Do you ever have one of those days or weeks, or even months, in which the folks you deal with forget "they" are dealing with royalty? What do we do, when that happens? I've pretty much run the gambit on reaction and response and I am here to testify today, a soft answer that requires no further discourse is, of course the best, as it turns away wrath. I can also testify today, I don't always choose that, but I always regret when I don't. I now have a confession to make that I really do think could get the better of me . . . I'm not opposed to receiving the silent treatment. Way back when I was a new bride the seventh time around, Mr. B told me the worse thing I could ever do to him, was to give him the silent treatment. He asked me to please never do that, it was just so hurtful. Imagine my surprise when I soon experienced the silent treatment from him. At first, I wanted to get angry, and did; knowing he was trying to be mean, but in time a light came on!
When people do what they don't like done to them, they are acting out of their own unhappiness or shortcomings, and not necessarily something the other person has done at all. The opposite of "the Golden Rule" is the "Tarnished Brass Rule" and many people these days, live by that! Rather than doing unto others what they'd like done to them, they do unto others, that which most offends them . . . It happens more often than we realize and the lesson I've learned in this, is clear. I don't want to live by the "Tarnished Brass Rule" even when I'm dealing with someone who does. The temptation is, of course, right there! To yield to that temptation would be disobeying the words of Messiah, therefore; it would be sin . . . is sin, has been sin.
Surprisingly, most of the big religions have some form of the Golden Rule, and yet the world tends to operate by what I now call, the Tarnished Brass Rule. The Tarnished Brass Rule is upheld entirely too much. So many are determined to get even, seek vengeance, and make a point, while treating others as we'd like to be treated goes by the way side to make our point. I've found myself in a strange situation just the past few days, and there have been a few times I've yielded to the temptation to operate by the Tarnished Brass Rule.
I've repented, asked forgiveness, then turned right around and behaved tarnished again! What a struggle it's been, but I've also come to a realization.
The only way to remind myself and those who forget they are dealing with royalty, is to behave like the royalty that I am, and that means even when faced with the Tarnished Brass Rule, the Golden Rule is the rule of my King.
Sunday, March 29, 2015
Sunday, March 22, 2015
Late Bloomer, Coming of Age
Finally, what I see in the mirror is a reflection of who my Creator made me to be, and I like it. He's still working on me, I haven't arrived, but I'm happy with the light in my eyes, the laugh lines in my countenance and the permanent furrows in my brow from thinking. Granted I have some wear and tear that I'm not so proud of, but that's all in the past, the distant past, and the only time that comes up is by virtue of the adversary. As I looked in the mirror this recent birthday, I was happy to see the injuries from my fall were healing nicely and appeared to be leaving no scars. I was beyond delighted that Abba had comforted me through that difficult time of recovery while I was trying to keep up and tend to newly arriving livestock.
As I looked in the mirror, the single regret I had was that I had not appreciated the way Abba created me, sooner. All of the things that had made me stand out in the past, are a part of who I am and I'm just so sorry, I was always trying to diminish my uniqueness and fade into the wall paper. I am who I am. I am a tribal, earthy woman, who is creatively practical, and a noticeable presence. My hair is long and silver and I have no desire to dye it or cut it. I like what Proverbs says about silver hair. I like what Paul said about a woman's long hair. It does feel glorious! I've been self-conscious about being brown and buxom for over 40 years, and suddenly, at 57, it's great! There really is a point to this, beyond "loving my self" in print. I got to thinking what an insult it must have been to our Creator to always be trying to change His handiwork or not being content in my own skin.
Was I being covetous of what He'd given others and how He'd made them? Without a doubt, I could be a little lighter, not in skintone, but weight wise, however; I cannot be a size 6 without being self abusive, and unhealthy. There's absolutely nothing wrong with fuller figure sizes, and for those like myself, not all bodies are a perfect match top and bottom, either. There's nothing wrong with different sizes between a top and skirt, or altering a dress to accommodate our figure. Scripturally, we are called to be modest, but thankfully, model sizes are not required. I read an article this week about the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch. He says he doesn't make large sizes because he doesn't want his clothes on imperfect bodies. Here's a quote from one article . ". . . A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely.” I'm happy to be excluded and I wouldn't encourage kids and grandkids to want his clothes either!
Back to being gracious and grateful regarding our Creator's handiwork. This is not a new age notion that we must all love ourselves, but more importantly to be content with what G-d has given us, including our body. I wish I'd have appreciated my uniqueness sooner. Unfortunately, like so many for so many years, I bought into the social definition of what it is to be beautiful, and the pressure to have the perfect body. I don't need physical perfection when I've been blessed with the presence of the One Who is Perfect. He's placed in me a wholeness that I didn't even understand a person could have. He made me specifically for a purpose and a plan. Nobody else can be who He made me to be!
