- Untwisting the Tangled Web
- The "Sanctity of Marriage" According to the Bible (one response to this was "Well people weren't meant to die so women weren't really supposed to be forced to marry their brother-in-law." The only problem with this argument is that Levitical law was written after the fall, so at that point, people were dying all the time. That was really one of the more ridiculous things I've ever read responding to me.)
- The Shame of Salvation
- Arrogance
- Humanity's Link
- Strong Through Life
- Allow Me to Vent My Frustration. I don't actually remember what I was so angry about. I think it had something to do with a Christian saying poor behavior due to mental illness was "sin."
- Comment Review
- A Ramble that Turned Into Love. By Lalaith's request, this one is also posted on Untwisting.
- Vigilance
- Memories
Thursday, May 31, 2012
Catching Up
I haven't written a wrap-up post in quite nearly forever, it seems. So here are all the posts I've written since the last time.
Memories
Last night memories were pushing at my mind and wouldn't let me rest until I had released them. Memories of course never end, but last night I seemed overwhelmed by them. And just as life is both good and bad, so too are these memories, some sorrowful, some joyful.
Voice raised in song, perfect harmony. United for one purpose, in praise of a God I served with all my shattered heart and soul. For one moment, perfect, complete.
A younger, unscarred me, running to and fro amidst the docile animals of a live nativity scene. Hot cocoa, raisin-filled Christmas cookies. Cold nose and fingers, bright heart. Laughter, carefree.
Terror at having told the secret. Shame I claimed for my own. Waiting as a camp director and my father spoke words I could not hear. Knowing my life was forever changed, knowing and fearing.
Stinging hands, the thrill of a perfect block, volleyball down, a point for the Warriors! The crowd's applause, but from my teammates, my Christian classmates, the same scorn as always.
Disconnect. Peers discussing boys and clothes whilst my mind replays yet again the memory of my shame. A night spent once again crying into my pillow, a day spent longing for the end of a life already too long at fifteen years.
Horses and cows. My hands holding the reins but Little Cinnamon knows what to do better than I, and together we start the steers back to the corral for the night. A roughened cowboy treating a grubby little girl like one of the hands.
Running away. Twenty-five miles on my bike, but that car is familiar and now the escape ends. Tears and promises, not from me, that things will change. Familiar words, familiarly broken. Nothing ever changes.
Another visit to the youth pastor. A later time I realize how much he avoided me, how much he shirked his duty. For now, as I climbed the stairs from basement to second floor, I only sought help for my problems. Problems, though I did not know it then, that stemmed from the shame I bore for so long.
Tears. The realization that eight years of shame was not my burden to bear. Finally knowing that I was not complicit in my own abuse. And anger, for I was not the only one who judged me for another's sin.
Blood running down freely, shed for those tears I could not. Scars, line upon line, leaf upon leaf. Freedom, however brief, from constant pain or constant numbness. Hiding them in shame or showing them in defiance, outcast from those who were supposed to love and accept above all others.
A friendship broken once, twice, thrice. Promises to love forever, broken. Once a life saved, then death desired. My soul, my innermost being, given freely. Love given and received, closer than all save my Beloved. But then coldness, demands, arrogance, ultimatums. Whispers in ears, other friends disappear one by one. Fair words to face, knife twisted in the back. Trust, only newly forged, in a shattered mess upon the floor. Words twisted, always sub par, always unequal.
A life of faith, wasted. Perfection, never. Sincerity, unparalleled. Desire, unmatched. A life spent waiting for the answer that never came. Waiting for the everlasting arms that never enfolded. Waiting for forgiveness never granted. Waiting for peace that never soothed. A faith shattered. Realization that life will never be the same. Freedom obtained.
A wave of love for the first time, for the son born nearly a year before. Nearly having thrown something so precious away. Love with shame.
Red rocks. Vedauwoo. Church picnic, before shame, before packing up and fleeing from old memories. Monkey-like, scampering up and down the leftovers of some forgotten upheaval. On the way home, the best kind of tired, singing along to Pensacola and Patch the Pirate.
