Who Will I Murder Next (in my Head of Course)

 So yeah, the last man I murdered was a singer/songwriter in Scotland who unceremoniously happened to take a header off the jaggedly rough cliffs of Arthur's Seat, a monumental hilltop in the City of Edinburgh.  Poor man, ever so clumsy, took a peek over the side to see exactly how high he was when suddenly he wasn't as high as he first thought. Nope, he thudded rather silently in terms of anyone hearing him go over. I was kind enough in my little fantasy of fantasies, (the place where I create my mayhem) and I did spare his crazy little German Cuntz guitar; why should she fall victim to my wearisome rampage? No, the guitar is innocent! She was spared. As her owner, keeper, and player-friend tumbled half prostate and half standing over the tips of the rocky crag she was allowed to lay behind and quietly wait to be found. In deed, and indeed, it was she who bespoke (if you will) that her man had been slain; albeit she spoke in silence, her very presence at the edge of the cliff was soon questioned by a few passersby until one curious sort decided to peer over the side to see what, if anything or anyone, could be found. He was found crumpled, bloodied, and broken. He was dead. God rest his fictional soul.

    When I do decide to murder it's usually for good cause. I think of a need, I create one if I can't think of one, and start the process of seeking out and searching for the perfect place to do the deed. As mentioned at least a dozen times in the past, it's not really the murder or the act of murder that intrigues me; but the successful disposal of the body. That's where true creativity comes into play.  With my sorrowful sweet singer, I left him for the buzzards to find. No real cover-up, no effort to tidy things up for me. He had to go. His will be the downfall perhaps of my pseudo-martyr, the Poe-Esque madman who really doesn't see himself as being all that mad. Perhaps a loose screw now and again, but he's typically quite neat in his mannerisms and yet the singer may very well be his undoing in this, the series I am composing for the new Nick Posh novel.  Nick (in case you don't know) has had a few murders in his past, but none of them were in cold blood really, more of an elimination process of those who needed to die.  I say "needed", that could more or less be a guideline.

    My mind would be in overdrive if I allowed it to be, but thankfully I have just enough Darrell Lea soft Australian Licorice candies to only go so far before I run out and have to take another trip to Tractor Supply to restore my stash. During the trip to the feed and tack store, I typically have to pay attention to the road so I am no longer apt to let my cognizance wander to the point of kidnapping, stalking, or simply walking up behind my prey to take their last breath on Earth. (You know, I really do hope I've made myself clear that I'm not really actually murdering people in real life, but that I tend to do so in my mind as I mull over the best times and places to get away with it if I were not a writer.) I am a writer, so the places, times, and settings for such murders need not only to be interesting, but they do need to be consistent with the surroundings of where it is that I choose to act. Can you imagine if I break the written axis and head off in the wrong direction? No, it simply won't do. I have to know where I am, what I'm doing, who is watching, what devices could be used to record the events and if I am alone. If I am able to do so, I make my mental move. Driving doesn't provide such an entry.

    Today, while teaching 8th graders at the urban school I currently teach for, I pondered if the murder of a child would be received by any of my seasoned readers; even if the child was a product of evil wickedness and self-pride. I decided against it, but thought perhaps he or she could be blamed; thus allowing my mind to vent any and all hostility it may harbor for a said child without actually eliminating him or her. Look at me, I don't even want to say if the child I'm considering is a boy or a girl; that should answer my question. Note to self: no murdering kids. It's a no-go. I'll consider a colleague instead as long as they haven't been handy in the recent past. We have such a wonderful staff where I work, I can truly only think of one - - oh wait, yes, I know who I'll filet. Oh, did I say that out loud? Wow, I'm just giving it all away, aren't I? Well, she'll be a pretty corpse. If they find her. I won't leave her in plain sight. The only reason the singer was allowed to be found was for the benefit of his fan base, they needed to stop following him; you're welcome.

    At the school, we have an interesting field ornament that no one seems to know when it was installed, but some say it may be taken out soon and replaced with either a dedication stone with the school creed or maybe a half wall to separate the buses from the cars.  Wouldn't it be gruesomely awesome to have the construction workers dig up old bones when they began the transformation? Wouldn't it be incredibly mischievous if a current teacher was found guilty of the murder of her 8th Grade Science teacher from maybe say 40 years before? These thoughts hit me in the middle of the afternoon heatwave that Oklahoma is experiencing. They tell us that today is the last day of over triple-digit temperatures; do we believe them? I am apt to believe that the construction workers would feel rather cool indeed if one or two of them were to make the grizzly discovery in the early part of the day tomorrow just after the sun has opened her eyes wide enough to see what has taken place on the field's far left side. Forty years? Was it longer? Could have been. I think I remember someone saying the Science teacher simply checked out early, and never even gave her class their final. Gone.