As I looked in the mirror, the single regret I had was that I had not appreciated the way Abba created me, sooner. All of the things that had made me stand out in the past, are a part of who I am and I'm just so sorry, I was always trying to diminish my uniqueness and fade into the wall paper. I am who I am. I am a tribal, earthy woman, who is creatively practical, and a noticeable presence. My hair is long and silver and I have no desire to dye it or cut it. I like what Proverbs says about silver hair. I like what Paul said about a woman's long hair. It does feel glorious! I've been self-conscious about being brown and buxom for over 40 years, and suddenly, at 57, it's great! There really is a point to this, beyond "loving my self" in print. I got to thinking what an insult it must have been to our Creator to always be trying to change His handiwork or not being content in my own skin.
Was I being covetous of what He'd given others and how He'd made them? Without a doubt, I could be a little lighter, not in skintone, but weight wise, however; I cannot be a size 6 without being self abusive, and unhealthy. There's absolutely nothing wrong with fuller figure sizes, and for those like myself, not all bodies are a perfect match top and bottom, either. There's nothing wrong with different sizes between a top and skirt, or altering a dress to accommodate our figure. Scripturally, we are called to be modest, but thankfully, model sizes are not required. I read an article this week about the CEO of Abercrombie & Fitch. He says he doesn't make large sizes because he doesn't want his clothes on imperfect bodies. Here's a quote from one article . ". . . A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely.” I'm happy to be excluded and I wouldn't encourage kids and grandkids to want his clothes either!
Back to being gracious and grateful regarding our Creator's handiwork. This is not a new age notion that we must all love ourselves, but more importantly to be content with what G-d has given us, including our body. I wish I'd have appreciated my uniqueness sooner. Unfortunately, like so many for so many years, I bought into the social definition of what it is to be beautiful, and the pressure to have the perfect body. I don't need physical perfection when I've been blessed with the presence of the One Who is Perfect. He's placed in me a wholeness that I didn't even understand a person could have. He made me specifically for a purpose and a plan. Nobody else can be who He made me to be!
Sunday, March 15, 2015
The Best Birthday in Years
Birthdays have never been easy for me, and I'm not talking about aging. My birthday made me uneasy as a child. It was a day focused on me, and being the center of attention has always made me uncomfortable. As an adult it was easier to have my birthday alone, and play it off as "just another day," but it wasn't "just another day." Being alone with nobody looking at me, was my birthday gift to myself! That's what I wanted! I do appreciate the effort of others, but it was always just truly painful to be "looked at." As I got older, I loved the fact my birthday celebration would be relegated to the nearest convenient weekend or even better just a card and phone call. My recent birthday, 57, became very freeing of something I've carried around since my worst birthday as an adult, my 44th.
We should celebrate life, as well as assessing accomplishments and goals, and a birthday serves as a good mile marker in life for each of us. I now see, however; why birthday parties in the Bible are rarely mentioned and the ones that were, ended badly for someone . . . When planning my last wedding, we chose the day before my birthday. When discussing it, I told Mr. B, I wanted to get married before my birthday or wait until after his . . . but we'd both already been married in June, so we should then wait until July; his response was succinct. He said I was too logical to be looking at it so emotionally and illogically. I shrugged and said, "Well, if I'm usually logical, will you just cut me some slack on this one?" I was thinking we would marry in July, before he made the life changing statement. He said, "Let's get married before your birthday. If we don't keep moving forward, we'll start going backward." I can't count the number of times, I've rethought that discussion, as our constant direction has been consistently backward and perpetually moving away from the covenant vow.
I'd already shared with him, my desire to spend my birthday alone, or not on display, and he seemed to understand that, so here I think an anniversary/birthday back to back he'd protect me from ever having to be the center of another birthday party. I got it partially correct . . . On the evening of March 4th, the day before my 44th birthday, we exchanged vows. I had no idea I'd be in the ladies department of Wal-Mart at midnight ushering in my 44th birthday. Nor could I have realized that would be the highlight of the day.
After the guests had left our wedding, he suddenly wanted to go to Wal-Mart to purchase a nightgown for our "special night." I had purchased a tasteful negligée at Dillards before the wedding. Nothing amazingly sexy, and it was on clearance, but it was nice, a great price, and had a gorgeous robe . . . As I stood in Wal-Mart watching him look through the chintzy sleepwear, a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. The one that just kept "sticking" turned out to be worse and truer than I could have ever imagined. Although I'm low maintenance and appreciate a good bargain, I'm about the farthest thing from "off the discount rack" you can get. He was used to a much different type of woman than the one he had just married, and in the coming months, the recounts of his sexcapades would prove that.
