Staged? Timed? Don’t know. Doesn’t matter. OBL is no longer the core issue in this war and he hasn’t been core for some time. His plans, agenda, power and money is in others’ hands now. His death, or maybe more accurately, the announcement of it, (he’s been reported dead nine times), did nothing unless it was a red flag waved in the face of the already angry bull that launches prophetic events. Remember, in Revelation global is bad.

The media is throwing confetti and crowning the leader, left and right alike. I posted something earlier today I titled “That’s me in the bull pen.” I stand behind my opinion and I’m still in the bull pen, but …. I forgot what so recently I’ve learned. And that is that our political parties are two teams in a stadium. One wears read, one wears blue. So do the rabid fans. There are a few newcomers who claim to be constitutional purists. We’ll see if they’re allowed to stay for the whole game let alone put their players on the field. The talk radio guys, the bloggers, the columnists are the announcers. They take sides. We listen. We ignore our instincts and we quote the announcer we agree with.  The old line news cheer us on with their same story lines in classier looking wrappers. We cheer. We think we control the players because don’t we choose them?

Don’t they promise us what we want? Did not the last president promise to lower the sea levels? (He did — phffffft)

And we swallowed it.  At least the blue team swallowed it.

It’s a stadium. It’s a game.  Ooooo, we don’t like to hear that a team can win with or without us. But they can. And when they make their plays, it’s usually in the mud. We don’t like it when the other team scores points. We yell at them for their mistakes and tell them what to do next, we call names and accuse the other team of cheating and lying, of taking cheap shots.

All true. On the cheating, lying, mud, and cheap shots, that is. It’s a game we don’t control.  So, tell me, who does?

Who owns the stadium? Who plans the plays? Who pays for the uniforms? Who trades the players? Who’s in the box seats? Who owns and rents out the windowed suites high up over the field? Who pays the announcers? Who buys the cheerleaders’ attractive little outfits?

Whoever pulls the puppet strings, gives the marching orders, it’s fewer individuals than play the game. Or cheer, or vote, or fund them with taxes.

Worse, we are not the only game. There’s an elite and they run it all.

As for Osama Bin Laden, he was not an employee of the CIA but the CIA created him, empowered him, used him for 3 decades. Today it was time to go if he wasn’t already taken out under cover long ago.  They pulled the string in the White House. It’s time to give the order.

Touchdown.

apathy [ap-uh-thee] -noun. Lack of emotion or interest

Combine the two and you get:

I don’t care and if I bothered to think about it, I don’t think I have to.

Years ago our choir put on a contemporary — we’re talking 70′s — musical called Tell It Like It Is by Ralph Carmichael. Some of it is on YouTube. Go for it. But I couldn’t find the song I remember best.  One of our high school students set up a folding chaise lawn chair and sang:

“Sippin’ lemonade in the cool of the shade, the cool of the shade, the cool of the shade. Sippin’ lemonade in the cool of the shade while the world goes on around me.” The character was saved and baptized and that’s where the commitment ended.

Not much has changed since Carmichael wrote that and it wasn’t new then. In the 21st century we could add a verse to demonstrate how we’re spacin’ out on vacation sippin’ lemonade or any one of a number of beverages of choice ‘cuz we’re working ourselves half to death trying to pay on the credit cards we used to buy the electronic toys and the vacation and the beverage.

We have a cool-of-the-shade mindset 24/7.  “I’m busy.” And my personal favorite, one I use myself, is “Saturdays are mine. If I want to slug, I get to slug.” Hmmm.

What does it take, what does God have to do to get our attention, to get us on our missionary feet? We crave quiet time, we respect quiet time, we preach quiet time. But if time as we know it is short in these last days or if our personal 72 year estimated life span is close to the end, or if it’s possible we’re snuffed like a candle on the next road trip, when do we reach out? Who will reach out?

How do we sidestep reaching out?

Apathy, the art of justifying lack of interest. Walk on by. Ignore it. It’s none of my business. I’m not trained in that. Judge not …. give me a break! The Bible is the guidepost to behavior. Holding it up as a mirror is not us judging.

