rambling rosemarie

...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.

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 kryptoni...

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 ot...

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 yo...

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 g...

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 ...

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 ri...

It has been nearly a year and a half since I have written a blog post. Time may fly when you're having fun, but it also whizzes by when you're out of control.  Perhaps because being out of control masquerades as fun? Trust me, it's not. I almost don't know where and how to begin blogging again. I enjoy writing and the mere act of letting my fingers sort out words helps me identify what's really going on inside.  One of the dangers of living alone is not having other folks daily reflecting back to me who I am and not who I pretend to be.  I need people rubbing up next to me to help me recognize the rough spots. It takes others showing me my inconsistencies and irritating the snot out of  me to help me acknowledge my besetting sins. It's therapeutic and the way God has designed it for all of us. During the last year or so my life has imploded on several fronts. I may have looked OK from the outside but on the inside I was certifiable.  I have had blowouts...

Sometimes the world gets the best of me and by that I don't mean the world wins.  I mean the things I like best about myself are offered to the world while the church gets the plastic me; the retouched by extreme holiness and grace me, the "other" me.  What I can't work out is why. Am I concerned about what the church thinks about me? Do I fine tune the facade in an effort to fit in? Perhaps it's just the opposite. Perhaps I show you the parts of me that I am willing to discard, the parts that if they are damaged won't bother me. You know, like scratch paper for you church people to doodle on while keeping the good stuff pristine for myself. I am not all that safe. Maybe I am protecting you? You're not all that safe. Perhaps I am afraid of you?  Or maybe... just maybe the things I like best about myself have no business in the church? Ding! Ding! Ding! Sigh.  Sanctification.

I am nothing if not a broken woman. I sit here at my computer wondering where the tipping point was. I am more than off balance, I am smashed to bits. Somewhere back there I should have emphatically said, "No" or its opposite, depending on the situation. Whichever case it was, I missed it. Completely.  There is nothing left to do but take the red pill. Reality.  How did reality ever become so convoluted? It can be so difficult to work out what is true and what is perceived as true. They are not the same thing. Perception is not reality- it just behaves that way.  Multiple views of the same landscape render different results. I thought I was standing up for myself for the first time in years, sure wish I had remembered to serve that with some grace and humility. I am leading a group of women through the book of Philippians aided by a workbook entitled, "Joy! A Bible  Study on Philippians," by Keri Folmar.   If you're not up to being humbled, I wouldn't...

Facebook is a community unlike any other. I have friends I have never met. Friends I love not just because we are siblings in Christ, but because I have come to know them from their posts and subsequent our conversations.  Saiko and Sharon Woods (and their children) are an example. We've never met in person but they are welcome at my door anytime. I consider them friends and family in Christ. One of the wonders of having friends you've never met in person is the way it expands your view of the world. I have friends all over this globe that live in different political climes, under different laws and with different perspectives.  As believers in Christ it is perfectly acceptable to have a different view of the world as long as we share the same biblical worldview. There is a very distinct difference between the two and too often that difference gets lost when my view of the world looks so different from theirs. Back to my friend, Saiko, he has a program on Blog Talk Radio...

November 22, 1963 I was sitting in my first grade class. The telephone that hung on the wall rang and my teacher answered it.  That was back when children were taught telephone manners and when the phone rang, especially in your classroom, it was a big deal.  We all got quiet and most of my classmates put their heads together to whisper. I would have too but out of the corner of my eye I saw my teacher's face. The look of confusion and horror caught me off guard so instead of stealing a moment to whisper something silly to my friend, I watched her every move.  She slowly hung up the phone and told us in a trembling voice that we were all going home a little early because something terrible had happened. President Kennedy had been shot. April 4, 1968 I had run home from school I hate two hours of watching television that I could get in before my parents got home. If I ran, I could catch whatever movie was playing on Channel 2 during the Dialing for Dollars show.  I ...

I've been thinking big thoughts. I am normally a pensive person. Over the last few months that habit has intensified to the point that I have been lost in my own head. I enjoy being lost. I find it exhilarating. I know that people fight being alone.They kick and yell and scream and for the life of me, I don't know why. When I am alone  I am expending energy but I'm not struggling to find a way out. I am looking for a way deeper in.  I am busy looking for the road not taken; the reasoning to the rhyme and just what information all those synapses contain. When I am like this every thought is an adventure. I seem to notice things that would normally escape me. I hang on to them. I cherish them. I replay them over and over until like a shard of glass tumbling in the ocean they are smooth and comfortable to hold. My grandson was sitting behind me in the RAV4 while I was driving. He was playing his Game Boy and it had him totally focused. Whatever game he was playing, he was...

