Symbolism over Substance: Playing with our toys…making a lot of noise!

Thank God for their selflessness *cough*

On September 11th the motorcycle “patriots” descended on Washington DC to defend the United States against the “evil” army of Islam and preserve the legacy of Patriotism and Nationalism. Since then, every time I hear those bone chilling un-muffled roars that drown out all sound and conversation within my head (and my house) I just can’t help but say: “thank you…Thank you loud pretentious, patriotic motorcycle people!”

The Sickness unto Faith (Part II)

Psst- I need to ask you a quick question: Would you let a homeless person stay at your house? Why, or why not? And if you would be so kind, please comment and share your reason/s below before reading any further.

The Sickness unto Faith (Part 1)

As well as your lack of action!

Faith is Action….Are you acting in Faith?

I was out of town on business awhile back and I stopped at a McDonald's for lunch. It was a chilly rainy day- the kind of day that makes a person want to stay in bed for the duration. While looking around and trying to choke down my lukewarm, sub-par "Filet of Fish” sandwich, I saw a man walk through the door.  By the looks of him he obviously had spent a great deal of time outside in the elements. He also had the countenance of a man who is being put through the winepress. The man sat down at a booth adjacent to my table and just put his head in his hands. I could almost feel the pain this man was dealing with. I prayed at that moment that I or someone else could help relieve his suffering. Almost instantly a man sat down at the booth across from me and directly behind the suffering man. In the time it takes for a carnivore to take two bites of an artery clogging Big Mac, the suffering man took his head out of his hands; tears flowed down his cheeks and you could tell that he was visibly embarrassed. The man seated behind the distraught man took notice and said: “How are you doing Jerry?” They obviously knew each other. Jerry said: “I’m OK, but I've been better”.  The man in the booth said: “I have not seen you in church lately.” Jerry responded by saying- “I recently lost my wife to cancer, and I've been going through a rough patch.” Booth-man says: “I’m so sorry for your loss!” Jerry then tells him that in the past 9 months he has also lost his job, his home and is currently sleeping in public parks. Booth-man, being very uncomfortable with all Jerry's negative talk, changes the subject to local sports and weather. After about 5 minutes of this idle banter, Booth-man somehow summons the godly-courage to address Jerry's original problems. He said:“Jerry I will pray for you…and really, I hope things get better for ya. Good luck buddy!” Booth-man then gets up, dumps his half eaten Big Mac in the garbage, puts on his raincoat, and exits the establishment- leaving Jerry in exactly the same state he was before. At this point, I was absolutely mortified! What a missed opportunity! This is the problem with so-called Christians: they have this misplaced conception that “prayer” is some sort of spiritual currency; they believe that prayer replaces action.

They are wrong!

Grasping at the Straws of Christian Persecution

I know, I know, I have the tendency to lay on the sass. But sometimes sass is needed. And I am just so exhausted by the claims that American Christians are persecuted.

                   Downtrodden. 

                                                  Discriminated against.

 I mean, seriously. Does anyone spouting this stuff actually believe the crap coming out of their mouths?

Wasted Time, Wasted Grace

Languid conjecture brings on the desires of a new year. My thoughts are a bit jumbled and scattered so I hope you can bear with me while I try to mold them into some semblance of organization.

Alzheimer's is a Nasty Bitch

This is not that kind of blog. It is not a chronological history or our personal tragedies. But I wrote this account, as I do from time to time and I haven't written much lately and haven't posted in an entirely long time. So here it is. And the title? Sorry about that. But it is honest and I have no other way to summarize this post. 

I unwrap my mother’s Christmas gift. She can’t unwrap it, won’t unwrap it.  Can’t, won’t- I can’t decide which it is. I write her name on the pillow made to support back sleepers 5 different times with a cheap gel pen. I left the sharpie in the truck and I’m much too lazy to traverse the parking lot to get it.  I put my mother’s Christmas gift into a pillow case I grabbed from my linen closet. I notice a small brown stain on the pillow case and mutter a curse under my breath. My husband and I discuss very ineloquently whether to put the nursing home issued flat pillow in Mom’s closet or leave in on the bed.  We are leaving. I could not convince my mother to leave the common area to come to her room to open her gift or walk the halls. She ate the cookies I brought though. She ate them with a ferocious hunger that I can only guess comes as her last vestige of pleasure, food. I can understand that.