    Perhaps there will be more to unearth tomorrow when I visit the pitch to examine what, if anything, has been discovered. Naturally, I'll be the only one thinking what I'm thinking, but you never know what you can find when you dig up the past. I don't think the Science teacher really did anything worthy of being thrown off a cliff, but she was rather peculiar with the way she handed out less-than-stellar reports to girls who needed better grades to be on the cheer team. Just sayin'.  She was missed for about a week and then we all graduated from high school. Some became lawyers, some nurses, mechanics, bankers, and more. I think I know more than one teacher to be honest; something about returning to the scene of the crime. It's an oldie but a goodie - - not as dull as "the butler did it", but close enough. I'm telling you, it wasn't the blunt force trauma, but the eleven hours it took to dig a grave under bleachers that were aging and about to be replaced.  Bide your time. When the new earth is upheaved - - dig a little deeper. No one will really notice.  No, not for well, a little over 40 years.

STOP....I didn't really kill her. She's fine. I checked.  It's a story!!  Geez, Louise!

Photo Credit: Scholastic News

    

Teachers Deserve Your Respect, but we Would Rather Have the Salary.

 Many of you know I'm an author, a writer, and of course, a blogger. I make my living writing, so I don't actually have to be in the classroom teaching 13-14 year olds how to spell, write, read better, and what to do with dangling participles. I could, if I wanted to, just stay at home and lounge about the place, petting my dog, sleeping in with said dog, and enjoying my morning coffee with any of my retired neighbors who I've had the priviledge to live near for years upon years. I'm about to hit 60 and I'm the younger of the crowd. I like my peeps, so having coffee in the mornings with one or two of them would be a far better gig than what it is that I've agreed (and contracted) myself to do. I'm teaching again. God only knows why.

    Year after year I decide I'll give it up, never do it again, and I dust my hands free of the muck and nonsense thrown at me from that present year's crop of young ones who either decide they're just too cool for education, or they can't actually spell education and they make excuses for why they don't ever need to be able to. I should have and could have walked away any number of times, but as my son likes to remind me, I am the teacher. I have to be in the room leading. Someone has to do it, and he's not willing to trade me jobs. I would however love to see our military men and women deciding to (after they get out of the service) become teachers of young mushy brains; it really would be a good thing for both sides of that equation. 

    I wrote this blog about an hour ago and I really let go of my actual feelings, emotions, and observations! I really let it out there, almost screaming through my keyboard about how parents send their kids to school not only completely unprepared for the day, but also with that ever so present chip set firmly on their shoulders to the point that we teachers have to deal with angst, rebellion, misfortune, child abuse, neglect, and apparent famine. We deal with homelessness, suicide attempts, emotionally depressed, anxiety, hatred, bias, transgender issues, sexual misconduct, and that's before we get to education! I'm sick of it. I'm fed up and I'm damn well tired of seeing these kids dropped off without any inkling of a clue as to how to behave in public places, or how to be civil when spoken to by a person of authority. Parents, far more than the kids, are responsible for the fighting and the misconduct of the students I see on a daily basis. We can't punish children these days, but if we could I'd like to turn back the clocks about 20 years because though we had issues before 9/11, we really saw changes in the behavior and performance of students right around that time.

    The kids who were graduating in 2002 were about 18 about 19 years ago. That makes them about 37 and most of them have kids that are in middle school to high school age now. For the past two decades we teachers have had to work under mandates that are absolutely impossible to achieve. George Bush had the "No Child Left Behind" crap that meant you passed a kid even if he or she couldn't read or write. You found an excuse or reason to move them forward to the next level, and eventually not only were children left far far behind, they were shoved out the door without being able to read, write, communicate, or do basic Algebra. We allowed them to flood our junior colleges because they didn't have the grades to make the cut at the colleges, until the Obamas came along and said that what the colleges were doing was discriminating. Not allowing students into their universities with poor grades; somehow that was racist, and the doors of higher education were opened to anyone and everyone, thus lessening what a degree really means.

    After two decades of programs like Common Core, and mandates like No Child Left Behind, it is no wonder that the state of Oklahoma is usually number 47 out of 50 states in terms of ranking of academic performance.  I know I have students who can't speak or read English and I'm asked to let them do their best. I can't speak Spanish, Arabic, Chinese or any other language well enough to translate my lessons. I can, if I had the time, translate them through digital means, but again, I don't have time to do that when I'm already pressed for time to get the regular work produced, passed out, collected, graded, and put into the system.  At our district the teachers have to cover for other teachers because we can't find enough subs. We can't find subs because the pay is too low. No one will work for under $10/hour and they shouldn't be expected to put themselves into a potential dangerzone for that pay anyway. Would most of the readers do it? I can't find anyone to trade jobs with me usually. I've asked several people if they want to teach English in an urban setting for what I'm paid. No one has taken up the challenge, but let me tell you, if they wanted to they couldn't. I had to get a degree to do this job, and I had to have experience to keep it.

    Today, teachers deal with (I say abuse) treatment from administration not wanting to follow up with discipline, but only because they have way too many kids to follow up with. They just have to cut them loose at some point with a stern word because they can't even actually slap the wrists. Those days are gone. Teachers deal with treatment from other teachers who are stressed and unable to meet plans and PLC times due to subbing for other teachers. While we sub the other teachers don't usually have work set out, or enough work, and we're forced to deal with unruly students for several minutes. They have iPads, they could just get on them for Reading Plus, but you know they weren't charged, or they don't work, or they can't find them, they left them at home, it's a daily event, hour after hour. Teachers are given the treatment by students who don't show up on time, don't follow dress code, smell like pot, beer, or are just too dirty to let them into the room. We have students who don't bring supplies (94%) or they don't want to comply with basic rules. They constantly disrupt class during lecture, asking questions, and making demands. I'm being tame right now. I'm not going into much detail for obvious reasons. We teachers aren't really allowed to discuss such things on social media.