 I write for therapy. It soothes my soul to put words to the gnarled thoughts and anxieties that pop around in my brain. Things get stuck for me sometimes, like a pinball that has found that perfect spot between the bumpers. Stuff pings back and forth, mostly unpleasant memories, moments I wish I could take back or fits of anger flash in short bursts of light and obnoxious noise. I am a score keeper. As I try to get through the agonies and annoyances of life, batting at balls with with flippers that are almost enough to keep things going, I am keeping score and remembering the faces of the folks who have wronged me. It is nothing if not exhausting and pointless. Pointless score keeping. How is that for irony? I can recite chapter and verse on the topic of biblical forgiveness.  I know that God's forgiveness of me and my sins is my model for forgiving others.  Love covers a multitude of sins. How many times should I forgive someone? Seventy times seven.  What does...

Often God's mercy feels more like a swift kick to my  backside than the "There, there, little one!" pat on the head that I would prefer. So it is this morning as I skipped church on a day I was physically able to attend, opting instead to stay home and feel sorry for myself, that I once again feel a Jehovah sized boot print on the place with the least amount of padding; my ego.  I am a slow learner. We go through this every year at this time. Is it any wonder that I hate Mother's Day? I don't hate Mother's Day for any of the legitimate reason to despise made up holidays. It doesn't bother me a bit that Hallmark is making a killing on cards or that florists everywhere are being delivered high voltage shocks on their last nerve trying trying to get out orders. Trust me, I was a florist once upon a time. Valentines Day and Mother's Day test the soul of every florist. I hate Mother's Day for much deeper reasons. When I was a kid I hated Mother'...

Really? Am I really sitting here at my computer blogging? I have someone coming over today and my house is in full disarray. I have enough dog and cat hair clinging to the furniture and floors to assemble several more pets. My kitchen is filthy. There are fig trees growing in my sink.  OK, I said that for shock value. The trees are in small pots and they are in the sink because they were just watered, but you get the idea, right?  I should be putting my house in order.  The truth of the matter is I am putting my house in order, my spiritual house is almost always reflected in the way I take care of my home. I need to take a time out, prioritize my life, and the truth is, for all my studying I have been leaving out the doing part. It's all well and good to know the answers regarding what we should do as believers in Christ, but knowing isn't enough.  There is a constant battle we face as believers.  The natural tendency of our hearts is to go to extremes. ...

There's a whole lot of lassitude and torpidity happening here for me today. It is, no doubt, brought about by an even greater amount of self-pity. If there is one thing I am especially accomplished at doing it is feeling sorry for myself.  As my childhood hero Will Sonnet would say-"No brag, just fact." You may wonder what has transpired to bring my countenance so low. Then again you might not give a tinker's damn about my countenance, you're just bored and reading random things on the internet.  No matter, you're here and I am compelled to tell you the cause of my distress.  Tuna. Tuna itself is not evil. It's just a fish. Eating tuna is not evil either, though to my vegan and vegetarian friends may argue with me there. I like to eat tuna and because I do I generally purchase it in mass quantities at Costco.  Yesterday I was craving tuna so I went to my pantry, picked out a can and pulled all the other ingredients  I wanted in my tuna.  Mayonnaise, di...

The end of year is fast approaching.  Frankly, it cannot end quickly enough for me.  I haven't liked very much about this year. Please, don't get me wrong, it wasn't all bad and it certainly contained some good belly laughs and blessings. If I had to sum it up I would put it something like this: It wasn't the best of times and it wasn't the worst of times. It was just time. The clock struck midnight 365 times and not once have I turned into a pumpkin or a princess. I haven't had any startling revelations. Oh sure, I have had a few crises of biblical proportions, but it's like they never really registered. I sort of plopped down and held my place like a cow pie marks its area in the field.  I haven't moved in any direction. I haven't composted and fertilized anything. I haven't achieved a single goal. I just sat still and let the world revolve around me. I think it would be safe to say that before achieving a goal you have to actually set on...

On January 31, 2008, I wrote a post on Fetal Alcohol Syndrome and Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FAS/FASD).  That was nearly six years ago. A lot has happened in our world during those six years. I honestly expected to find some biblical counseling information on FAS/FASD.  Unfortunately, among those who are foremost in providing resources for biblical counselors; those who publish scholarly articles in the Journal of Biblical Counseling; provide resources for NANC, and write books that help us look at the problems in our lives through a biblical lens,  there has yet to be an article, sermon or book written specifically on how to help someone with FAS/FASD.  I am hoping using their information will lead them to this article and they will consider changing this. We need material on FAS/FASD from a biblical perspective. Recently I have been contacted by a couple of different people who stumbled upon my blog looking for biblical counseling resources specific to...

Because if we were honest our prayers might sound like this..... and we'd rather appear to be holy than to actually be transformed into His image. Dear God, I've come to equivocate for a few minutes. It won't take too much of your time, just long enough to assuage my guilt for not spending time with you. More importantly I want to be certain not to spend so much time that my attempts to manipulate you are glaringly apparent. Let's get started, shall we? OK. I know I haven't really spent much time with you lately and I haven't been all that busy. I have been avoiding you.  I should be ashamed of myself, but my lack of communication with you isn't what's bothering me right now.  What's bothering me is your lack of outreach where I am concerned.  I mean, you raised Lazarus from the dead, surely a small miracle to prove that you're paying attention to me wouldn't be so hard for you to do. My faith could really use a boost and that's the...