rambling rosemarie

It all started when my pastor said one of his favorite words in Greek sounded like "Go Goose Moose." That seemed like a lighthearted start for a sermon, but.... My pastor is preaching through Hebrews. My friend, James White, is also preaching through Hebrews. Coincidence? I think not. I am being double dipped in the truths of God found in Hebrews. Any time you get immersed in double portions of truth you are bound to be convicted. My guilt glands are definitely swollen, and for good reason. My notes from this morning's sermon have a couple of things that weigh heavily on my mind. 1) Complaining is unbelief. 2) Unbelief is evil. Complaining and grumbling are my specialties. The term gongusmoo means to grumble. The kind of grumbling that is under the surface and incessant, like a dripping faucet. Grousing. In Australia we called it whinging. Whinging is not a clear objection that addresses the source of the unhappiness, it's annoying and persistent; more l

I remember telling my friend, Keith, that I didn't think God really liked me. In fact, I didn't think He cared for me at all. He had no respect for my personality or talents. He didn't want to see me at all what he wanted to see himself in me. I was raging against such a thought. Keith, a pastor and advocate of truly biblical counseling, thought I was finally talking some sense. A rebellious heart and malcontent thrive in a symbiotic relationship. Loathing God is fertilizer for bitterness which grows entwined with immorality and strife in your soul. Keith knew I was no match for the truth and what I was really saying. He knew my heart was screaming; "Help me! I am a Christian and I don't like God!" Have you ever felt that way? Or, are you one of those people I don't understand? You know, the ones who seem to immediately love Him and are pliable and teachable and are happy with being changed. I really don't get people like that. I know they exi

There are a lot of really bad drivers in Kentucky and I seem to be in front of and/or behind one each and every time I go somewhere. This is the only place I have ever been where you can literally watch while the wheels come off a car as it motors down the highway and the driver is sober but oblivious. I am very thankful that my father, a truck driver for 50+ years taught me to drive defensively. He taught me that cars don't go out of control, people lose control. He impressed upon me the responsibility assumed by propelling a multi-ton motorized vehicle. You take your life and the lives of everyone else into your hands. If you learn good driving skills you also learn what your vehicle can and cannot do. Mostly you learn to watch out for the other guy- the other driver is the unknown variable. I have wished on multiple occasions that I had a vehicle that was fully armored. One that I could stop on a dime when someone was in such a hurry to get where they are going that driving

Today I had the opportunity to attend a community bible study for women in which my pastor was offered as the sacrificial speaker. The study is on egalitarian vs complementarian positions. Imagine being the only man in room full of women and discussing with them the following bible passages: 1 Corinthians 11:1-12 ; and 1Timothy 5:9-15 . Seriously, the man is fearless and he cuts the Word straight. I was going to more write about my pastor and his nerves of steel after listening to The Dividing Line , but I started surfing the net first and I followed a link posted by a friend on Face Book. Every now and again someone writes what I wish I could write. They just sit down and relate the facts, their experience and they make sense. The article is written by Star Parker, someone I was not familiar with at all. I am so glad I followed the link . If you read the comments some folks are trying to make Ms. Parker's article seem to be a lament one more way Black Americans are dis

I have that sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, the one I get when I have disappointed someone and wasn't aware that what I said or did could have any significance at all to them. Why is it that we sometimes only learn the significance of our words after they cause us grief? I cannot be the only one on the planet that has been taken by surprise by how a few random words said without import to the speaker have caused irreparable damage to a relationship. Fear of man? Remorse? Guilt? Shame? Condemnation? Perhaps a combination of all those things. And is the damage really irreparable? How can relationships exist without forgiveness? Is it a communication problem I have? A struggle with pride? Is it because I am opinionated? Overbearing? Speaking aloud what shouldn't be thought let alone said. Does it make a difference? Proverbs 29:20 20 Do you see a man who is hasty in his words? There is more hope for a fool than for him. Ecclesiastes 5:2 2 Do not be hasty in wo

I wonder who put their nose prints on the storm door window? Who? Me?