Running across hot sand to the cool water of the Reservoir, not fast enough, burned soles. No sympathy. Blowing up the inner-tubes by mouth in the back of the station wagon on the way there. Holding our breath through the tunnels, pointing out Chimney rock to each other for the hundredth time.
Far, far back, perhaps the earliest of all. Neighbors with German Shepherds and a go-kart track. Two boys, older than me, persuading me to pull my swimsuit down. A blank spot in my memories, then pulling up my swimsuit from around my ankles and running for home. Telling no one. How old? Four, I think. Why a blank spot? I wish I knew.
Family visiting. Waking up in the middle of the night, heading to the bathroom, meeting much older cousin coming out. Cousin inviting me back in with him. Standing on top of toilet naked, while his hands and mouth visit places usually reserved for one's Beloved. Asked if I wanted to do the same to him, No. Shrug. My first experience with male genitalia, at the tender age of seven.
No cartoons for us, but we devoured old Westerns and black-and-white serial shows. Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Gene Autry, young John Wayne, many more. Dick Tracy, Zorro. Violence that never felt violent. Good versus evil, good always winning.
New Jersey beach. Swimming, cold waves. The boardwalk, two-seater bikes, salt-water taffy, Johnson's caramel corn. The houses we stayed in, a condo and the mysterious attic house. Watching Dukes of Hazard while parents try to extract a "splinter" nearly the size of a dime from the bottom of my foot. Later the hospital visit to finally get it out. A little keyboard I played "Twinkled Twinkle Little Star" on over and over. Ocean City sweatshirt printed with the logo I chose.
Mulberries. Handcuffed to the mulberry tree by a brother in toy handcuffs with no safety tab. Eating mulberries with cream. Raising caterpillars off the tree. Crying, when my mother paid my brother a quarter each to squish caterpillars and mine were the first to go. Catching jars full of fireflies among its branches.
Voice raised in song, perfect harmony. United for one purpose, in praise of a God I served with all my shattered heart and soul. For one moment, perfect, complete.
A younger, unscarred me, running to and fro amidst the docile animals of a live nativity scene. Hot cocoa, raisin-filled Christmas cookies. Cold nose and fingers, bright heart. Laughter, carefree.
Terror at having told the secret. Shame I claimed for my own. Waiting as a camp director and my father spoke words I could not hear. Knowing my life was forever changed, knowing and fearing.
Stinging hands, the thrill of a perfect block, volleyball down, a point for the Warriors! The crowd's applause, but from my teammates, my Christian classmates, the same scorn as always.
Disconnect. Peers discussing boys and clothes whilst my mind replays yet again the memory of my shame. A night spent once again crying into my pillow, a day spent longing for the end of a life already too long at fifteen years.
Horses and cows. My hands holding the reins but Little Cinnamon knows what to do better than I, and together we start the steers back to the corral for the night. A roughened cowboy treating a grubby little girl like one of the hands.
Running away. Twenty-five miles on my bike, but that car is familiar and now the escape ends. Tears and promises, not from me, that things will change. Familiar words, familiarly broken. Nothing ever changes.
Another visit to the youth pastor. A later time I realize how much he avoided me, how much he shirked his duty. For now, as I climbed the stairs from basement to second floor, I only sought help for my problems. Problems, though I did not know it then, that stemmed from the shame I bore for so long.
Tears. The realization that eight years of shame was not my burden to bear. Finally knowing that I was not complicit in my own abuse. And anger, for I was not the only one who judged me for another's sin.
Blood running down freely, shed for those tears I could not. Scars, line upon line, leaf upon leaf. Freedom, however brief, from constant pain or constant numbness. Hiding them in shame or showing them in defiance, outcast from those who were supposed to love and accept above all others.
A friendship broken once, twice, thrice. Promises to love forever, broken. Once a life saved, then death desired. My soul, my innermost being, given freely. Love given and received, closer than all save my Beloved. But then coldness, demands, arrogance, ultimatums. Whispers in ears, other friends disappear one by one. Fair words to face, knife twisted in the back. Trust, only newly forged, in a shattered mess upon the floor. Words twisted, always sub par, always unequal.