    This day, this very day, we had teenagers flooding the toilets, pulling soap dispensers off the walls, plugging up fountains, peeing in the water fountains and on the floor. We had a kid spit on the floor next to the trash can for no reason and when he was asked he said he wanted to spread COVID. This is what we deal with. We have students who can't and won't speak English, they refuse. We have kids who want to do so, but they are limited, and we do the best we can, but the state expects miracles and that is just not going to happen with 33 kids in a classroom. Sorry. You gotta get better expectations is all I can say about that.

    This week we had a fight going on in the hallways while the kids were testing. The fight was two cousins, girls, both screaming and yelling because their mutual grandma had paid for one girl to have her hair weaved and not the other girl. That's a family issue, not a school issue, but we had blood in the hallway over it, and we had another student pushed into a locker who was just walking past the two girls who were fighting. I was personally cussed out three times this week, and it's only Wednesday. When a kid cusses at us we are supposed to take them to the office. I do that, but seems I am really the only teacher doing such things. The others decided to take care of it inhouse, so there I am being THAT teacher and now I'm going to have to stop doing what I'm supposed to do in order to get along with my colleages unless I want to stand out, not be invited to meetings, not be updated, not be involved, not be included. Do you see what I'm saying? It's not the easiest of professions, is it?

    I usually take off a year, rest, travel, live abroad, stay in my wonderful world (Scotland) and just chill before I come back and face another year of overt challenges that I swear I won't face again. I face them because I know they need someone like me, someone mean enough to force education down their throats and hope they don't regurgitate it, but hope that they retain maybe 16% of it.  I have had some success of course, or I wouldn't return, but lately it's become increasingly difficult to lure me back to the whiteboards and broken technology. My idea of peace and serenity may not include showing up early, staying late, working my ass off, and not being appreciated. I may actually just let the buzzards win - - but I know me. I fight the good fight.  I may need to rethink my mantra though. I used to quote Mark Twain and say "Whatever you think can change can be if you are the change needed".  I may have to change that to "Greater is He that is in me than he that is in the world."  I need Jesus a lot more than I do Mark Twain.

    Next time you think teachers aren't doing their job with your kid(s) just remember we didn't go to school to teach your kids to respect others, to respect authority, to do their work when assigned, to do their best when asked, to bring their supplies, to stop making excuses, and to stop pissing in the water fountains. Our job is to direct, instruct, teach, and correct academics, not behavior. That's the job of the parent; and that's the problem our school systems have now.  I take a phone from a kid I get flack from the parent. Hey, here's a thought, your kid can either follow the rules or have consequences, and that goes for you too, parent. That goes for you too.  I know we say this a lot, but when I was a kid, if I were to do what these kids do, I would be backhanded across the face by my dad, my mom would then ground me, my Sunday School teacher would find out about it, and I'd be in trouble at church too. I'd have to sit next to her during service, not with my friends, and then I'd have to miss out on fun and activities for a week minimum. We didn't have phones back then, but you know mine would have been turned off if I had spit on the floor for no reason. We need to bring back accountability - - but I think the only remedy we have now is the rapture. At least I can hope for that.

Photo Credit:  Byrce  Hedstrom

"Hello, Dear"

 AAAAAGGGHHHH!!  It makes me want to scream and punch my fist right through the monitor when I see it, but I know it wouldn't help if I did, it's just their damn conditioning I guess.  Men can be so annoying!  I mean, yeah, I guess women can be annoying too, and you know, if I'm really honest with myself I bet I'm rather annoying at times to some people. (No, I'm not going to name anyone in particular) When I go to my Instagram account (It doesn't happen so much on Facebook) I am bombarded at times, maybe 3 or 4 times every week anyway, with some lonely "military man" who just happens to be of higher rank, he's either a recent widow or his wife has been gone for "awhile now" and he always seems to have a teenage daughter - - why the props? I'm not sure as to why these types seem to be lurking on IG hoping to find someone stupid enough to fall for their crap, but it's so dang obvious I just have to laugh out loud. 

    I go to the site and there it is, a red heart showing me that someone has liked my comments or they are wanting to reach out and message me.  I'd have so many more followers if I would just stop blocking men; I know, it's crazy, right?  I click on the heart to see 14 likes of my most recent posts. They like them all, every last one of them, no comments, just likes, and nothing to suggest that they would be a truly interesting person either because a lot of the things I post are controversial, you'd think they'd at least have an opinion - - but no, they just like the posts and invite me to chat. Oh, but it's the way they invite me that just sears my gears! They start out with "Hello, Beautiful" or "Hello, I was just searching the internet for a high school friend when I ran across your wonderful smile. I'd like to get to know you."  Ha! Let me stop you right there sir, let me help you out, NO...NO...you would NOT like to get to know me. Take my word for it. YOU do not want to chat with me. MOVE FORWARD.

