Christianity: My Journey & Thoughts, Ponderings

Reflections & Thoughts: Heaven, Hell and Which Tune to March To

I’ve never been a morning person–those who wake up with the sunrise and delight in singing chirpy, Julie Andrew tunes. I shuffle like a Resident Evil extra arriving late to set, put my shirt on backwards, and make my guardian angel file their retirement paperwork (yet again) as I navigate the stairs to find my way down to the kitchen. The law of gravity–such a pesky thing to watch out for.

How does one become a disciplined person? This is a journey I’ve been (lost and wandering) on for several years now. The saint often comments I’m one of the most disciplined persons he knows; however, I believe I can improve. And I want to. To stop growing is to become rootbound, and I wish to flourish.

A large swath of American society does not appear to appreciate quiet, introspective intelligent people–I’ll go further and add women to that descriptive, although I’m sure other genders experience this, too. Gentleness and meekness are seen as weaknesses, not strengths. Reflection and stillness are seen as adversaries to worshipping capitalism. “Return to work!” the conservatives cry to those not returning to the workforce. What they mean is “You’re worthless if you don’t become a slave for our kingdom.” This is one of their many lies.

I become very fatigued from listening to this, and similar verbiage from some conservative Americans–particularly those falsely calling themselves Christians. These chaos worshippers wave their banners of hypocrisy and eagerly run to support Trump and his growing bandwagon at the pulpit of the damned. These stirrings, and those who are zealous to join, are frightening. This is not of Christ; can you guess who it is from? I often comment to my husband that the last several years of recent history is like the separating of the sheep from the goats–people’s hearts are being revealed, and the sight is ugly and it is revolting.

I often wonder what Jesus would do, if he would return right at this moment. I think he would be incredibly furious, particularly at those who have the most power and resources and who used them for evil–especially evil done in his Father’s name. The Vatican, I believe, is extremely guilty of this and continues to blindly march into Hell–a theme I sometimes circle in my writing. If the old prophets returned today, what would they say? What would their faces look like? Only a perfect God can judge perfectly–but I feel many Christians have lost any fear (or love) of God.

I once saw a video of a woman, holding her baby, crawling on her knees across a courtyard outside of a church, crying out to God for mercy. I don’t know what her situation was, or what she was asking God for; I’m not sure it matters. Her humility and her rawness were apparent–it was not an act, as I’m not even sure she was aware of being filmed or photographed. The moment was her and Yahweh–herself and her God–coming together in honesty, truth and love.

“I have done wrong,” her face seemed to say. “Forgive me. Forgive me, and do not abandon me.”

As I work on becoming more disciplined, I think about such things, like software gently humming in the background of my mind. What tune do I choose to march to? Do I surrender myself daily to God, and ask Him for discernment and guidance–or do I allow myself to march to the easier tune of Hell, as I watch so many others march to the pied piper of propaganda and deliberate lies? Of control and ultimately death?

It’s a daily check; a discipline developed over time; a humility and wisdom I want and repeatedly ask for.

“Do not swerve to the right or to the left; keep your foot from evil.”

Amen, I say. Amen–let it be so.


Demons, Death & Double Standards: “What a Slut…”

I ask your pardon for including the word “slut” in the title. I dislike the connotations and one sided power the word carries. I imagine the word as a broken woman, dragging her dirtied feet through this patriarchal world, a shamed prostitute surrounded by self-righteous rock throwers. A man I knew died recently and, as I learned, wasn’t married to whom I (and everyone else) assumed was his spouse. The news startled me, but I knew it wasn’t my business. I instead chose to help as I was able with the memorial arrangements. I overhead the following conversation happen the day of the funeral:

“And what was with “their companion” written in the obituary…? What, they weren’t married? …What a slut…”

Ecstatic giggling followed the speaker’s judgement. I couldn’t see the group listening, but could hear parts of the conversation. I imagined the speaker’s tongue like a snake’s, split and elegant, licking the air in glee as she laughed. The group murmured some type of consensual agreement I couldn’t quite decipher. The conversation moved onto other matters, sliding easily to other interests.

I sat in my chair, shocked, my brain numbly processing what I heard. I began wondering if I was honestly in the presence of a demon.

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