I am not one of those people who will take their bible, open it randomly and read a verse being convinced the verse I pick is a direct message from God to me at that moment. The first and last time I tried that my bible opened to Leviticus and my finger landed on Leviticus 21:20 . However, I do think that our God sometimes uses a series of seemingly random things or coincidences to get our attention. I dragged myself to our Tuesday morning community bible study this morning. I almost talked myself out of it. After my last post I knew that I was grumpy, not feeling well and in no way going to be blessed by showing up with my attitude. Yeah, it's always good for me when God dumps me on my butt and shows me that I don't get to decide what He is and is not going to do. I was blessed. I was blessed by the women who were there in our small group. Their backgrounds are so diverse, their experiences so unlike mine and yet the common struggles of life our ours. I am blessed to be

It's always the little things that send me over the edge or down the deep dark hole. I work so hard to make sense out of my world and keep my little silver ball in play that when a little anomaly blips on my radar my response is to flip wildly through my emotions and tilt out. Game Over. Today I had a doctor's evaluation for a disability claim. I have degenerative disc disease in my cervical spine, bulging discs and osteophytes or bone spurs. I am in pain 24/7. So, why did the doctor evaluating me ask me to do squats? I feel a denial letter and an appeal in my future. I don't have the strength for either. Don't worry about tomorrow, right? It will take care of itself? Right? So why are so many tomorrows dog piling on my today and making me miserable? I am working up to a full blown crying fit. Is it the pain? Is it the medication for the pain? Is it the pernicious anemia? Is it my faithless heart? Is it a wicked cocktail of all that and more? Probably. Is t

I wish I was a Douglas Adams child.... that way everything could be tidily summed up to 42. Instead I am a Murphy's child, you know, of Murphy's Law fame. Actually I am a child of God but we'll get back to that. For now I am thinking there's huge strands of Murphy in my DNA. I am expecting a few dollars back on my taxes and have spent the money about ten times over in my pointy little head. I need a comfortable chair to sit in, one that will not aggravate my neck and back injuries. I want a new kitchen table. Something smaller and easier to deal with would be good. I have medical bills, I have lots of practical things I could use the money for but finding comfortable seating is what I have decided to do. It's not easy when you're short and wide to find a chair that is comfy. Add a significant neck injury into the mix and it's almost impossible. It was a lovely day to day and I had to do some shopping and there just happens to be a furniture store ne

There is a particular pain that comes with growing old that nobody warned me about. I remember as a child doing a one and a half somersault out of the city park swing. I planted my face and shoulder in the tan bark and had road rash and bruises on the left side of my body. Three days later when my grandmother saw me and listened to me tell her of my clandestine attempt at making the swing go 360 degrees around the bar, she pointed to my left arm which was bandaged and in a sling and said..."You'll feel that again when you're 50." She was right, I do. But she never warned me about the feeling I am experiencing now. I knew I was going to get old. I knew I would start complaining about the parts of my body that didn't function as well as they used to and marvel at the new characteristics that would become mine. Babies and old people have different social rules. Ever notice that? They get to chew with their mouths open and pass gass whenever they have the need

I want to depart from what is normal for me to blog or talk about. I want to talk about feelings. My feelings. Normally I would rather eat dead frogs than talk about feelings, especially my feelings. If you know me, I don't trust you. The random folks who happen upon my blog by google or providence I don't give a rip about. They can't hurt me. It's you who know me that scare the life out of me. Your words, spoken or un, have the ability to hurt me in a way too personal to avoid. I don't want you to have that power over me. I have always thought that there was something special about me. Something that nobody cared to find out. I like going on treasure hunts in the souls of others. I see gems and I see the dross but the gems are what I am looking for... they are the reason to go deep with someone. I have longed for someone to want to go deep with me and help me find those tiny gems I am fairly certain are in there. That's the special thing I am talking a