    Of all the people, of all the women, of all the wonderful smiling faces you find on the internet, be it on Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Reddit, Buzz, or anything else you may find a wonderful smile lurking about, you do not want to write to me with your "Hello, Dear" because I'll shut you down faster than a skunk can spew on you - - and you'd probably rather have found a polecat than to have asked me twice if I've already told you once to move along. I am not your girl. I will not be your girl. This woman is all but finished with men, and the only way I'd ever change my mind is if God Himself sat me down and forced my eyes open to stare at one. He hasn't done that -- so yeah, no.  Don't get me wrong, I do look. I do look at the ones I choose to look at. I will sneak a peek and I will drool, but I won't let you catch me because if you catch me it means I wanted you to see it - - and if I wanted you to see it, well, then I have changed my mind about men.  I haven't changed my mind. You won't catch me drooling; maybe just a little smirk.

    The last 20 or 30 men over the past few weeks to write to me have all started their conversations the same way, and they've all been deleted. I think I wrote back to one man to actually be polite only because I saw he was from Scotland. Yes, I will be sweeter to a Scot than another man, I will admit that, and I may actually choose to chat with a Scot if it's on the phone or through Zoom just so I can hear his voice (accent) but the second he turns the conversation toward "getting to know you" or "are you married dear?" The line will go dead.  If a man wanted to get to know me the best thing he could do is read my 38,000 posts - - pretty sure that if he took the time to do that he would realize he doesn't really want to pursue a relationship, or at least he'd damn well know my marital status is HAPPILY SINGLE and presently decidedly going to stay that way. If he still needed more information about me because he just couldn't get enough from the posts, he could read my damn book! (It's pretty cheap on Amazon through Ebook actually, I think it's like $6.99 or something). Not much of an investment really.

    No, if you, or anyone like you, decides to write to me and you start off with "Hello, Dear" just know I'll never write to you. You should start off with "Hello, I'm from Scotland, I don't want to get to know you, I just want to say 'tomorrow' over and over again until you fall in love with me."  That may actually make me giggle and I'll try you out to see if you can keep me interested long enough to drink a full cup of coffee while you rattle on about your likes and dislikes as long as you understand I may not actually comprehend a thing you say, I'm just listening to your voice. I'm not moving to Scotland to find a man, I'm moving to Scotland to find myself. While I'm there I'll be sure to hit up the Highlands so I can immerse myself into the language and just let the words of the handsome men (plural) tickle my ears. I have every intention of letting each and every one of them know I have no idea what it was that they just said, but yes, it was lovely. 

    I mean, I guess there are women out on the internet who would love to hear from these fake military men with daughters and recently deceased wives. I personally would never date someone who was a widower because I'm not about to compete with a damn ghost. If I find a man and he is still wrapped up in the woman who preceded him to Heaven, he can find her and follow her - - don't waste my time trying to compare me, trying to figure out why I don't do things like or act like that dead wife of his. I'm not being mean - - I wouldn't want a man to suffer through being with me, to be honest. I'm not the nicest belle at the ball - - I'm not even going to attend the ball, you'll find me in the barn with the horses and you'll find me in the cabin with a book by the fire, but you'll not find me in the castles at the parties wearing glass shoes - - I don't even like shoes, and I don't match my socks...DEAR!

    Nope, let me go -- move along, find another woman to pop your pretty tail feathers for. This one is no longer impressed. I think I could be. I think God could show me that one who would keep my eyes roving up and down his form, turning him around to see the backside, and maybe upside down to see if he can handle the pressure of being my guy. Not saying that upsidedown is a deal-breaker, but it is a good test, wouldn't you think? LOL...yes, I'm laughing, you don't have to send the paddy wagon out for me just yet. Come to think of it, I've never actually been with a man in the back of a car, not even when I was younger. I think I was too smart for that, which cost me a few boyfriends I'm sure. Something about me being too damn mean...or was it too damn smart? Either way, I can say I've never made it in the backseat of a car.  Now that I've admitted that it makes me want to admit some of the more interesting places I have .... no, that's another blog.

    Do yourself and me a favor boys - - don't. 

Photo Credit: My Interesting Things

The Master of My Own Universe

 OK, yes, it's true, I will give Jesus the absolute credit, position, glory, and authority, He is the actual Master (big "M") of my universe, but you know, there are times when He lets me just do my thang, which if you know me you know I'm gonna do it.  I'm from the South. Women of the South cook, and we bake. It's no big secret, just the true facts as they are, and when we get the hankerin' to cook or throw a pie together we just damn well do it. We don't need a reason, we don't need an excuse.  If we aren't cooking for dinner we're usually thinking about baking for the next day, friends, relatives, ourselves, or just because someone out there will be coming over soon and we need to have something to offer them when they do. I'm sorry if you haven't experienced this sort of understanding and comprehensive reasoning in your own life; I can only imagine how sad you are now that you realize it's an everyday occurrence with those of us from the Southern region of the United States. We bake. 