A life of faith, wasted. Perfection, never. Sincerity, unparalleled. Desire, unmatched. A life spent waiting for the answer that never came. Waiting for the everlasting arms that never enfolded. Waiting for forgiveness never granted. Waiting for peace that never soothed. A faith shattered. Realization that life will never be the same. Freedom obtained.
A wave of love for the first time, for the son born nearly a year before. Nearly having thrown something so precious away. Love with shame.
Red rocks. Vedauwoo. Church picnic, before shame, before packing up and fleeing from old memories. Monkey-like, scampering up and down the leftovers of some forgotten upheaval. On the way home, the best kind of tired, singing along to Pensacola and Patch the Pirate.
Running across hot sand to the cool water of the Reservoir, not fast enough, burned soles. No sympathy. Blowing up the inner-tubes by mouth in the back of the station wagon on the way there. Holding our breath through the tunnels, pointing out Chimney rock to each other for the hundredth time.
Far, far back, perhaps the earliest of all. Neighbors with German Shepherds and a go-kart track. Two boys, older than me, persuading me to pull my swimsuit down. A blank spot in my memories, then pulling up my swimsuit from around my ankles and running for home. Telling no one. How old? Four, I think. Why a blank spot? I wish I knew.
Family visiting. Waking up in the middle of the night, heading to the bathroom, meeting much older cousin coming out. Cousin inviting me back in with him. Standing on top of toilet naked, while his hands and mouth visit places usually reserved for one's Beloved. Asked if I wanted to do the same to him, No. Shrug. My first experience with male genitalia, at the tender age of seven.
No cartoons for us, but we devoured old Westerns and black-and-white serial shows. Roy Rogers, Dale Evans, Gene Autry, young John Wayne, many more. Dick Tracy, Zorro. Violence that never felt violent. Good versus evil, good always winning.
New Jersey beach. Swimming, cold waves. The boardwalk, two-seater bikes, salt-water taffy, Johnson's caramel corn. The houses we stayed in, a condo and the mysterious attic house. Watching Dukes of Hazard while parents try to extract a "splinter" nearly the size of a dime from the bottom of my foot. Later the hospital visit to finally get it out. A little keyboard I played "Twinkled Twinkle Little Star" on over and over. Ocean City sweatshirt printed with the logo I chose.
Mulberries. Handcuffed to the mulberry tree by a brother in toy handcuffs with no safety tab. Eating mulberries with cream. Raising caterpillars off the tree. Crying, when my mother paid my brother a quarter each to squish caterpillars and mine were the first to go. Catching jars full of fireflies among its branches.
Friday, May 18, 2012
Vigilance
The toy slips from my fingers
And caring not, I watch it fall
My son continues play, on and
Around me (though rarely with)
He feels not this sense of doom
Impending
I gather him in my arms
And hold his growing body tight
As he squirms and says
"Momma, no!" and grunts
His efforts to escape my arms
Restraining
He feels no sense of doom
No nameless dread or formless
Fear. He wishes only to be fed
And tickled and talked to
And (if I'm lucky) held
Adoringly
Perhaps he has it better than I
Perhaps there is nothing to fear
But after almost throwing this away once
And once having it nearly ripped
From my grasp, I remain
Vigilant
And caring not, I watch it fall
My son continues play, on and
Around me (though rarely with)
He feels not this sense of doom
Impending
I gather him in my arms
And hold his growing body tight
As he squirms and says
"Momma, no!" and grunts
His efforts to escape my arms
Restraining
He feels no sense of doom
No nameless dread or formless
Fear. He wishes only to be fed
And tickled and talked to
And (if I'm lucky) held
Adoringly
Perhaps he has it better than I
Perhaps there is nothing to fear
But after almost throwing this away once
And once having it nearly ripped
From my grasp, I remain
Vigilant
Sunday, May 13, 2012
A Ramble that Turned into Love
Life used to be a lot simpler. I had constants: constant pain, constant darkness, constant fear. I constantly longed for escape.