There’s a new, all inclusive un-word for innocent apathy. Diss. After you diss, you distance from the scene causing the dissed to dissolve from your sphere of vision and you are innocent by lack of participation. We do it to people all the time, people we don’t or don’t want to relate to.

I don’t do that! Yes, you do. We do. Our culture does. We have electronic toys that can screen anyone anytime.  How does it feel to be set up by the evil one? To ignore someone and remain guilt free is the coldest form of meanness and cruelty. Doing so kills the joy, douses the fires of affection, dismantles any hope of relationship, destroys the spirit of another.

I’m busy. Who makes your schedule? You can fit into your schedule anyone you want to fit in.

In the story of the good Samaritan who attended to the needs of the man who was beaten and robbed, who passed him by? A priest and a Levite, the religious community. Who stopped and helped at his own personal expense? The man whose ethnic heritage was disgusting to the Jew in that day, the man from Samaria. Jews would travel 3 days’ journey out of their way to avoid Samaria. Yet this disgusting enemy came to the rescue. We don’t know the ethnicity of the victim. Apparently the Samaritan wasn’t concerned. He had mercy, busy as he may have been.

Who are we leaving in the dust? It could be someone you used to know but had a falling out, a relative you don’t have anything in common with as if blood is worthless and would rather not have anything to do with, a family member you don’t particularly like, a lonely coworker who just wants to chat.

Maybe someone you know is in the group Jesus called “the least of these”.

Really, though, our church’s sound people have a good system. They don’t need my constant coughing as a percussion section. And, the constant coughing has been the source of the continued germ growth. No more details since this isn’t my  point at all.

Of course during the ordeal, I’ve had to go to work and share the joy through hand to hand contact, sneezing and yakkin’ up.  There just wasn’t enough benefit time to cover the whole thing. So, as I’ve always done, I do just what I have to while sick, whether it’s Mom guilting me to church and school, tend a crying baby, or show up for a job, I did it. Do it. Whatever.

I have teaching CDs in the car I listen to over and over. I had listened to one of them regarding un-forgiveness several times but the message clicked only during yet one more day and one more 46 mile round trip of Driving with Crud.

Unforgiveness and your reaction of anger, offense and self pity is stress. During its course until you decide to forgive, to bury the whole hatchet too deep to grab it again, your immune system is canceled. Not down. Canceled. You are susceptible to whatever is being passed around. Stress changes the blood and its ability to protect you.

Furthermore, when you harbor grudges and take communion, you have partaken in disobedience and drank damnation to yourself. (See Corinthians).

Tough stuff.

We’re talking about Christians, the only group that preaches love and eats their own. “And many will be offended.” And when they are, they justify it, harbor grudges, swap congregations and start all over in another one.

One small revelation: If you are oh, so holy or think you are, you may feel superiority over another “lesser” one. You don’t hate, you’re not angry, you’re just a Pharisee.  Ignoring another based on your own self importance, your higher level — translation “I just don’t relate” — is not forgiving that person(s) for being less.  Be very careful of your motives in fellowship, worship, and communion.

This morning I stayed home from church one more time.

I watched John Hagee who spelled out Seven Types of People God Can’t Save. Conclusion: Some people insist on rejecting God. Even self-proclaimed Christians, and the ones who grow cold and turn away are among the listed. “Are you really saved?”

Then I watched Jimmy Evans who taught on the spirit of rejection and how we  overcome only with God’s healing love. Sounds simple, but how many curl up in their hurt and reject everybody so they won’t be hurt again? That’s exactly where Satan wants all Christians — not associating, not witnessing, not trying.

Third, a preacher I hadn’t heard of was in the background while I was babysitting the fireplace, begging it to please please burn. His message was Get Over It. The man gets straight to the point.

I wonder. Germs are germs. But just in case the preacher with over 40,000 hours of study knows more than my instincts, I prayed about the unforgiveness I might be harboring, who I wasn’t forgiving, and what to do with it. It was a short answer. Forgiving is not an option, it’s a command or else. I don’t want to know what “else” is.  Just do it and follow up with not talking about it, not digging it up, and showing only love.