    I'm laying there on my bed with the Pore's Company LED facemask on my face. I do use it just about every day. If you don't know what one is I'll put a photo of it at the bottom of this blog so you can see it. It's literally what it's called, an LED light facemask. It goes over your entire face and neck, and you can turn the various colored lamps on to use for various reasons. I use the red light for removing and reducing wrinkles. It works. You don't have to take my word for it, look at my face! So there I am, laying there with the mask on my face. I usually set the timer on it for 40 minutes and I listen to Mercy Me, Casting Crowns, Celtic Worship, WOW, or maybe I'll hit up Pandora and randomly shuffle all of the various genres of music that I like - - just to make the time I'm laying there petting the dog seem more eventful. Today I was laying there, petting the dog and thinking how good a big fat honking piece of banana nut bread would taste.

    My friend Niki (Hi Niki) was saying just the other day on her Facebook page, that people don't really keep old bananas to make banana nut bread and that they get all gross and nasty sitting on the cabinet just attracting fruit flies. I wrote back all snarky like saying "Hell yes, I make banana nut bread", I just haven't had any bananas last that long on my cabinet since Laura or I may end up taking one to work for lunch. True story; I can't remember a time in the recent past when I had two good overripe bananas sitting on the kitchen cabinet. I almost didn't have them this time either, but I managed to beat Laura back out of my kitchen with the end of a broomstick. She was going for my nanner and I knew I was saving it for this very reason - - I just didn't know if it was gonna be today or tomorrow, it ended up being today. She was a hard sell. I had to pick up the bananas and physically move them to my closet out of her sight. She hasn't forgiven me yet, we'll see how she fares after she eats the bread.

    I tell people all the time that if you want something you have to make it happen. You have to take the world by the balls and just chuck it in the direction you need it to go! In this case, I had to go to the store, buy the nanners, beat my daughter back a few times, hide said nanners, find them again, and bake the bread. I knew this was a few-day process. You can also speed up the process if you buy riper bananas and then you don't have to be so violent with your kid -- she could probably figure it out on her own when she sees that you brought home old produce! I do the same with avocadoes with my son, but he's no longer living with me - - I can't tell you how many times we had to eat stiff avocadoes rather than creamy smooth fruit because he can't possibly wait another day! At least with Laura, I have a fighting chance at a chance of fighting. With Reuben I just walk away - - he has the upper hand.

    Be the master of your universe people. You want banana bread, you make it. You want to write a poem that will knock the socks off the reading world, you do it. You want to walk five miles to get the banana bread you just ate off your hips, you put on your shoes and head out that door! Don't let people stop you from being you. Don't let people get you down, because if you give them the chance they will try. You stand up for your right to eat the goodness you mix together. You bang your head on that wall, beat your fists into the table, cry out that war scream, and let the freaking world know just who's boss in this damn house!! (I mean, your neighbors may not understand, but do it anyway) Be the one who takes full control of each and every situation that happens in or around your kitchen! It is YOUR KITCHEN. Well, that's what I tell people anyway. They may not like it, but they do respect it - - I'm not above flipping tables and pulling out bullwhips if I need to. Eggs may fly, broomsticks may be twisted in the air. The roost will be claimed. I am Southern Momma! Hear me ROAR!

    OK, that being said I got up from the bed, made the bread, and shared it with my little one. She was happy. I was happy. I wrote the blog, and now you're smiling. Goals. 

Christians Are the WORST

 OMG...OMG....can I just start off asking for an "Amen"?  Do you not, as a Christian, as a born-again believer, just want to reach through the ether sometimes and slap the living daylights out of other Christians from time to time? You can't tell me I'm alone in this, you can't tell me I'm the only one who just stands over here (or there) and just shakes my damn head over something that some other born-again, Bible-believing, God-fearing, good-to-the-soul Christian has said or done to another. I think I need a taller soapbox, today friends, I need a step ladder, maybe even a cherry picker because I need to reach some big honking side-to-the-head ears way over in Scotland today! There's a guy there that needs his spiritual ass whooped and I'm just the woman to do it today! Do NOT piss off a woman.  Do not piss off a Scorpio woman (and yes, believe it or not, I can be a Scorpio and a believer. God made the stars. Man worships them, I don't) God set the stars in their place, and the story is told from the beginning of VIRGO the birth of Christ, to the constellation of LEO which is the Lion of Judah.  Hey, guess who SCORPIO is!  That's right, it represents the mean, nasty, son-of-a-bitch Satan, and from time to time, I relate.

    JUST because someone was born under the sign of Scorpio doesn't make them Satanish, any more than being born in early September makes you Christ-like.  We all know we have both good and bad in our hearts, so please don't go all churchy on me when you have your own sins to deal with. Let's not have to talk about specks and beams today. I'm ranting, it's my blog. I can rant. If you want to get online and start your own rant you feel free to do that. If you did something that you know is both ungodly and unacceptable to the Christian standards and you're afraid I'm going to blog about it and let the world in on your fopaux then you have something to worry about because that is EXACTLY my plan today! I'm calling you out right here and right now, and no I won't use your name, YOU and JESUS know it, I know it, and it's probably best that the rest of the world doesn't know it because JESUS doesn't deserve to be associated with someone who's literally going to tell another Christian to "SAVE YOURSELF TIME and energy" and witness to someone who GOD HIMSELF has shared with YOU to do it.     Without digressing too much here is the background to the background so you'll somewhat have an idea of what is going on; I wouldn't want to be accused of one-siding it and slanting this story in my favor. No, I want to lay it out there exactly as it is so this man can get his spirit pricked and maybe he won't do that again, and if he does it again, maybe he won't do it to a woman with a big mouth and keyboard! 