My favorite kind of book to read growing up was...well, I don't know the correct name for it. I personally would have named it "escapist," for that was the common theme: a young protagonist is whisked away from his (or her, but let's just use generic male pronouns) dull, boring, or miserable life by something (whether war, or good fortune, or tragedy, or a misunderstanding) and into a new and exciting (or perhaps just different) life. You know the books of which I speak: Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit, Narnia, books by Mercedes Lackey, Tamora Pierce, Garth Nix, Anne McCaffrey, Robin McKinley, Brandon Sanderson, Brian Jacques...it's a pretty common young adult fiction theme. I dreamed that one day I too would be whisked away.
And you know what? Those dreams I dreamed? They came true. I "escaped." I started a new and exciting (or maybe just different) life. And though I would not have, did not dare, dream who would rescue me, I could not be happier. Most girls dream of a white knight, there to rescue them and save the day and then live "happily ever after." I did not. After what had happened in my childhood, I did not deserve a white knight, or so I thought. But I got one anyway...my own "Prince Charming" swept me off my feet...and so far, "happily ever after" is as good a description as any. What sorrows my life still knows, what melancholy fits and black moods still come upon me, they are bearable because of this: I have found my own true love, and I am his and he is mine forever.
My life isn't very constant anymore. Although there is still pain and darkness and fear, they no longer persist constantly. I no longer desire to escape the life I have, for I am living the life I longed to escape to.
True love isn't like the movies, you know. Happily ever doesn't just happen. It takes work, and tears, and misunderstandings, and all kinds of not very "happy" things. But in the end, you are left with something so much better than the movies could ever hope to portray, something better than I have words to express: not a perfect kiss in the moonlight (though moonlit kisses are amazing), not just knowing "he's the one" (though he may very well be), not a foot that pops or eyes that meet or hands that tingle when they touch: true love may include these, but it is so very much more, so very much better than all of them. Don't be afraid to work for it, to cry for it...or even to let it go if it comes to that.
Because sometimes true love involves letting go. Sometimes it recognizes that the greatest love it can show is letting the other person go on without it. And this too is unlike the movies, for if they portray such a thing, it is always in such a way that it is still a happy ending: misunderstandings put to rest, all differences set aside, "happily ever after." But it doesn't always end that way. Sometimes, when you let love go...it goes, and does not come back. That is the price of true love: it may lead to "happily ever after" and all you've always dreamed of (as it did for me)...or it may lead to sorrow and heartbreak. There is risk involved with love, but for those of us who have loved or been loved...it is worth it.
Before I stop this ramble, there is one more thing the movies get wrong: true love isn't limited. It may only be possible to love one person "with all your heart" at once (or perhaps not...maybe true love isn't exclusive, either), but that doesn't mean after you have loved and lost you are forever doomed to wait the rest of your life alone with your lost love. You can love, truly love, more than once per lifetime...because here's the biggest lie the movies tell you: "true love just happens." Or possibly "if it isn't love at first sight it isn't true love." That is utterly and completely a lie.True love is a choice...sure it may start with just a look, but that's puppy love - cute and endearing and emotional...and bound to be grown out of. At some time, consciously or not, you make a choice that you will love this person "no matter what"...and then you do. And if that love is not returned or one day walks away, it's okay to consciously stop making that choice. It doesn't mean your love was any less true while it lasted. It doesn't mean you were foolish to love at all...it just means that you are taking your heart back from where you had offered it and moving on. Someday, you will offer it again. Someday, your true love will love you truly too. And even if, for you, that never happens...if you never find your soulmate...don't give up. Don't be discouraged. As the poet said..."It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
You know those posts that you start and somehow they turn into something completely different from what you intended? Yeah, this is one of those posts. I'm aware that it is very rambling and might not make a lot of sense at first glance...but rather than coldly editing it I will let my heart speak for itself. Take it or leave it as you will.
My favorite kind of book to read growing up was...well, I don't know the correct name for it. I personally would have named it "escapist," for that was the common theme: a young protagonist is whisked away from his (or her, but let's just use generic male pronouns) dull, boring, or miserable life by something (whether war, or good fortune, or tragedy, or a misunderstanding) and into a new and exciting (or perhaps just different) life. You know the books of which I speak: Harry Potter, the Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit, Narnia, books by Mercedes Lackey, Tamora Pierce, Garth Nix, Anne McCaffrey, Robin McKinley, Brandon Sanderson, Brian Jacques...it's a pretty common young adult fiction theme. I dreamed that one day I too would be whisked away.
