of rice at least didn't even want the real thing, so why go for faux?
And while we're at it, showing our age and unpolitical correctness, what is the deal with calling the inserts 'falsies' when faux breast might be more appropriate and certainly more up to date? Or is that just getting too freaky for everyone?
Faux you!
Why all the need to have faux anything? Why not just have the real thing and be done with it? Why do vegetarians, folks who claim that meat makes them sick want a fake piece of veggie meat? I mean, wasn't the point of vegetarianism (or is it veganism, forgive me for not being up on the correct terminology, being a carnivore myself I can't keep it straight) to not eat meat? Like the lo-carbers (and I have been one of these so no arrows being slung) desire to have faux potatoes or rice made from cooked cauliflower. Actually both are rather tasty, but it's the term 'faux taters' and 'faux rice' that bothered me no end. I couldn't have the real thing and in the case of rice at least didn't even want the real thing, so why go for faux?
And while we're at it, showing our age and unpolitical correctness, what is the deal with calling the inserts 'falsies' when faux breast might be more appropriate and certainly more up to date? Or is that just getting too freaky for everyone?
Faux you!
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