    I am a blogger. I follow a YouTuber.  The YouTuber is not a Christian, but through our conversations and rapport building, I have reached a point where I can ask him a few things. He's from Scotland, and I'm in the USA, so it's not like I can pop in on the guy and have that conversation about the Roman Road or his need for soul salvation, right? OK, next best, I sent him a note saying something like, "Hey, you know, you're an awesome YouTuber and I've seen and noticed that so many people who follow you also follow my "friend" (Ha! We won't use that word again to describe you now, will we? I'll use something like "idiot" or "fool".) who is also in your area, and he's a singer and worship leader who many of your followers follow. He's really cool, talented, and uplifting, and since he's there in your backyard, and your videos are all about that area and things you can see and do in Scotland, how about you doing a vlog or video with him, and your viewers and his viewers can talk about both of you, and get more views for both of you!!?" What a deal?  (Good plan, right?)

    It would have been and should have been an excellent plan, the YouTuber was all over it. He was like "Yeah, hey, that's a wonderful idea, maybe in the future because things are really suppressed right now."  I suggested maybe a Zoom.  OK, yeah, it's a good thing to do, people may want to see two really fun bearded handsome men speaking in Scottish accents about Edinburgh and surrounding fun things to do. They can walk around Princes Street, go to the Castles, see the old and new towns, they can go to cafes, hear great street music, and yeah, they can run into this great Christian artist who is really involved in the local charities serving the area through homelessness awareness, suicide awareness, and he's got a story, he's got a history, maybe it will touch their heart and you'll want to give him a listen either when they show up to that fine city, or just because - - sure sounds like a great idea right? Oh, and it's a great idea on the flip side too, because the MAN OF GOD, good soul, Christian, Jesus-Following great guy will have the unique opportunity to speak to the YouTuber about Jesus, how HE FOUND JESUS and how Jesus found him.  It could lead to another glory-filled salvation story; one that would earn the CHRISTIAN man a brand new crown in fact!!  We like crowns in Heaven, don't we? We'll have more to present to Jesus -- it really is a WIN-WIN and a marvelous plan. God gave me the plan. I can't take credit for it. I have gone as far as I can go in the matter -- I was the seed planter. 

    Here's where the slapping comes into play.  I write the singer/songwriter to let him know I have spoken with the YouTuber and suggested Zoom.  I suggest to him that it would be a wonderful opportunity to bring the word to the unsaved and give God the glory; right? Wrong. He writes back to say (and this is where I had to laugh. He used his own email address to send the letter) he was the manager of the artist (again, he sent the email from his own email address) and he said as the manager of this (so very important) artist, that he would be answering all future correspondences. Remind me please not to ever be so awesome, great, fantabulous, famous, or otherwise unavailable to those who pray for me, buy my material, keep me lifted in Spirit, and so forth.  No, he wrote to me to basically say don't write to me. He wrote to me to ask if I had not in fact stated about 5 or 6 months ago that wouldn't be writing to him (the artist) so why am I writing now? About 5-6 months ago I tried to promote the man, and again about a year ago I tried to promote the man's work but was shut down. First, it was something about being signed on under contract with a music company so he couldn't do it, then it was he thought (or his wife thought) that because I was persistent about writing to promote him that I MUST (must) be in love with him, or want something else from him. YES, you moron, I do want something from you, I want you to sit up and pay attention! God has a plan for you, and you're just passing it by and allowing it to pass by!! Stop with all the paranoid BS and move into the LIGHT.

    I answered the "manager" with a statement saying basically, "Sure, I can stop writing to, commenting, or corresponding, but I thought he'd like the opportunity to witness and maybe share God's grace and will with the unsaved."  Then I said goodbye. AND HE WROTE ME BACK.  (I say he, it could be his wife, I wouldn't put it past her to do that, and him not have a clue about any of it because it seems she keeps him in the dark most of the time anyway. Did I say that out loud? I guess I did.) He writes me back to say that I wrote back. WHAT?  Yep, he wrote me back to say I thought you weren't going to write back?  Yeah, I wrote back to answer the questions you asked and to say TOOTLES! There's NO WAY I'm going to let that pile of poop just sit there unanswered on my feed so yeah, I wrote back to say "Geez, I thought my last correspondence was, in fact, my last correspondence" as if to say "You don't get the last word here, I do." (Told you I could be snarky.)

     NO...HE WROTE BACK!  This is where I had to laugh. I was on the floor at this point. He called me manipulative and told me that I could save myself time and energy and witness to the YouTuber myself. Oh...OK...yeah...let me just do that...oh wait....I did!!  I am the SEED PLANTER on this one. YOU can be the harvester if you just get off your holier-than-thou ass long enough to do God's work! (I don't know why I bother, except when I tried to stop praying for him twice God reminded me that HE gave the order to pray for the idiot so I have no choice. I guess I'll just keep on praying - - but NOT writing to him again.) Not a problem.