And you know what? Those dreams I dreamed? They came true. I "escaped." I started a new and exciting (or maybe just different) life. And though I would not have, did not dare, dream who would rescue me, I could not be happier. Most girls dream of a white knight, there to rescue them and save the day and then live "happily ever after." I did not. After what had happened in my childhood, I did not deserve a white knight, or so I thought. But I got one anyway...my own "Prince Charming" swept me off my feet...and so far, "happily ever after" is as good a description as any. What sorrows my life still knows, what melancholy fits and black moods still come upon me, they are bearable because of this: I have found my own true love, and I am his and he is mine forever.
My life isn't very constant anymore. Although there is still pain and darkness and fear, they no longer persist constantly. I no longer desire to escape the life I have, for I am living the life I longed to escape to.
True love isn't like the movies, you know. Happily ever doesn't just happen. It takes work, and tears, and misunderstandings, and all kinds of not very "happy" things. But in the end, you are left with something so much better than the movies could ever hope to portray, something better than I have words to express: not a perfect kiss in the moonlight (though moonlit kisses are amazing), not just knowing "he's the one" (though he may very well be), not a foot that pops or eyes that meet or hands that tingle when they touch: true love may include these, but it is so very much more, so very much better than all of them. Don't be afraid to work for it, to cry for it...or even to let it go if it comes to that.
Because sometimes true love involves letting go. Sometimes it recognizes that the greatest love it can show is letting the other person go on without it. And this too is unlike the movies, for if they portray such a thing, it is always in such a way that it is still a happy ending: misunderstandings put to rest, all differences set aside, "happily ever after." But it doesn't always end that way. Sometimes, when you let love go...it goes, and does not come back. That is the price of true love: it may lead to "happily ever after" and all you've always dreamed of (as it did for me)...or it may lead to sorrow and heartbreak. There is risk involved with love, but for those of us who have loved or been loved...it is worth it.
Before I stop this ramble, there is one more thing the movies get wrong: true love isn't limited. It may only be possible to love one person "with all your heart" at once (or perhaps not...maybe true love isn't exclusive, either), but that doesn't mean after you have loved and lost you are forever doomed to wait the rest of your life alone with your lost love. You can love, truly love, more than once per lifetime...because here's the biggest lie the movies tell you: "true love just happens." Or possibly "if it isn't love at first sight it isn't true love." That is utterly and completely a lie.True love is a choice...sure it may start with just a look, but that's puppy love - cute and endearing and emotional...and bound to be grown out of. At some time, consciously or not, you make a choice that you will love this person "no matter what"...and then you do. And if that love is not returned or one day walks away, it's okay to consciously stop making that choice. It doesn't mean your love was any less true while it lasted. It doesn't mean you were foolish to love at all...it just means that you are taking your heart back from where you had offered it and moving on. Someday, you will offer it again. Someday, your true love will love you truly too. And even if, for you, that never happens...if you never find your soulmate...don't give up. Don't be discouraged. As the poet said..."It is better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
You know those posts that you start and somehow they turn into something completely different from what you intended? Yeah, this is one of those posts. I'm aware that it is very rambling and might not make a lot of sense at first glance...but rather than coldly editing it I will let my heart speak for itself. Take it or leave it as you will.
Wednesday, May 9, 2012
Comment Review
I read this article today. Not that interesting, fairly unbiased. I know absolutely nothing about the website that published the article. What I would like to point out is the comments, which I shall be copying here. For your information, this is not an "anti-Christian" post, it's an "anti-idiot" post.
Must have killed him to quit voting “ present” on this issue.
He’s not a flip flopper. This has always been his real opinion. He merely lied about his position during the 2008 election when a clear majority of the public was still against same-sex marriage.
I agree with Chet. Obama is now withholding the fact that he is an international Marxist because a clear majority of Americans is still against Marxism/ Communism / Socialism !