As midnight turned into morning, after voting and telling his mother he'd gotten married since she had already stated she wanted no invitation and would not attend, we headed to one of the grandest Old Hotels in the midwest; only to have the day end very anticlimactically . . . Not only was this birthday horrible, I was trapped out of town with a man who was more than obviously not desirous of me, and thanks to the restaurant scene in "When Harry Met Sally" my marriage was now on a very firm, dishonest foundation . . . Definitely the worst birthday of my adult life! I'd made some bonehead decisions in my late teens and early twenties, but this caused me to doubt the very foundation of my faith.
As the years moved from my forties to my fifties, I asked politely, I cried, I begged, I demanded, I even gave an ultimatum one year . . . to have a birthday in which I was simply left alone, but it all fell on deaf ears. I finally came to realize, what I wanted simply made no difference to this man. He could look at me, he could look at my tears, he could hear my cries, and simply stare back in cold disregard. He simply did not care what I wanted.
This year, I took the bull by the horns, looked at myself in the mirror and said to myself, "Self, it's up to you! You can keep whining for what you wanted all those years ago, or you can embrace a new desire!" To that, I realized, I can have a positive day, a productive day, if and when I do not give someone else the power to ruin my day. Since we are not equally yoked and joined, we are not one. With that, I decided to go to the goat auction and if he tagged along, it would not make or break my day. Naturally, Mr. B insisted upon going and having lunch out. It wasn't my first choice, but then again, I don't have to cook, and realizing my birthday is finally just no big deal, I agreed. When I went to the restroom, he informed the waitress that it was my birthday, so at no cost or effort on his part, long after the lunch crowd has dispersed, I received a nice birthday dessert, which I graciously shared . . . There was no crowd staring, no cameras, just a simple reality that my life has moved on and it's seriously time to just focus on what is important!
I'm setting aside and allowing all the past failures to be just that . . . The Past! My focus, now, is to spend the rest of my life and energy on that for which I have been given talents and gifts. At 57, I'm 18 years younger than Abraham when he received his call and 23 years younger than when Moses saw the burning bush!
We should celebrate life, as well as assessing accomplishments and goals, and a birthday serves as a good mile marker in life for each of us. I now see, however; why birthday parties in the Bible are rarely mentioned and the ones that were, ended badly for someone . . . When planning my last wedding, we chose the day before my birthday. When discussing it, I told Mr. B, I wanted to get married before my birthday or wait until after his . . . but we'd both already been married in June, so we should then wait until July; his response was succinct. He said I was too logical to be looking at it so emotionally and illogically. I shrugged and said, "Well, if I'm usually logical, will you just cut me some slack on this one?" I was thinking we would marry in July, before he made the life changing statement. He said, "Let's get married before your birthday. If we don't keep moving forward, we'll start going backward." I can't count the number of times, I've rethought that discussion, as our constant direction has been consistently backward and perpetually moving away from the covenant vow.
I'd already shared with him, my desire to spend my birthday alone, or not on display, and he seemed to understand that, so here I think an anniversary/birthday back to back he'd protect me from ever having to be the center of another birthday party. I got it partially correct . . . On the evening of March 4th, the day before my 44th birthday, we exchanged vows. I had no idea I'd be in the ladies department of Wal-Mart at midnight ushering in my 44th birthday. Nor could I have realized that would be the highlight of the day.
After the guests had left our wedding, he suddenly wanted to go to Wal-Mart to purchase a nightgown for our "special night." I had purchased a tasteful negligée at Dillards before the wedding. Nothing amazingly sexy, and it was on clearance, but it was nice, a great price, and had a gorgeous robe . . . As I stood in Wal-Mart watching him look through the chintzy sleepwear, a thousand thoughts raced through my mind. The one that just kept "sticking" turned out to be worse and truer than I could have ever imagined. Although I'm low maintenance and appreciate a good bargain, I'm about the farthest thing from "off the discount rack" you can get. He was used to a much different type of woman than the one he had just married, and in the coming months, the recounts of his sexcapades would prove that.
As midnight turned into morning, after voting and telling his mother he'd gotten married since she had already stated she wanted no invitation and would not attend, we headed to one of the grandest Old Hotels in the midwest; only to have the day end very anticlimactically . . . Not only was this birthday horrible, I was trapped out of town with a man who was more than obviously not desirous of me, and thanks to the restaurant scene in "When Harry Met Sally" my marriage was now on a very firm, dishonest foundation . . . Definitely the worst birthday of my adult life! I'd made some bonehead decisions in my late teens and early twenties, but this caused me to doubt the very foundation of my faith.
