Silent Lover

 

What kind of person are you?

Why don’t you care enough to get involved?

All these people suffer

And my family suffers

We all suffer

But, for what—your glory?

 

Then comes the satiation

Of fingers or fists

Raised up high

 

Life together

At first so sweet

Turns into life separated

Without a choice

Or with a choice

To keep it that way 

Since the other departed

 

Help from on high is then sent

To quote and comfort 

From our lover’s book

All things work together for good

His ways are not our ways

You will never be tested 

At least not beyond what you can endure

 

I’ve heard them all

I’ve even said many

Back when magic words were the only cure

 

Thus, when silence remains the only offering

And the only assurance one receives 

Comes from incestuous prayers and esoteric incantations

That’s when it’s fair to ask new questions

About not loving or respecting the silent treatment

Or the inanity of his children

 

Proverb

 

Prayer is an interesting exercise

One talks to the person in charge

And waits

To wake up

And discover the reality

That “He” listened

“He” stooped and heard my cry

“He” delivered me from the pit

“He” showed mercy to those who feared “Him”

 

But for those who are not chosen

Yet choose nonetheless

Like chicken soup or beef stew

And commit to entertaining the fantasy

Of a “He” who loves to listen

And has many things to say

But is mute

And struggles in popularity

With only one bestseller

 

“He” is merely the residue

The excuse

The guy up high who’s qualified

And highly recommended to fix existential leaks

Better than the guy down the street 

“His” credentials cover heaven and earth

 

When they pray

They wake up to the same reality

As those who parrot proverbs

And wash in lamb’s blood

The only difference between them

Is gratitude for the exercise

Parrot Disease

 

I wish there was an easy way to say this, but John was right about the jailor.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the few whose faith is whole.

 

I remember you well. I don’t remember everything, 

but what I remember from back then is the same I heard today.

 

You are hurt. Nobody responds to your stupid texts.

Nobody calls you, or checks in, or pays you a visit, or invites you over. 

Always deflecting. Always insulting. Always hearing but not listening.

Always gaslighting. Always the victim. Always the expert. Always the same.

 

Fifty-eight minutes is all it took to remember why your four distanced themselves.

In your eyes the four are Stewards. Milk does feed calves and dung does not.

 

Always reformed but never reforming, and trying to make them think.

That milk is the same sort of thing as sweat or dung.

One is always the soldier at war. One is always attacked. One is always justified.

That one is a horrible human being. Not horrible, as in wicked—

 

—horrible in the sense of pathetic, and mean, and hypocritical, 

and self-aggrandizing, and argumentative, and petty, and embarrassing.

This is why your four don’t bother with you anymore.

Tireless propaganda tames all but the strong whose hearts they break.

 

Dots and Caps

 

The adopted one speaks like her Papa. Always innocent until proven guilty. Always the victim. Always the humble and wise apologist, asking useless questions related to imaginary foundational gaps, accompanied with poor grammar and reasoning. Always tearing down strongholds made with privatized perception within the echo-chamber of Dr. Pops. Then come the dots...

As the Papa is predictably defensive and insecure, yet overly confident inasmuch as he overcompensates with ridiculous anecdotes of self-aggrandizements, so this newly adopted daughter is blinded by her own conceits. Blinded by his, too, they remain an embarrassment to all those who truly care about them. At least for now. Maybe it will remain forever. Maybe it won't. Then come the all-caps.

I certainly hope not. Just as I hope she learns, before it's too late, that she's not his daughter or covenant child, and he's not her father. Her actual father is not evil, as her Papa claims. The only way out of this mess she impetuously plunged into is to think for herself, and question big Papa's authority. That's what his real children did. They grew tired of playing his stupid games, which only won them stupid prizes. Then comes the position paper. 

The end

 

Why so rude?

