Mutant America



Steroids, antibiotics, industrial pollutants.
Chemicals added for flavor.
Sedatives for a less stressed death.
Bigger, better, faster;
clouded minds and toxic by "better food."
Making cows cannibals for a kickback.
Interrupted profits by the death of a mad cow....take it off the shelf.
Chemicals causing cancer to make our food last longer.
Selling third-world countries chemicals proven too toxic for us, there standards lower
and we take full advantage.
Modified mayhem!
Soon chickens will have hooves,
but as long as their meat is "edible," I suppose we'll keep buying (from the hands of corporate sellouts).
Our men go under the scalpel...coming out with breasts.
"Hormone Replacement Therapy!"
What's so therapeutic about genetic mutation?
You can no longer tell what's being omitted,
what secrets are behind everything.
What you see is no longer what you get.
Men change to women, our mindsets are mutated.
Contaminants in our food attack our nervous system....
for the pleasure of taste?
Perhaps we should acquire a new pallate...?
ADD, ADHD, Alzheimer's...
they don't matter when compared to our meat having a shelf life of 300 years and then some.
FDA's protection, hah! 
As good as a pimps cause he's selling her too.
They say, "a little doesn't hurt."
But to them I ask, "How much poop would you like in your brownies?"
Our world is becoming something outside of its creation!
I thought humans were supposed to advance, yet it seems that we have digressed to infancy...where we don't know the difference between poison and food, man and woman.
We hunt until we become greedy.
We kill for profit.
We change our gender because we are confused and have stopped asking the right questions....
      we are all modified from what we once were.

Mutant America....because profit supersedes person!

A Quiet yet Messy Rebellion!

 

  Since the day we brought River home from the hospital he has been in rebellion against burp clothes.  I'm not sure where this hatred originated, perhaps during a mid afternoon nap he dreamt of evil burp clothes trying to rid the world of his mommy.  Wherever this hatred has come from though, it has resulted in a refusal to spit up on this designated and convenient spot.
  I started with rags that were relatively small-the same ones that were good enough for my elder son, Israel.  After the many outfit changes to both baby and mommy, I reasonably configured to enlarge the cloth.  Assuming this to be a faultless course of action, I was disappointed to find that River had once again gotten the best of me.  During my next wardrobe change, I again contemplated a solution.
  Forget burp clothes all together, I'll just use receiving blankets!  Ah hah!  Infallible!  Well the next feeding came and I had my ego all prepared for success, but to my astonishment he puked down my back, completely avoiding the entire foot of material hanging off of my shoulder! 
Errr....I knew this was nothing less than intentional and to prove it we need to look at all of the facts...
 1.  River sometimes smiles or laughs afterwards
 2.  River will always get me no matter what sort of precautions I take
 3.  dare I act smug or satisfied at the end of a feeding when I haven't received a puke bath, River 
 will get me hours later when I am least expecting it, and with such accuracy, that you would think I
  was wearing a bulls eye!  and finally,
 4.  he NEVER pukes on anyone else who has a burp cloth (even the teeniest, tiniest variety)!!
And it's this final point that is the most important. 
  Last Sunday, our church had a meal after the service.  So I'm at this carry-in, sitting with some friends, when Tara asks me if she can hold River.  Excited to eat a meal with both hands, I pass him along for some Tara-time.  I walked to the food table to load my plate with some good eatin's, and with my plate overloaded I headed back to our table.
  As I approach, Tara says, "Oh, he spit up a little," and of course, not on her I might add.  So I reach into the diaper bag and get the burp cloth to wipe him off.  As I lean in, she turns River to face me when to my surprise, I see spit up in the EXACT shape of an exclamation point!!
Since then, I've surrendered to the idea that I will ever again have a dry day, and that the burp cloth will NEVER serve it's purpose!  No subtlety necessary River, point proven, I'll buy a poncho!