As the years moved from my forties to my fifties, I asked politely, I cried, I begged, I demanded, I even gave an ultimatum one year . . . to have a birthday in which I was simply left alone, but it all fell on deaf ears. I finally came to realize, what I wanted simply made no difference to this man. He could look at me, he could look at my tears, he could hear my cries, and simply stare back in cold disregard. He simply did not care what I wanted.
This year, I took the bull by the horns, looked at myself in the mirror and said to myself, "Self, it's up to you! You can keep whining for what you wanted all those years ago, or you can embrace a new desire!" To that, I realized, I can have a positive day, a productive day, if and when I do not give someone else the power to ruin my day. Since we are not equally yoked and joined, we are not one. With that, I decided to go to the goat auction and if he tagged along, it would not make or break my day. Naturally, Mr. B insisted upon going and having lunch out. It wasn't my first choice, but then again, I don't have to cook, and realizing my birthday is finally just no big deal, I agreed. When I went to the restroom, he informed the waitress that it was my birthday, so at no cost or effort on his part, long after the lunch crowd has dispersed, I received a nice birthday dessert, which I graciously shared . . . There was no crowd staring, no cameras, just a simple reality that my life has moved on and it's seriously time to just focus on what is important!
I'm setting aside and allowing all the past failures to be just that . . . The Past! My focus, now, is to spend the rest of my life and energy on that for which I have been given talents and gifts. At 57, I'm 18 years younger than Abraham when he received his call and 23 years younger than when Moses saw the burning bush!
Sunday, March 8, 2015
What's A Princess to Do?
Realizing Purim and Hanukkah are not Feasts mentioned in Torah, I consider the style of celebration to be optional. Some "Christian Hebrew converts" feel entirely too pious to even consider observing them. While many traditional Jews go all out in celebration with extravagant costumes and desserts. I guess, as usual, I fall somewhere between or perhaps outside of both. On the Hebrew Gregorian calendar conversion, my date of birth fell on the 13th day of the 12th month back in the year of my arrival and that date just happens to be mentioned a couple of times in the book of Esther. Knowing how easy is it to make spiritual matters about ourselves and our own interpretations, I try to tread lightly. Purim, for me, is a time set apart to celebrate the power and deliverance of our Heavenly Father when we stand and in boldness speak out.
I don't participate in the full costume portion of the celebration, as that feels a bit like a Halloween knock-off or Mardi gras, but if my children were home, we'd have a "royal dress up day." I used to have a tiara that was included in my hair style for the day. Since Purim is not a Sabbath, there's just nothing that says "Princess" like accomplishing my everyday work wearing a tiara. Sadly, in the last move, my tiara came up missing, and it's yet to be found. I keep thinking I'll find it, or buy another, but that just hasn't happened, so this year I took a different approach.
Purim actually aligned with my birthday this year on the Gregorian calendar, so this year I decided to dress up for the occasion. I do make special cakes for each of the Feasts as well as the extra celebrations, but I'm not suggesting that to be doctrinal. Cakes are not essential and Scripture even warned of the Israelites baking cakes in idolatrous rituals, so spirit check on that one . . . I don't bake often, so the difference between a regular meal and a feast at my table is, a feast includes dessert. It's nothing more significant than that. Back to this recent Purim.
In observing this day, I'd planned to watch "One Night With the King" after sunset the 4th, but already aware that staying awake through movies is virtually impossible, that plan was tabled. Dinner was nothing fancy, but dessert was included. After a slice of red velvet cake with a glass of wine, I'd hit my limit of celebration for the evening. I awoke quite early, while it was still dark, to read the book of Esther. Even at 3am, it really wasn't all that dark; as the full moon was so bright, there were moon shadows and the rooster was already crowing. What a lovely way to greet the morning! This was going to be no ordinary day. Giving thanks for the day, I loaded a couple of goats for the auction, then later donned my costume and headed to town. Being new to a full costume for Purim, I stayed in theme for the day. I dressed as a middle aged farm woman heading to a livestock auction.
The goat auction really does have a cotillion atmosphere for me. I don't make all that many purchases, but in the thousands of permanent buyer numbers, the auctioneer remembers mine. Yes, it feels special! In reality, my number is probably somebody's birthday or part of his phone number or address, but it feels special, none the less. This night at the auction, I had a couple of specifics in mind, but no rush to settle for anything.