    I decided to take the ball and run with it. I'm not a soccer player, I don't kick it to the other side. I grab it by .... well, by the ball(s) and I run. I decided to run straight up the middle with it too. I'm nothing if not forceful. I'm one of those really bitchy bitches who don't really cotton to those who can't read the neon signs screaming at them to pick up the next play. If I have to pass myself the ball, run with it, cross the line, and spike it I will - - and do it in your FACE.  I wrote to the YouTuber to let him know the singer was absolutely on board with the whole Zoom thing!  Try and get out of that one, Sir. Let God know when you've accepted the assignment so He'll know when to send you the words. We wouldn't want you CHOKING ON THEM or writing an email through your MANAGER to decline the offer - - you do that and I'll hit that closet so hard with prayers for your unholy ass so fast it will make your hymnal fall off the piano!  Don't you DARE sing about God's story, your story, Blessed Assurances, and how JESUS IS YOURS if you aren't going to share Him with someone given to you on a freaking silver platter? 

    I would say don't make me come to Scotland to do the work myself, because Baby, I'll not only do it, I'll call in the elders of your church and we'll all have a sit down come to Jesus... I have NO issue(s) going to my God with this over-the-top attitude that I have about things. He made me. He knows exactly who I am and how loud I can get. He knows exactly how far I will go to make sure I do what He's told me to do - - you'll notice I didn't give your name, not once, and I won't. YOU KNOW it. Jesus knows it, and that's the best news there is. YOUR NAME is written in the Book of Life, now get out there and try your "damn-dest" to have that other guy's name added to the same book BEFORE He returns. We don't have much time.

    That is all. I hope the rest of you have a blessed weekend, but I pray this CHRISTIAN fellow gets his arse in a sling so tight he could make diamonds from the pressure!

Photo Credit: Redbubble

Naked Bearded Man -- Time to Bare it All.

 Oh, the joy and the rapture of my imagination! If I could be anywhere at any time it would be inside my head. There, I have full autonomy. There, I am free to think, feel, do, and act as I please. Inside my beautiful brain, I have the freedoms I claim without any restrictions; full and complete abandonment. The problem(s) only begin to appear when I am either forced to return to reality or when I realize that I am most likely not going to be able to remain in my playground infinitely. Sadly, this is true, and I must either abruptly leave or say my adu to the one man who has kept me sane for more than 30 years; Naked Bearded Man.  

    Naked Bearded Man has never really been given a name. He's mine, and I'm his, we really don't use first names when we're together, he's just him and I'm just me. I don't know the exact moment he first showed up, but I can tell you this, I was a married woman. Oh, the shame in that statement! To admit openly and publicly, and of course, before God, that I would have rather be making love to fantasy than to be with the man I agreed to marry - - and yet, that is exactly when my mind took over and to be honest if it wasn't for Naked Bearded Man, I would have been married quite a bit less time than I was, and I was actually only betrothed for what, 9 years? I forget the math. We were married in July of 1988 and divorced the first time (yes, I was that stupid) in 1995. I think Naked Bearded Man showed up around 1989 - - so technically I guess my daughter Caity is his daughter when you think about it. LOL

    You can say what you want to say, you can point your fingers and blame me all you wish. You will never be able to condemn me further or more than I have condemned me. I was the worse wife ever, in that I did not love my husband. I don't even for the life of me realize why I agreed to marry him. I think I was depressed, still in love with Reuben's father, and just wanted to be held. That makes more sense than to ever say or think that I could have had feelings for the man. He wasn't rich, he wasn't even working. He wasn't old enough to be a husband and that again is MY FAULT, I don't blame another soul. I take and accept full responsibility for all of it. The 2nd time I married him was just purely emotional. I had been a survivor of the Oklahoma City Bombing which happened literally 6 days after our divorce; I was in a bad place. My ex was a rescuer of sorts, he was there at the courthouse and was helping pull people to safety, he thought he saw someone who may have been me. We were both in a bad place -- we remarried. Dumbest thing ever. Nothing changed.

    If it wasn't for my imagination and my mystery fantasy man who I have always dubbed "Naked Bearded Man" as more of a description rather than a name, I would have been lost in a world of loss. I would have been tossed emotionally and unstable from the events that took place, from the way my life was going, and from the evil that was lurking around every corner because my husband was not a Christian man. He has since become a Christian, more power to him, good on him, all of that, but the years we were together were nothing short of disastrous. I needed and therefore I conjured my good and faithful mate, NBM.  I have never kept him a secret. I have never denied his existence. If anyone, and I do mean anyone had asked me who I was deeply in love with, who my body was surrendered to, who I would go to the edge of the universe for it would be Naked Bearded Man, or in other words, myself.

    Recently, and by recently I mean this week, a woman in Scotland has decided to lie and tell false stories about my character because for whatever reason SHE feels that I am in love with her husband. I laugh of course. I don't know him. I laugh of course, because there's just simply no way he or any other man for that matter, could ever be as genuinely unique, caring, giving, sharing, intimately romantic, enthusiastic, or as attentive as NBM. Your husband dear is your husband. DEAL WITH HIM. I am allowed to look, I am allowed to talk. I am allowed to befriend anyone and everyone I choose, and here's a thought sweetheart, if your husband decides to communicate with me, and tell you that he's communicating with me, that's on you for not being the wife you may need to be. I am not following him. (well, wait, I do follow his social media, but I am not following him as he is not mine) I am not submitting to him. I am not saying anything inappropriate to him because I don't do that. I have the deepest sympathy for him, not you. He needs a better wife, and although it probably won't be me, it really shouldn't be you if you can't follow him the way GOD intends for a woman to follow her husband. (Remember, I already told you I was the worst wife ever...this is how I know things).