Because a pinnacle has been reached

It doesn’t matter what others think

Others don’t care

So others shouldn’t feel obligated either

Oh, but they do care

So I’m told

Oh, I get it

They are now

Now that honesty has entered the sanctuary

And clarity the conversation

Direct, principled, and prepared with zero bullshit

With a side of loyalty to those hate horseshit, too

The end

Blackface

After years of searching

I learned that most people are pretending

Pretending to be healthy

Pretending to be reasonable

When a nine year old boy slaps another kid in the face

I’m supposed to believe that’s not normal

When a carpenter drives a six inch screw through a wall

I’m supposed to believe all rebukes must be gentle 

When every adult must suddenly refrain from four letter words around kids

I’m supposed to believe that Christian taboos foster holiness

When Jesus spits in a blind man’s eyes and we’re told that’s because his mouth was full of bread

I’m supposed to not call that ridiculous, cartoonish exegesis

I’m supposed to pretend everything’s normal and reasonable

I’m supposed to bow down to everyone’s idols

It’s when others react harshly over harshness

Then I stop pretending to be right

Dust ye shall return

I wonder why it matters

if we don’t get our buttholes

and bellybuttons back

Does one really need a particle 

of the shell that once was food for the worms?

Will we need barbers, doctors, and cobblers too? 

What if people imagined

a world with only one return

and one promise

transpiring long ago?

Supposedly this tenet is serious

Sheepherders are looking 

for moving targets

It’s not just concerning

It’s very concerning

They will hunt you down

and dismember you 

It will be horrific

Even God won't be able to reassemble you on the last day.

Imagine bodies absorbed 

by tree roots 

and fire

Another chopped 

into pieces 

by car crash or grenade

Others chewed 

and digested 

by bears

sharks

and politicians

Wandering organs

reassembled into earth

Centuries of worms 

Shitting out the flesh of saints

Then the Scriptures 

will finally 

be fulfilled

The last Adam returns 

as promised 

to the adamah

Christmas Wish

 

Good morning, Noble-One.

It was so nice to have your whole family over to our home last night, for many hours of unmasked and socially-close feasting and fellowship, in preparation for our entire family's Christmas celebrations tomorrow. Hearts flutter in the heavenly abode of Jesus as I type these words to you.

I am also happy you met Memoria, our new refugee family member for the next eight months. After you left, I pursued the magnanimous task of clarifying some confusion in the mind of Memoria, who inquired about our vaccination status. I forgot to inform her before your arrival yesterday that your entire family is not vaccinated. As I have interpreted her feelings on this matter, I now know that she is not comfortable being indoors with people who are not vaccinated. 

I failed. I’m such a failure. Failure is my saint name.

I did not sleep well last night. Pity me, my beloved Noble-One. 

My heart is heavy, like a millstone dragging my earnest desires into the depths of the sea. 

So you must know: I want our entire family—yours included—to be together. I really do. But this millstone God chained to me is His will, and all part of His marvelous plan of Redemption. And grace. And mercy. And love.

Last year was painful for everyone. The masks. The ideology-based segregation. Treating your family alone as being ceremonially unclean and defiled. The badgering of your oldest son about his mask drooping ever-so-slightly below his nose, while all of us shivered indoors in temperatures well below zero. But all that was necessary, because of CDC guidelines. 

Sadly, I think it caused distance between you and your siblings. I cry crocodile tears over it now. 

Months later, the bridal shower you and I attended unmasked and undistanced brought me tremendous joy! Then, sadly, you and I injured each other afterward. It was not just me injuring you. You injured me too. 

Beloved Noble-One, I love you. I don’t love your husband, and I never have; nor might I ever. But that’s a separate issue I’m unwilling to get counseling over. It helps that your father is a domestic doormat, too. So don't expect much change in regard to things we both are unwilling to change.

I have remained immensely burdened by missing out on many things in your life over the past ten years of your marriage to him. And I know you have missed out on many things in our lives over that period, too. Let’s not point fingers as to who is to blame for both. Instead, let’s mourn together. But let’s also rejoice because I know our Redeemer lives!

I know that God cares for each and every one of us—even the unvaccinated! He cares about our sorrows, our heartbreaks, and I trust He will use opportunities like bridal showers to create healing, joy, and new experiences we can all rally around and celebrate together!

This. Is. My. Prayer.

My. Christmas. Wish.

I truly love you all equally, and my goal is to honor and respect everyone in our family, regardless of vaccination status. 