Having chosen to use Bible names this year in the new herd arrivals, I continued that theme with the auction arrivals as well. It only made sense when a big beautiful Oberhasli doe with regal horns, entered the ring with a little one in tow, I was probably looking at Esther . . . Sure enough, and on the way home, I was pleased to discover her little one could potentially be the new herd sire. I'd actually been looking for the last two years for an Oberhasli cross buck and was definitely wanting one for this coming breeding season.
Yah willing, the arrival of little Mordechai means the search for the herd sire has officially been accomplished.
I don't participate in the full costume portion of the celebration, as that feels a bit like a Halloween knock-off or Mardi gras, but if my children were home, we'd have a "royal dress up day." I used to have a tiara that was included in my hair style for the day. Since Purim is not a Sabbath, there's just nothing that says "Princess" like accomplishing my everyday work wearing a tiara. Sadly, in the last move, my tiara came up missing, and it's yet to be found. I keep thinking I'll find it, or buy another, but that just hasn't happened, so this year I took a different approach.
Purim actually aligned with my birthday this year on the Gregorian calendar, so this year I decided to dress up for the occasion. I do make special cakes for each of the Feasts as well as the extra celebrations, but I'm not suggesting that to be doctrinal. Cakes are not essential and Scripture even warned of the Israelites baking cakes in idolatrous rituals, so spirit check on that one . . . I don't bake often, so the difference between a regular meal and a feast at my table is, a feast includes dessert. It's nothing more significant than that. Back to this recent Purim.
In observing this day, I'd planned to watch "One Night With the King" after sunset the 4th, but already aware that staying awake through movies is virtually impossible, that plan was tabled. Dinner was nothing fancy, but dessert was included. After a slice of red velvet cake with a glass of wine, I'd hit my limit of celebration for the evening. I awoke quite early, while it was still dark, to read the book of Esther. Even at 3am, it really wasn't all that dark; as the full moon was so bright, there were moon shadows and the rooster was already crowing. What a lovely way to greet the morning! This was going to be no ordinary day. Giving thanks for the day, I loaded a couple of goats for the auction, then later donned my costume and headed to town. Being new to a full costume for Purim, I stayed in theme for the day. I dressed as a middle aged farm woman heading to a livestock auction.
Having chosen to use Bible names this year in the new herd arrivals, I continued that theme with the auction arrivals as well. It only made sense when a big beautiful Oberhasli doe with regal horns, entered the ring with a little one in tow, I was probably looking at Esther . . . Sure enough, and on the way home, I was pleased to discover her little one could potentially be the new herd sire. I'd actually been looking for the last two years for an Oberhasli cross buck and was definitely wanting one for this coming breeding season.
Yah willing, the arrival of little Mordechai means the search for the herd sire has officially been accomplished.
Monday, March 2, 2015
Perspective
This week, I learned that my reflection in the mirror could actually look worse than my already low opinion of my appearance. The morning after my fall, I realized it was more serious than I first thought. I felt the pain of a broken nose, but there was more. I also knew there were some serious injuries on my right leg and left side of my rib cage, but those injuries didn't affect my appearance . . . so much. The banged up face looking back in the mirror, gave me a new perspective. As I stood there surveying the damage, thoughts of a different nature came to mind.
Returning to my memory was a comment I had made to YHWH just a few weeks earlier. Through a time of remembering the "not so good old days" of an abusive relationship and mainstream healthcare dependence, I simply thanked Abba that He had brought me through those days and I regretted having lost my "original" nose to abuse and reconstructive surgery. I'm now believing, once the swelling subsides, the old tribal proboscis will be restored.
When I saw the injured place on the side of my face, a deep sense of gratitude and appreciation washed over me. Just above my cheekbone, less than an inch from the outside corner of my eye, and a fraction of an inch from my temple is a contusion about the size of a quarter. I'm not sure what I hit, but I am so thankful, whatever I hit hard enough to leave that injury, did not hit my eye or temple. There is a cut under my lower lip that looks like it was probably done by my upper teeth. Also included was a laceration on the bridge of my nose, broken skin down the side of my nose, including nosebleeds for days, and a scrape over my eyebrow. In all of that, though; none of the injuries even remotely looked like stitches were needed.
When I spoke with my friend regarding the arrangements for her husband, I did have just a moment of wishing I didn't look so rough to be attending, but it wasn't about me, so . . . end of that thought. Undeniably, I do look a little rough right now, I'm still the same person I am when I'm just my usual not so glamorous self. As I consider my bumps, scrapes, contusions, and pains; I find myself truly looking forward to being restored to my "old me." As it turns out, my old uninjured, unswollen self isn't so bad after all. I didn't realize what a superficial perspective I've had of myself. I'm thankful to have this new perspective.
