Friggen' Zoar!!!



I believe that at times, events in my life have spoken parabolically of the deeper issues at hand.  For instance, the times in my life of such desperate brokenness, was also spent with vehicles who were in no shape to get

me around anywhere.  I could've just picked my car up from the shop...stranded on the side of the road.  I bought a new car with no known problems..stranded on the side of the road, very far away from home.  And my  favorite time was of course when I chose the safe route; borrowing a "more reliable" car to drive a long distance...stranded on the side of the road, far from home, and broke to boot.

My car, the obvious symbol of what carried me, a very overstated point that the way I personally was maneuvering, was also in an extremely fragile condition, and no matter the work I invested, I was still very very broken.
So here I am again, as a living parable.  It all started about the time I was 17 and got my license.  A very inexperienced driver (to say the least), I often made wrong turns, missed exits, and got a little to distracted with things that don't particularly pertain to driving at all.  I have always managed, no matter the point of origin, to end up in a tiny town called Zoar.  Oh I'm sorry, did I say town?  I meant to say village!  My friends can attest to this because it seemed every time we got in the car to go anywhere, we ended up there instead.  To see that cursed sign was like venturing into the Twilight Zone, because as many unfortunate times as I had accidentally been there, I have no recall of the path taken that got us home.  Zoar was my mental block.  My new curse word.  I loathe Zoar.
So this past weekend I made an excursion out of town (in the complete opposite direction of Zoar).  On the way home, and careful to follow the proper signs, I knew I had somehow gotten off track.  My surroundings were strange and I should have almost been home, not seeing unfamiliar sights.  Ready to take the next exit to stop and ask for direcitons, I see a sign nearing....it reads "Zoar, 5 miles!"  NOOO!!  I almost started crying from that all-to-familiar sign of impending doom!  How could this have happened?  I didn't think I had ventured off course that long!  How could this be?  Aahhhh!!!  Needless to say, I had to have help getting home because for the life of me, I had no idea which direction home was!
On my way home, my long way home, I really began to question what this really meant.  Suddenly I had a strange recollection of what Zoar really represents.  It began a long time ago...
In the Bible, there's a man named Lot; Abraham's nephew.  He lived in a place called Sodom, which was near Gomorrah.  These two towns had become so deviated from their true nature that there was nothing good in any who lived there...only perversion, and lots of it.  Abraham called out to God to have mercy on the righteous who lived there, and to save them in the midst of the destruction that was about to incur.  So God sent two angels to recover the righteous...and the grand total recovered included four!  Lot, his wife and daughters...that's it. 
The angels kept urging Lot to get his things and head for the safety of the mountains.  Lot stalled so long, that the angels finally grabbed him and his family and literally carried them out of Sodom before God's judgement fell.  The angels told them not to look back with longing in their hearts, and Lot's wife did.  She turned into a pillar of salt.  (Disclaimer:  this is where you set theology and opinion aside, and humor me for the sake of the point I am aimlessly getting to, I promise). 
So, running to the mountains, Lot decides that that is just a little too far for his liking, and tells the angels that he would like to stay and rest where he is now instead of traveling further.  Although this wasn't what was intentioned, God granted his request. 
He now settled in a town that was so close to the very life that he wasn't supposed to look back upon, that he could see the smoke and ruin of Sodom from his window.  A window that he could daily gaze out of, staring his past right in the face.  This tiny town, this village, was none other than Zoar. 
My life at this point in time, how do I explain it...a ripeness bruised!  Although I have so much freedom in a myriad of ways, there are still a few things that seem to keep urging me to take the wrong exit time and time again.  I never seem to notice the distractions, because they are so minute.  Yet, the varience of this subtle derogation leaves me lost all the same.  I have been living in a place that is too uncomfortably close to my Zoar and it is now time for me to move far away from the things that I keep gazing my affections upon that are destructive, counterproductive, and annoyingly orbital.  It is time for a new path, a new destination, and to take an axe to that sign that reads, "Now Entering Zoar"!

Confessions of an Emotional Cannibal

God will show the real, no matter what it does to you.
The goal isn't to hurt, but to gain awareness.
He says, "Let the wounds heal."

I have had awareness, the light bulb over the head.
Standing on the edge, the verge...and nothing.
I wanted to jump, but not necessarily to the other side.

I saw my wounds, and I bled an awful lot.
But what was it that wasn't dying?

An endless pain I didn't understand.
I saw, but didn't surrender.
I felt, and bled some more.

I manufactured emotions, sold the right version of "me."
I had to feed what I created,
but the hunger never subsided.

I dug my own wells,
they were empty...they were supposed to have  no  sound.

Done bleeding, I submitted to death.
I realized that the dying itself was much worse.
My well began to fill.
The voices of others began to fade.

No ones voice can send me crashing,
or any pleasant words fill my soul.
My worth is from an endless God,
who fills, with the infinite me.

I welcomed.
He took the sacrifice.
The noise is gone.

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!