Maybe in your “Gay” world most people would like it to be legal, but at least 30 times that it has been on a ballot for “the people” it has been overwhelmingly voted down. What’s that , oh yeah we’re not supposed to let those nasty facts out. Wanna be gay and marry your partner…. move to a country that allows it. LEAVE MINE ALONE!!!! Just because 1/10th of a percent wants it, no matter how many times you repeat it, it’s just not right. You folks that want to compare this to the civil rights movement need to remember who was fighting against civil rights, even fillibustered it in senate. Why are blacks allowing the dems to keep them on the dem plantation. I guess now that their prez is pro-gay then i’m going to assume all blacks are pro-gay also…. he did get 98% of the black vote…right? Every interview with a black should now start with…”so since you support gay marriage……”
Panderer, liar, deceitful, evil, nonChristian. This is Obama.
Oh come now .. how can you tell he isn’t lying now? .. or was he lying then? .. you must be a die hard Obamavombie .. is you believe anything he says. Or know he is lying if his lips are moving.
You godless blasphemer. Jesus destroyed the sodomites of Sodom and Gomorrah. Marriage is a picture of God’s relationship to His church. I am now convinced this man is dedicated on the destruction of the U.S. as a super power. I will never recognize sodomite “marriage”!
BIGAL don’t insult my intelligence. The steady campaign by the homosexual lobby in our schools is responsible for the 50/50 national numbers on homosexual marriage. As soon as that campaign (with idiocies like “bullying”) is put to an end…then that little gambit is stopped. It begins with getting rid of Obama’s Czar of safe schools, Kevin Jennings. He’s the mind behind this “bullying” campaign in schools. He’s also the founder of GLSEN a group that advocates teaching extreme sex acts to school age children. Of course I’m not talking about ultra-liberal states like California or Oregon. They will always be lost. This “inevitablity” you cite hinges on how quickly our schools can be taken away from stleath pedophiles like Kevin Jennings and his ilk and how quickly liberalism can be shown to be the failure it is. It begins in November.
It’s a Trojan horse that would give power to the radicals in LGBT movement to force, by Federal law, any and all institutions of faith, schools, private organization etc…..to marry gay couples, teach homosexuality in schools (as an acceptable lifestyle choice, gay rights activism or Gay History Month) whether you want you children to sit through it or not or admit gay members to a private club. This would effectively trample freedom of religion, our even your simple rights if you believe homosexuality to be improper on your own moral terms.
What I don’t understand is why the liberals and gays want marriage for gays in the first place. Why are they fighting so hard for something that for years they have been saying is antiquated, stifling, misogynistic, unnecessary, and so not cool? I thought couples didn’t HAVE to be married to be in loving, committed relationships. Isn‘t that what the feminists and other liberals have been bleating about since the 60’s? Why is it all of a sudden soooooooo vital for them to get married? Hmmm…….I'm stopping now before I throw up or hurt somebody. I didn't get through the first page of comments, out of seventeen. While of course it isn't always true that you can judge a man based on his opponents, I think in this case that concept bears a lot of weight.
In case anyone was wondering my political views: I'm not Democrat. But I increasingly find myself rejecting every Republican ideal I once believed in. I suppose therefore I am independent, I vote for whoever I agree with the most. But honestly...shouldn't that be what we all do?
Allow Me to Vent My Frustration
Goddamn fracking know-it-all Christians! Yes, I said, "goddamn!" Even your own fracking god would rise up and fracking condemn you for the idiocy and ignorance you spew out every time you open your fracking mouth! Why don't you just shut the frack up and realize that you don't know everything and that your fracking religion doesn't have a fracking answer for everything? Hmm?
Now that I've released the vulgarity from my system, I feel much better. Thank you for listening.
P.S. I am nearly 100% certain that the particular Christians I'm spouting about will never ever see this. So if you think it's about you, it isn't. Unless of course you're feeling guilty.
Now that I've released the vulgarity from my system, I feel much better. Thank you for listening.
P.S. I am nearly 100% certain that the particular Christians I'm spouting about will never ever see this. So if you think it's about you, it isn't. Unless of course you're feeling guilty.
Saturday, May 5, 2012
the one weekly thing that i do
These are all from Untwisting this week. Lalaith has also written some awesome posts that you should read.
- Just Because I Can
- Causing Pain
- Ta-Dah
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