Returning to my memory was a comment I had made to YHWH just a few weeks earlier. Through a time of remembering the "not so good old days" of an abusive relationship and mainstream healthcare dependence, I simply thanked Abba that He had brought me through those days and I regretted having lost my "original" nose to abuse and reconstructive surgery. I'm now believing, once the swelling subsides, the old tribal proboscis will be restored.
When I saw the injured place on the side of my face, a deep sense of gratitude and appreciation washed over me. Just above my cheekbone, less than an inch from the outside corner of my eye, and a fraction of an inch from my temple is a contusion about the size of a quarter. I'm not sure what I hit, but I am so thankful, whatever I hit hard enough to leave that injury, did not hit my eye or temple. There is a cut under my lower lip that looks like it was probably done by my upper teeth. Also included was a laceration on the bridge of my nose, broken skin down the side of my nose, including nosebleeds for days, and a scrape over my eyebrow. In all of that, though; none of the injuries even remotely looked like stitches were needed.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
The Divine Appointment
It's no secret that I am of Native American descent. Unlike most folks who claim the ancestry, my great grandma was not a Cherokee princess. My grandpa was a hardworking switchman for the railroad and his father before him was a coal miner, who had done what many Native American men did back at the turn of last century. He joined the military under interesting circumstances, to "become a citizen." There are more details, but suffice it to say, I'm proud of the stand he took and was blessed to have many wonderful memories of him throughout my childhood. My ancestry is not just skin tone and hair color, it's literally a part of who I am. I am an earthy, tribal woman who prefers simplicity to social status; or I guess that is my social status . . . Being both a follower of Messiah and Native American, I am often viewed as a bit of a curiosity. This led to a wonderful experience which was one of those "divine appointment" moments!
Years ago, when I heard my call to minister health to a godless nation, I presumed . . . and began making plans to become a doctor heading for a foreign land. It was two years later, I heard "home." Within the next couple of years, several things happened that caused even the idea of medical school to go by the wayside. In the first decade and a half of adulthood, my life was in a word: unstable. I wasn't doing what I was called to do, but I was doing just about everything else! I wasn't a partier, didn't do the drug scene, but my career changed about every 3 years, as did my marital status. By my mid thirties, I entered covenant with YHWH, following Messiah, and headed back to His plan! It would still be a few more years before I realized, Big Pharma was not a part of His plan for my life, yet I was still called to serve in a healing ministry. Such a paradox in this pharmaceutically dependent Christian nation . . .
Within 7 years of attempting to balance between mainstream medicine and remedies of our Creator, as well as the synagogue and church, I realized there was no balance in any of that, so, I stepped out. I gave up trying to participate in what is recognized as "complementary health" and have not had so much as a Tylenol in my home since. I also accepted the fact that the Christians seem to believe Torah obedience is legalism and is in opposition to grace. Those two realizations made life a bit less complicated, but a great deal more isolated. I truly began walking in my call by the Passover before 9/11. Don't get me wrong, there have been some stumbles, fumbles, and pitfalls along the way, but the direction of the path has remained constant, although the width has continued to narrow.
Fast forward now, to February 2013, when "Wilt Thou Be Made Whole?" was published, authored by yours truly, life had already changed dramatically for me, on many levels. It would be two years nearly to the day, that a long lost desire of my heart would be made manifest. In the realization that I would be heading to the Cherokee nation with the Good News and healing, I have spent a few days in Oklahoma looking for the location in which I'd set up. I would always smile and make some comment as I went past the "Cherokee Queen Hotel." I felt a draw there, but hadn't yet realized it was part of The Plan. In looking for real estate, and/or commercial property, with a cash ready offer; I couldn't even get a realtor to call me back . . . but I knew I had to be in The Nation on a certain date.
By that time, I realized, there was a step between hearing more, and the implementation, so I made a reservation for a room at The Cherokee Queen. Since there's no garden this year, and the kids weren't yet due, homestead maintenance was minimal, so, I planned a private "retreat/advance" prayer time. It's a good thing I stepped out on that date, because seven kids have arrived since my "divine appointment." Without divulging a confidentiality, I had the opportunity I'd longed for. Through the course of a chat in the lobby, I was able to offer a minimal reflexology treatment with oil for anointing . . . For years, I've longed to be able to just walk up to someone and offer to lay hands on them and anoint their feet in the Name of Y'hshuwah . . . The individual was receptive which brought about a time of rejoicing as well as an opportunity. The door into the Cherokee Nation came through that divine appointment at The Cherokee Queen.