I had let my shields down. I had nursed and fed my hurt feelings the entire month before. Now I’ve been sick a month. A connection? I think so.

Starting all over now and really enjoying the music video, picking out the next one to keep the house full of praise ‘n’ worship, stadium style.

I’ve had time to think and still have time for another nap.

It’s a plan. The more indignities, the more outrage, the increased likelihood the airlines will lose money during the most profitable, the busiest time of any year you want to bring up.

The first thing you want to consider is who is the TSA? Forget the acronym, it’s a government agency. Government agencies are what they are and have always been — illogically over-regulated and inefficient.  (See Post Office and Amtrak.)

I’ll say it again. It’s a plan hatched at the highest level.  Thank your current president for the gift of 1 billion of our dollars for the installation of more PornCams.

“Surrre! Of course you don’t have to undergo the virtual invasion of having your clothes taken off by strangers using a debatable dose of radiation! Step right over here and we’ll paw you and your 12 year old daughter and your 8 year old son.  No problem.”

Read for yourself.  An article from WND

In my personal opinion, adults should just get over it with the PornCam. As for the feeling up, I side with the guy who says “touch my junk and I’ll have you arrested.”  He was asked to leave the airport, told he didn’t have to fly that day.

But, children.  Parent have spend decades and millions to insure that their children are kept safe from pedophiles.  Flying to Grandma’s house? We’re going to play with your twigs ‘n’ berries.

I’ll say it again.  It’s arranged — right out of Saul Alinsky’s playbook, one of OB’s favs.

Create an enemy. TSA.

Gin up outrage. Give the enemy all the authority it needs to disgust, detain, and discharge onto the street without recourse.  “So much for your $600 tickets, hard earned vacation, and any plans you might have had,” Mr. Don’t Touch My Junk. “Yer outa here.”

Bankrupt the airlines.

Bail out the airlines.

Don’t allow payback like the banks, trade the debt for stock then give it to the union.

Fire a CEO, like the General Motors exec of a P-R-I-V-A-T-E!!! company.

Take it over. Nationalize it. Like Mussolini did in Italy. (p.s. that’s not a good thing no matter what the college profs say.)

Guess who (bho) is behind it?

For over a year now I’ve been developing a novel dedicated to my ancestry.  It swirls in my head.  The characters wake me up and make me stay up typing.  Plot twists plague me. What-ifs follow me to work, at work, at home.

It is in honor of:  My grandmother who birthed 6 children and raised 2.  An aunt and uncle whose stillborn daughter saddened them to tears in their 70s in spite of raising 10 children who gave them multiple grandchildren and great-grandchildren.  A 3-great grandfather, an abolitionist who was thrown out of his church in 1804.  Someone who, until further notice will remain nameless, was date raped twice.  A sister whose toddler couldn’t clear the railroad tracks in time.  My great-grandparents who lost 3 children in as many weeks to a diphtheria epidemic before they could escape with the remaining children.

It won’t all be loss and sadness.  My imaginary people will deal with not only loss, but leaning on God in their loss and pain for comfort and healing as well as experiencing joy, passion, forgiveness, rage, disrespect, humility, WWII, and the societal chaos of my growing up years in the 60′s.

I’ve personally been around a few blocks in a few towns.  You see me where I am but you don’t see how I got here and how I avoided consequences of some major stupidity.  I write for my family and anyone else who feels like God isn’t there or isn’t fair.  I touch on various concepts from a personal perspective such as the possibility of inheriting poor behavior, how to forgive when resolution and restoration is improbable, overcoming failure, and loving in one direction.

I was explaining my literary goals to my husband who responded that I needed some serious comic relief, an oxymoron in and of itself.  He’s more than happy to contribute his own little rascal experiences with Tommy Wincek back in Minneapolis.  When I stopped to think about it, his mother has her own set of Lucy Ricardo scenarios to offer. Throwing in some of my own memories may turn the whole thing into a comic book.