Cheers to Motherhood

There isn't a day that goes by that I don't get sneezed on, peed on, puke laden, or the wonderful privilege of smelling something similar to death.
My three month old is beginning to resemble a brier ever since he has realized he could clamp down his chubby yet mighty fist.  He sticks to everything he comes in contact with, including (but not limited to) his favorite, my hair.  He's learning to over talk (over babble) his seven-year-old brother, which is amazing in and of itself because he can be quite boisterous.
Then there's my seven-year-old who fills the quiet nap time air with his machine gun laugh, mischievous adventures, and haphazard clumsiness.
Amidst all the confusion a day can bring, be it a clingy baby at suppertime, or a seven-year-old who still protests brushing his teeth (and with much imagination I might add), I am the happiest I could be with my beautiful boys who enrich my life and consistently teach me what it means to step outside of myself and just love.  Because in their world, that's the only thing that matters.

Deliberate Dreamer

There have been some situations in my life lately where I have felt betrayed and very hurt.  I've tried very hard not to let those things cloud my vision, and to walk in forgiveness.  Honestly though, it's been a rough road, and I have felt like I've had on the wrong shoes for the journey.
I've spent time in prayer.  Probably not equal to the amount of time that I've stewed in my justified frustration, but I have been trying.
I laid in bed the other night, and my insides were churning and I was letting myself feel offended all over again.  I began to remind my rational self over and over again, that forgiveness really is a choice, not necessarily a feeling.  I gained some sense of peace, at least enough to fall asleep.
As I was sleeping I began to dream that I was at school, the end of the day, and I was headed to my car to go to a bonfire that the school was hosting.
As I was now nearing my destination, I saw three huge red barns bursting with flames.  I had seriously underestimated the intensity of this bonfire!  I looked at the smoke rising from the first barn, and I saw massive elephants.  From another barn I saw a perfect and expansive number three.  And then I woke up.  Hmmm.  I dug out my book on dream symbolism.  I looked up barns.  I read..
a symbol for blessings.
Okay.  Okay.
I looked up fire-
Presence of God.  Holiness of God.
Purifying.
Testing.
Hmmm.  What was God saying?
Then, elephants-
Invincible or thick-skinned
not easily offended
powerful, large.
Wow!  I'm really getting warmer. 
The number three representing the trinity, the united force of God Himself-Father, Son, Holy Spirit.
And then...the light bulb!!!
God was telling me that he would teach me (school), purify and test me (fire), so that I would not be easily offended (elephants) and that through this refining, I would create room for His blessings (barns).  And the only way I would be capable of such testing, was with God Himself (number three)!!!
WOW!!
Okay God, I get it.  The choice to forgive just got a little easier, and already I can feel my skin getting a little thicker!  It's nothing short of a miracle that God can speak such mysteries to my subconscious and I can wake up feeling cleansed, healed, and a lot more of His love for myself to be able to pass around!!

Rorschach Tile Floor

Each morning as I sleepily drag myself to the bathroom, I get an omen, a clue for the day, in my tile floor.  It's not contrived, I don't see it on purpose.  The spots are the same every day, my eyes just seem to view them differently. 
I read the images I see like a good horoscope.  Today I saw God;  a wise, caring, gentle face.  I have hope for today.  The other day, the really bad neurotic day, to no coincidence, I saw Hitler.   Mustache and all.  I think that was a subtle confirmation for me to let go of control.
It seems crazy I know, but hey, there are lots of people who idolize Virgin Mary so obsessively that they see her face in a burrito, or Jesus in a brick wall, so my faces don't seem so harmful.  I think God, along with my subconscious, tries to speak to me in any way I'll respond.
For some people it's the Sistine Chapel...for me it happens to be my bathroom floor!

2,190 Deaths Later

It's been a fight to get where I am now.  In the last six years I have gruelingly struggled over my insecurities, juggling them in my mind until I finally decided to let all of the balls drop.  For so long I was like an anorexic, constantly checking the proverbial mirror to see what shape I was in.  I got so tired of myself that I just smashed the mirror into a million pieces.  Then I saw the many different fragments of myself and wasn't even sure which pieces to pick up;  which pieces were my own.  That was the day I was massacred.