Within 7 years of attempting to balance between mainstream medicine and remedies of our Creator, as well as the synagogue and church, I realized there was no balance in any of that, so, I stepped out. I gave up trying to participate in what is recognized as "complementary health" and have not had so much as a Tylenol in my home since. I also accepted the fact that the Christians seem to believe Torah obedience is legalism and is in opposition to grace. Those two realizations made life a bit less complicated, but a great deal more isolated. I truly began walking in my call by the Passover before 9/11. Don't get me wrong, there have been some stumbles, fumbles, and pitfalls along the way, but the direction of the path has remained constant, although the width has continued to narrow.
Fast forward now, to February 2013, when "Wilt Thou Be Made Whole?" was published, authored by yours truly, life had already changed dramatically for me, on many levels. It would be two years nearly to the day, that a long lost desire of my heart would be made manifest. In the realization that I would be heading to the Cherokee nation with the Good News and healing, I have spent a few days in Oklahoma looking for the location in which I'd set up. I would always smile and make some comment as I went past the "Cherokee Queen Hotel." I felt a draw there, but hadn't yet realized it was part of The Plan. In looking for real estate, and/or commercial property, with a cash ready offer; I couldn't even get a realtor to call me back . . . but I knew I had to be in The Nation on a certain date.
By that time, I realized, there was a step between hearing more, and the implementation, so I made a reservation for a room at The Cherokee Queen. Since there's no garden this year, and the kids weren't yet due, homestead maintenance was minimal, so, I planned a private "retreat/advance" prayer time. It's a good thing I stepped out on that date, because seven kids have arrived since my "divine appointment." Without divulging a confidentiality, I had the opportunity I'd longed for. Through the course of a chat in the lobby, I was able to offer a minimal reflexology treatment with oil for anointing . . . For years, I've longed to be able to just walk up to someone and offer to lay hands on them and anoint their feet in the Name of Y'hshuwah . . . The individual was receptive which brought about a time of rejoicing as well as an opportunity. The door into the Cherokee Nation came through that divine appointment at The Cherokee Queen.
Sunday, February 15, 2015
What Am I Missing?
Am I missing something in this latest "gender identity" issue, or am I calloused? My opinion is; my gender identity is not based upon who identifies with me, or even if I identify with stereotypical mainstream. I am what and who I was created to be! I am female, and although I am my father's daughter and I'm not perfect, I was born into the right body, while my brain and emotions understand and embrace my uniqueness! I truly believe what I am missing is the confusion that is being introduced. I read a blog in which a pregnant mother proclaims that she asked her son and daughter, 6 and 3 respectively, what they hoped the new baby would be. She wrote, they conferred, giggled, then announced they'd like a transgendered sibling . . . since there was already a boy and a girl. So, have we gotten to the point in society that the only people who can verbally recognize only two genders are those who are embracing the list of "potential variables?"
I am truly saddened when I see all this programming and recruiting taking place now, as I remember my childhood a half century ago. We had the privilege of knowing who and what we were, by simple anatomical identification. Regardless of rope climbing, creek wading, and scrub baseball, I, like Elly Mae Clampett, knew I was a girl. As it turns out, and stands to this day, male genitalia is not required to enjoy outdoor activities and sports. Also confirmed is the fact that one need not identify with a specific community to enjoy non-stereotypical interests.
As a young child, my mother continuously harped at Daddy, that he was encouraging me to be a tomboy. Truth be told, it was her harping, haranguing, and micromanaging that encouraged me to stay out of the house . . . but that's a topic for another day. I identified with Daddy in a number of areas, and see no reason whatsoever that these interests must be in accordance with a specific gender or reproductive anatomy. I was a tiny little girl in hunting photos. Before I could ride a bike, I remember driving my home made go-cart, designed and built by Daddy, Grandpa, and Uncle Earl. As a middle aged adult woman, I jokingly refer to myself as "the unson" of the family. As I wrote that last sentence, I may have discovered exactly what it is that I'm missing. Perhaps, it's the programming that one needs to "belong" that is making so many young people so vulnerable to this aggressive agenda. Many just long to have a place to belong, to be a part of something and to share an identity. I accepted my exclusion early on, and it has simply been a part of my identity as well, but there was no pushy agenda trying to recruit me . . . or perhaps the LGBT community didn't want me either. LOL.
