Fool of prayer

 

I hear you, Isaiah

I understand your canned concerns

But I’m not sorry

And I never will be

 

I don’t care if you’re an actual prophet

Or just courageous like one

I simply will not pray for him, period 

I won’t even pray for the man at your right hand

 

They’re both fools I’ve prayed for before

And I’m finished praying for fools who pray

And pray and pray, and pray and pray

And talk about praying

 

For others to be warm and filled 

Along with blessings from above

For them to experience the love and light of Christ

And other ejaculatory buzzwords of spiritual direction

 

Fools pray when far more than praying can and should be done by them

Fools expect results by their prayers

They’re fools because of their many prayers

They’re fools because they expect God alone to act, even if its by inaction

 

Fools also baptize their prayers 

With pietistic not-my-will’s but thy-will’s

And doxological refrains

In Jesus’ name

 

Meanwhile, rapists’ rape 

And rape and rape 

And never receive justice

But thank God there’s at least one fool out there praying for him by name

Trusting Grace

 

 

At first you dragged us

Against our will and into your life

Irresistibly impelling the I 

We were humbled

 

Then you showered gifts 

Washing us with precious promises 

Of life, of good, of blessings to come, even protection from prey

We were inspired

 

So, we did as you commanded

Day after day, studying to preach and pray 

Students on mission, on fire without a cage

We persevered

Life happened

Decades passed

We became as gods

 

Knowing good and evil

Knowing the difference 

Between planting corn and strawberries

Curiosity piqued

 

In our quest of you

Analyzed and perused

Unexamined details sprouted like never before

It was as though, for once, we both reached an impasse

 

Then we each watched each other's tide

Encroach upon our iconic moat and sand castle

While each of us did nothing

 

What happened to the One who saved us?

Where did all the power and sovereignty go?

Will you not do for us what we cannot do for ourselves?

Why the silent treatment now?

 

Nothing but silence, casting doubt

In despair, questioning if you’d ever been there

In loneliness, orphaned and stranded

Why should we care?

A generation of wandering

Around this citadel of sand

And you would not coddle or swaddle us once more

 

Why not drag us, or woo us, or inspire us again?

Why jettison every word of promise?

Convince us to care, if you dare

Then the seed finally died

 

Children abandoned their fathers

Servants betrayed their masters

Fruitless branches pruned from the vine

Because juvenility reigned

 

Only a few learned to increase in likeness and sovereignty

Even fewer took control of this monergistic gift for all

To honor father and mother when they’re no longer needed

And trust this first synergistic word with promise

 

 

Good boy

 

 

I prayed last night

It feels right to draw a line in the sand

I’m not sure if it’s wrong to never cross that line again

Even for artificial peace

 

In the moment it feels more wrong than right

Why should I care about him?

Because that’s what Jesus would supposedly do?

What if he’s a pharisee?

 

Should I pray for Saul to become Paul?

For forgiveness, because he doesn’t know what he’s doing?

Saul repented when confronted

He accepted change

 

And as far as forgiveness goes

It turns out that our Father did not forgive them all

Forty years were offered to repent 

And become children again

 

He doesn’t have that many years left though

He knows he should do something

I prayed he would

Or, at least I think I did

 

Maybe I fell asleep

Before I got to that part

If he does do what is right

Does anyone even know what that would look like?

For yourself

 

None of us were surprised

He came and brought her

And made excuses afterward

 

It was a good time apart nonetheless

Kids puking will become his excuse

To normalize dysfunction

 

He convinced many for a time, times, and half a time

That he really does love us

Just not enough to take us seriously

 

This is because he sees the missing

He knows how nations are discipled

His whole life is one adopted failure after another

 

Old man, you have built very little

Defended quite a lot of your own panache

And sustained absolutely nothing but a reputation

For yourself

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.