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What if.....

...what if I just need a place to let some words spill out? What if they spill out in bouquets of bright colors and pleasing scents but their frames are made of snakes and lies? Will you the reader be able to tell? Will it matter? When words smell like lilacs and honeysuckle do you care what lies beneath them? Perfumed syllables cover the stench of hope's decay. A violet or two will fool most surface dwellers, allowing them to pass by quickly and unaware.  Is that what words are supposed to do? What if my aesthetics with words are similar to Morticia Addams' with flowers?  What happens when luscious blooms are discarded?  When the ragged silhouette of thorns is all that remains will you still see the beauty?  Perhaps we'll find out.
Recent posts


My past is my kryptonite. This journey forward has been bogged down by the muck and mire of my beginnings.  I may not have started the mess, but I deepened the ruts. I hitched my wagon and followed the path of least resistance. I brought it with me. I have tracked the filth into each relationship. I sullied the potential, smudged all of the possibilities and then cast aside probabilities as tarnished.  Me. I did that. I said I believed I was a new creation and then feared the same old stuff in the same old way that the old me feared.  I react to the new with the poison of the old. Fear. Fear is the venom inside me killing my hope. Forgetting what lies behind.... only when I am not frightened. Claiming my identity in Christ... and then reciting the mantras of my past making my history my god. As a believer, I am more than the sum of my past. I am the recipient of a future hope. No ruts, no filth, no mire. The Gospel trumps everything. My past is my kryptonite. What'

Undone. Forgetting. Pressing On.

The last two years of my life have been hellish, not because of a major traumatic event, but because of me. I did it. I'd like to place the blame on someone or something, but I can't. The common denominator in all my suffering is me. That isn't to say that nothing trying has occurred. There have been challenges and bad decisions. There have been events and happenings, but the misery that is clinging to my bones making each breath painful is my own doing. Or rather, my undoing.  I am, to borrow from Isaiah, undone.  My question; is being undone enough? If you look at various translations of Isaiah 6:1-5, you will see undone translated as lost or ruined.  If there could only be an English word that encompassed all three ideas at once, I would use it.  Unlike Isaiah, I am not undone, lost or ruined because of a vision of the Almighty.  I am worthless because I am clinging to the past. Paul's letter to the Philippians encouraged them to put the interests of others bef

Thinking Things Through

There are a lot of things I am trying to work out.  Writing is my therapy. Grab a cup of coffee and sit in on my therapy session if you'd like. Or don't. Either is OK by me. Lots of horrible stuff about Planned Parenthood happening in the news . I have always thought that Planned Parenthood was a horrible place and if you cared enough to ask me why, I'd tell you in a  heartbeat. I have always been anti-abortion, even in my most liberal years and trust me, I was a liberal's liberal --except when it came to abortion.   This sums up my argument against abortion . I don't understand why people don't talk more about the obvious problem we  have in our society and the underlying premise on which pro-choice folks build their argument and organize their lives.  Want.  We have elevated what we want to a godlike status.  Abortion is the termination of an unwanted life.  Drill down past the inane argument about whether or not a fetus is human and you're left with t

typing myself off a ledge....

I write for therapy. When I am stressed, angry, happy, melancholy or all of the above, my first desire is to write something down.  I'm sitting here, eating a delicious salad and writing whatever comes to my pointed little head.  Grammar perfectionists, you may want to medicate yourselves before continuing.  When I am feeling this way, my mind and fingers aren't always in sync and I don't give a rip.  Don't say I didn't give you fair warning. I have a lot of stress going on in my life and most of it is not going on the internet. I can't quite understand why folks put their dirty laundry and drunken blunders on the internet. Probably because I am not drunk. Maybe it makes more sense then?   Everything you do makes seems like a fabulous idea when you're drunk, right? I digress, back to what I am writing about. So, here I am with lots of stress, most of which is none of your danged business.  I am going to begin with the phone call I received just before go

So much to say..... A fools lament

So much to say and no one to listen.  No one to pull the weeds out of the random thoughts taking root in my head.  Somewhere in there is a garden of good ideas and fossils of righteousness embedded in the sedimentary consequences of sin.  Today is difficult. Yesterday broke me. Tomorrow may bring something different. Maybe.  Maybe not.  I won't know until I get there. I won't get there if I quit today.  Helpless opining. Unable to choose wisely in my own affairs; rock-solid certain I know what you should do. Arrogance sprinkled on wisdom. I am a jerk .  A riptide of anxiety to pull me under or a measure of hope to hold me fast.  Which will it be? A taproot of bitterness or joy?  Ephesians 5:15-17 English Standard Version (ESV) 15  Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise,   16  making the best use of the time, because  the days are evil.   17  Therefore do not be foolish, but understand what  the will of the Lord is.


Today I am struggling with the remnants of my past. All the anxieties that resurfaced during the last year or so haven't been vanquished. The thing I want to do most in the world is hide. This is when I turn to the Psalms and focus especially on Psalm 139. Psalm 139 O Lord, you have searched me and known me!2 You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar.3 You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways.4 Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O Lord, you know it altogether.5 You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me.6  Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it.7  Where shall I go from your Spirit? Or where shall I flee from your presence?8  If I ascend to heaven, you are there!  If I make my bed in Sheol, you are there!9 If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea,10 even there your hand shall lead me, and your right hand shall