My mother says we just don't see anything the same. My sister hasn't spoken to me in years. One of my daughters and one of my nieces has blocked me and unfriended me on social media and not quietly, I might add. One of my granddaughters has followed the lead of her mother but recently refriended me to what feels like stalking my facebook wall and trolling my posts. Many church ladies have their panties in a twist and in real time avoided me, in social media; unfriend me, yet I've not been unfriendly to them. I do not back down from my convictions, and those convictions now include the revelation that rejection of a person may indeed drive them to a more accepting group. For me, that's been fine as I've simply never minded being the only woman in a group of male friends or at the worksite.
I've always had male friends. Straight men don't have so many emotional rules in getting along, so it's been quite comfortable for me to be a sort of non-sexual woman. My womanhood has not been challenged or questioned by myself or my peers. What I'm seeing here, though, is the possibility that the introduction of acceptance and the early programming by this agenda may be the catalyst to so many young people being "gender variant" as the blogging pregnant mom referenced in regard to one of her 3 year old's friends in preschool or daycare. That leads me to the next "what am I missing?"
Many day cares do receive federal funding and of course, the head start program is a government program . . . Although I do know some folks of my generation who identify gay or lesbian, and we can certainly read about old guys at this late stage in life, deciding they'd like to have long hair and firm breasts, but it wasn't programmed and they weren't recruited as three year olds. I simply can't help but believe, what was missing 50 years ago is the early programming. The agenda of gender confusion had not yet been implemented and introduced. The "diagnosis" of homosexuality was entirely removed from the third edition of the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) in 1986, but gender dysphoria was added to the fifth edition in it's own category, as an issue for children.
Since that time, the agenda and recruitment has gained momentum, exponentially.
I am truly saddened when I see all this programming and recruiting taking place now, as I remember my childhood a half century ago. We had the privilege of knowing who and what we were, by simple anatomical identification. Regardless of rope climbing, creek wading, and scrub baseball, I, like Elly Mae Clampett, knew I was a girl. As it turns out, and stands to this day, male genitalia is not required to enjoy outdoor activities and sports. Also confirmed is the fact that one need not identify with a specific community to enjoy non-stereotypical interests.
As a young child, my mother continuously harped at Daddy, that he was encouraging me to be a tomboy. Truth be told, it was her harping, haranguing, and micromanaging that encouraged me to stay out of the house . . . but that's a topic for another day. I identified with Daddy in a number of areas, and see no reason whatsoever that these interests must be in accordance with a specific gender or reproductive anatomy. I was a tiny little girl in hunting photos. Before I could ride a bike, I remember driving my home made go-cart, designed and built by Daddy, Grandpa, and Uncle Earl. As a middle aged adult woman, I jokingly refer to myself as "the unson" of the family. As I wrote that last sentence, I may have discovered exactly what it is that I'm missing. Perhaps, it's the programming that one needs to "belong" that is making so many young people so vulnerable to this aggressive agenda. Many just long to have a place to belong, to be a part of something and to share an identity. I accepted my exclusion early on, and it has simply been a part of my identity as well, but there was no pushy agenda trying to recruit me . . . or perhaps the LGBT community didn't want me either. LOL.
My mother says we just don't see anything the same. My sister hasn't spoken to me in years. One of my daughters and one of my nieces has blocked me and unfriended me on social media and not quietly, I might add. One of my granddaughters has followed the lead of her mother but recently refriended me to what feels like stalking my facebook wall and trolling my posts. Many church ladies have their panties in a twist and in real time avoided me, in social media; unfriend me, yet I've not been unfriendly to them. I do not back down from my convictions, and those convictions now include the revelation that rejection of a person may indeed drive them to a more accepting group. For me, that's been fine as I've simply never minded being the only woman in a group of male friends or at the worksite.
I've always had male friends. Straight men don't have so many emotional rules in getting along, so it's been quite comfortable for me to be a sort of non-sexual woman. My womanhood has not been challenged or questioned by myself or my peers. What I'm seeing here, though, is the possibility that the introduction of acceptance and the early programming by this agenda may be the catalyst to so many young people being "gender variant" as the blogging pregnant mom referenced in regard to one of her 3 year old's friends in preschool or daycare. That leads me to the next "what am I missing?"
Many day cares do receive federal funding and of course, the head start program is a government program . . . Although I do know some folks of my generation who identify gay or lesbian, and we can certainly read about old guys at this late stage in life, deciding they'd like to have long hair and firm breasts, but it wasn't programmed and they weren't recruited as three year olds. I simply can't help but believe, what was missing 50 years ago is the early programming. The agenda of gender confusion had not yet been implemented and introduced. The "diagnosis" of homosexuality was entirely removed from the third edition of the DSM (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders) in 1986, but gender dysphoria was added to the fifth edition in it's own category, as an issue for children.
Since that time, the agenda and recruitment has gained momentum, exponentially.
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