We’ll see.

I think my primary focus is forgiveness with and without restoration.  That and obedience to God’s will are keys for keeping the faith.  Grudges have no place in the Kingdom of God.  Rebellion is a road block to peace.

How do you forgive God for taking your children? How do you forgive yourself for screwing up over and over and over? How do you deal with the devastation that comes from other people’s rotten decisions?

In light of “been there, done that, bought the T-shirt” I hope to guide my readers so that they don’t step in the same pies I have. And if they have, I hope to help them scrape their shoes.

He was in a huge stadium setting, millions in attendance. Each person was holding stack of books.  Each person was to approach a podium where Jesus stood and place their books, representing their deeds on earth, onto the podium.  Jesus would call down fire on the books.  What was useless would burn instantly. What was left would be converted to jewels and placed in a crown that Jesus would place on the person’s head, smile, and say “well done, good and faithful servant.”

Those whose entire life’s works, thoughts, and words was consumed by the fire, leaving nothing, would be told to enter the Kingdom.  No smiles, no words of praise, only a look of disappointment from the Savior who gifted him or her with talent and opportunity.

Life can be wasted even if you’re saved and loved the Lord. I personally don’t think we make wrong turns that can’t be corrected.  but to face Jesus with nothing?

If this was a prophetic vision instead of heartburn, there is a points system.  The puzzle is — what makes points with God?

I know what I think.  I want to know what other people think. Maybe I’m wrong. Tell me how.

Then there’s Kansas. Didn’t believe I can see so far. Then there’s the panhandle of Texas. You can see the curvature of the earth there. There are ranches instead of farms, bigger than farms, and you can see 2 of those in one direction.

But we’re not in Illinois, Kansas, or Texas. We’re in Indiana visiting an old frield who lived briefly in Minnesota and worked in our store. He’s moved back home to Indiana. And if I’m not mistaken there’s a song title similar to that phrase.

We rolled up to his house, 15 – 20 miles north of Elwood (what..you’ve not heard of Elwood?) and we thought we’d been trapped in a corn loop. Corn, corn, OH! soybeans, corn, corn, corn.  All of it at least 7 feet straight up.  Finally, 37 angled toward the northeast and we drove straight onto 600W, past a brick church and turned in.

We’d just left 97+ tropics in Tennessee, where it’s still going on, and stepped out into perfect low 80′s sunshine and breeze. I almost wished I’d brought a jacket. Today the weather is the same. Tomorrow the weather is supposed to be the same. I’m liking Indiana more every minute.  And on top of that, it’s not north enough to be infested with mosquitoes after sunset. wow.

Today we hopped in the Indiana issue pickup and went to a town about 7 miles from his house to find the grave of James Dean, the First of Cool. (Not really. My older brother wore the costume in 1951 just before he went to Korea.) It took us about 45 minutes to find the head stone, small, chipped from tourists wanting souvenirs, nothing noteworthy to make anyone who was not aware that The James Dean was buried in the middle of Indiana, think this marked the grave of the same.

There are a couple of older two story homes in Fairmont converted to James Dean museum and gallery and every year they have a James Dean Festival but that’s about all the hoopla Fairmont does for their world famous resident. As a matter of fact, in that festival, there is a parade of ’49 Mercurys from all over the world, that are driven to the cemetery in his honor, the model he drove in Rebel Without a Cause.

To them, he was one of the boys who lived there and occasionally baled hay for a few extra bucks in the summer.  In fact, our friend and host says he worked with Dean back in the day baling hay with his brothers. When Dean was back in town between films,Dean hung out with our friend’s older brothers. He was just one of the local good old boys and that’s how his memory and his grave are treated.

Salute.

If you want me to I can walk you right up to his grave so you can take a picture.  Because, like a dummy, I left the house with all the makeup I could imagine using, all my hair care, two cell phones, clothes I won’t wear, the computer, even a cake mix and frosting for the birthdays we’ll celebrate this week…..

BUT I FORGOT THE FLIPPIN’ CAMERA!!!!