I decided in that moment that I was done trying to figure my life out.  I was done picking up illegitimate pieces and claiming them as my own.  I was tired and depressed, stressed out and bored with my life and I didn't want to go on pretending that everything was okay.  In fact, it was impossible for me to convince myself it was okay because it was too obvious to ignore, the lie no longer worked.  So I began to unlayer all of the weird collages I had made of myself to expose the original piece of art that was truly an expression of me.
There's this temptation that says that to be loved and accepted, you have to be what's expected of you.  One of the many issues with this thinking is that everyone has different expectations and so you really end up making yourself feel confined and schizophrenic.  When you fall into this thinking, it overwhelms you and those thoughts stay so intact and fragile because you, along with the person "loving you," both know that it's conditioned, manipulated, contrived, and fraudulent.  So you become enabled to be something you're not, just to get something in return that wasn't real in the first place.
Well, that was my whole life before the massacre.  I felt like nobody got me, or appreciated my individuality.  I felt like I was cast into this very small space, and like a jack-in-the-box, I was only allowed to come out if it were someone else's hand manipulating the lever.  When I killed all of the alterations I had made of myself to appease the gods of acceptance, I was finally able to breathe again without the nauseating smell of burning incense and my charred flesh upon their altar.  And although I was freed of the necessity to strive, I paradoxically felt lost, directionless.  I no longer knew what to do with myself.  I knew basic things about myself;  likes and dislikes, desires that I had since I was young, but I didn't know who I was or whose I was.  Identity is profoundly wrapped in those two questions, and those were the two I was completely and utterly baffled by.
What helped answer those questions was time spent listening, quieting myself;  ridding myself of my own opinions and just accepting what God was telling me.  I was so lost that I was easily led, and so directionless that I readily followed the clues that helped lead the way out.  I was emptying myself of everything that made me feel important or recognized or identifiable to the mirage that I was.  I was simply listening and flogging all of the parts of me that needed it.  I've never missed those parts of myself either.  I've never taken myself through death regretting any of it.  I am only freer, happier, stronger.
I went from self-absorption to daily killing my self-importance.  I was translated from a dark mind, to one that is daily coming to an understanding of what it's like not to be first.  God has been showing me who I am...and who I'm not for that matter.  He has shown me that he knows me more intimately than I know myself.  He has known me since I have been a thought in his heart and mind.  I have only known myself for the amount of years that I have consciously been able to recognize myself as an individual, aside from parents, siblings, and friends.  He knows the hairs on my head, I do not.  He knows every thought, however fleeting.  I don't even know where those thoughts come from or what wind they catch on their way out.  I have no clue how my body works on a day-to-day basis, yet God crafted it with his bare hands.  So I thought it best to ask God what was in my heart. 
Everyday, every death, every attempt to put myself last, is a better idea of what's in store of the heart of God and the heart that he has instilled in me.  I've pursued myself for so long, and it grew tiresome and unfruitful.  I have searched God out, abandoning myself, and have miraculously found both Him and I;  two vital questions being answered and matured every single day.
Life holds so much more adventure when it is a daily search.  It's less overwhelming to think about today, than the thousand suns that lay ahead.  There have been many deaths in my life, and there are many to come, and I welcome them all.
I had a vision of myself standing on a hill.  Suddenly, I burst into a thousand pieces.  All that remained were my worn shoes, no real remnant of who I was.  Initially, I was scared.  Again, reverting back to my own self-importance, justifying momentarily all of the good that I hold.  And then I got it!  I realized that all of the illegitimate pieces were the ones that shattered;  all of the pieces I had put into place by my own hand.  My foundation was firm, my feet were still intact.  And what once was threatening and scary made me thankful all the more that God will shatter everything that can shatter.
I want to leave a trail that doesn't create a path to me.  I want to leave clefts in the dirt that are steady, unwavering, and unselfishly lovely.  Although there are many things to rebuild, I am thankful that the only part of me that is still alive, is intentioned by Him and not by my own doing.  I would rather have a little of me with a lot of work to go, than a lot of me with no room for growth.  After all, it was the pieces of my own shattered mirror that kept cutting me.
God does not make an alternate path.  He is not a plan b, second rate God!  He died for humanity so that they could be restored to the status of human beings.  He is a God of violent love, who has let himself die for an enemy.  So, I've reasoned, "Why can't I let myself die a thousand deaths for a friend?"