Oh, how I wish we all could have what we wish for!

Oh, how I wish we all could have what we need!

But our comfort zones around the unvaccinated differ. And it is, sadly, with thick crocodile tears, clear to me that this is not possible for Christmas this year (tomorrow). 

God has invited us to welcome Memoria into our hearts and into our home. We have accepted God’s invitation. It is now our privilege and responsibility to honor her, love her, and respect her too. 

I went to bed praying, tossing and turning, in chains of despair wound tight all around me. I asked God to show me what to do, to set me free. And He answered me with gracious words of affirmation about how Memoria feels. So this decision is no longer about me and my desires. This decision is God’s and Memoria’s.

When Memoria woke up this morning, I told her what God invited me to enforce, starting today: “I will not have unvaccinated people in our home without masks while she is here.”

She hugged me and said, “Thank you.” Then she said, “This will surely make the Noble-One feel sad.” I told her this makes me sad, too; but God revealed to me His will, and I will not deviate from it, because I am my Beloved’s and He is mine. 

That turned into an opportunity for brief comments about God, who was willing to bear heartache with His own Son on the cross, for the sake of others (even the unvaccinated).

I am praying God will use this for his glory. But what I have to say next is going to be very hard for you to hear:

Ko-Vid cases are rising. I will need to be very careful about having unvaccinated people here indoors. So then, I’m wondering if I can drop off your family’s gifts today, so that they could be opened tomorrow over FaceTime?

Sincerely, 

with love of Jesus in my heart,

Mom

XXOO XO XOO OOX OX OO XX

P.S.  Two of my grandchildren (who are not in your household) are still too young to be allowed the sacramental gift of vaccination, because the FDA has not yet approved an experimental gene therapy injection for their age group. But I will make an exception for them both for all of Christmas day (tomorrow) because I’m a complete fucking hypocrite. 

 

Merry Christmas (2021)!

 

There seem to be three diplomatic options for holiday gatherings this year:

The first is for families and friends who are fully vacksed to gather together, with the ‘host’ requesting that only the unvacksed wear masks, stay six feet apart, use hand sanitizers, wash hands regularly, and open up windows for ‘proper ventilation’; or that all guests regardless of vacksinashun status wear masks, stay six feet apart, use hand sanitizers, wash hands regularly, and open up windows for ‘proper ventilation.’ And of course, the host should notify all who are invited that they must stay home (and away from gatherings) if there are any indications of sickness whatsoever. Even the slightest indication of sniffles, congestion, sore throat, or higher-than-usual body temperatures must be treated as disease-spreading germ factories. 

The second is for families to gather together according to each family’s boundaries. Whoever hosts a gathering should welcome all invited, vacksed and unvacksed, who are not clearly sick with a contagious disease. That way, no individual liberties are denied, no psychic powers purported, no fear-porn distributed, and no medical apartheid subtly encouraged from the outset. Guests may also wear masks, stay six feet apart, use hand sanitizers, wash hands regularly, and go outside for ‘proper ventilation’, if that makes them feel safer; or even it it merely satisfies the quasi-religious contingencies of faithfulness to their triune god, Science, a.k.a. Big Gov, Big Tech, and Big Pharma; or even if it merely satisfies the functionally religious honor due to the cultural saints they venerate (Fauci, Gates, Biden, Pelosi, Cuomo, et. al.).

The third option is for families to gather together, but only after the ‘host’ has properly vetted and identified all those among their invited guests who are uncomfortable being around others who are healthy, not-sick, but still (possibly) unvacksed. Then, after proper vetting, all those who are uncomfortable gathering around the healthy, non-sick, and unvacksed should be segregated from the rest. This will accomodate all unpredictable paranoia and thereby, also, welcome all mentally and emotionally stable guests within an environment that is actually healthy and celebratory.*** That way, all parties win: the paranoid can celebrate in paranoid isolation, and the healthy, non-sick, and unvacksed can enjoy Christmas together as they always did prior to this Great Reset.

*** This statement has not been approved by the FDA, CDC, WHO, Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, or Facebook and Instagram fact-checkers.