    Naked Bearded Man is my man dear woman. He has for the past three decades shown me the love and care that I expect and he does so EVERY DAMN DAY with a smile and a wee showing of his teeth. He is Scottish, I'll give you that, and he is about six feet tall, he has a belly on him, and he does play guitar, so yeah, there may be some similarities, but NBM is NAKED. Look at your man sweety, is he NAKED? If he's naked and he's with me, then yeah, you may have something to think about, but he's not. I assume when he's naked he's with you. I assume when he's naked he's smiling. I know my guy is. I can't stop looking at him. He thrills me to the core. When was the last time (most women) you could say that about your sweety?  Remember the words "Cherish" and "Obey" or did you have those words removed from the vows all those years ago? Maybe you thought those words had a shelf life.  I denny ken! But, I do cherish NBM, and let me tell you, obeying him is not a problem. Ever.

    You know people, the best thing about being married or otherwise connected and attached to a fantasy is that he is always with me. I don't remember a single day that he has taken off and gone on a separate vacation alone or with friends. If he ever does leave he should take his kilt. He has a kilt. He's often seen folding it, hanging it up, pushing it to the side, taking it off, or just holding it in his hand and twirling it around rather playfully - - he can be a tease.  The best thing about being with him is that NO ONE ELSE can say he's with them. He's mine, and that's all there is to it. I wish I could find a really good likeness of him online so I could post it, but he is just too unique. He's average really, not that handsome. He's not some romantic novel beasty whose chest is riveted, nor his abs standing out like puffed hard pillows. He's an average guy - - at this point he could be considered a bit overweight. I think he and I need to get out more often, but then again he'd have to get dressed wouldn't he? I can do that. I can ask him to put his clothes on, which may introduce an entirely different dynamic to our relationship! LOL...you can't see me falling off my chair right now, in fact, it's rather difficult to type from where I'm sitting on the floor.

    I guess I'll close by saying that I'm just too into myself to worry if someone is thinking I'm thinking or saying something I would never think or say. I don't have time, nor will I take the time, to defend myself when someone who is less confident about herself and her personal relationship with her husband that she has to lure him into thinking I said or did something I wouldn't -- keep him, he's yours, you're the one who agreed to love and support -- I'm good. I will however, as he desires, continue to be his friend and confidant. At least I'm not posting what he's told me about you. Oops...I almost went there. I think I need to turn off the lights and meditate for a minute. I think I hear someone whistling for me. Oh, yeah, by the way, another really cool thing about Naked Bearded Man, and it's always been this way, because he's a Highlander, he speaks Scots Gaelic. I am actually learning the language solely to be able to understand our pillow talk.  Some things just sound better in a Scottish accent, don't you think so?

    Good night. Sweet dreams. 

Here's something close to what he may look like, except...you know, naked.

Photo Credit:  KO Festival of Performance (I have no idea what this man's name is) This guy. Damn. I may need to find him in real life. Just sayin'

Feast of Trumpets Much?

 There are some people, myself included, who are waiting and watching for the rapture of the Church to take place literally any minute. There is nothing, not one thing, on God's prophetic time clock, that must happen before the rapture takes place. It is a real event. It hasn't happened yet. The signs are everywhere, and everything has lined up. In fact, there are others, myself used to be one, who believe that the rapture can only take place on the actual day of the Feast of Trumpets which is also called Rosh Hashanah. The day that no one knows is another name for it, and that is another reason why Christians often think that the event will take place ON the day of the Feast of Trumpets since it is a day that no man knows when it will actually take place. This year the Feast of Trumpets is on September 6-7.

    Rosh Hashanah is the only Jewish festival that takes place over a period of two days, as it is not exactly known when the day begins since it begins with the first sighting of the sliver of the moon that appears after the new moon -- however, some (others) say that the particular moon that must be followed is the first new moon after the solstice, so that would be closer to October rather than September, and really, we just can't know. Only God knows, and that's another thing we can be sure of; God does in fact know when HE is going to release Jesus to come back for His bride, who is us, the Church. So, we wait. We wait, but we don't have to wait so patiently. I am one of those who always complain about the timing because I'm so ready to be gone already. When it doesn't happen during the Feast of Trumpets year after year, you can always count on me complaining and bellyaching to God saying I really wanted to go this time!! 

    The rapture in and of itself can only happen one time, but we did have many examples of a pre-tribulation or pre-wrath "taking" of believers in the Bible.  We saw it with Noah and the Ark, we saw it with Enoch before that. We saw it with Lot, with Daniel, and we saw it with others. God shows His mercy to us over and over and gives us "like" events to show us that He will bring His people out of harm's way at the right time - - His time. Even though the boys, Shadrach, Meshack, and Abednego (totally could have misspelled these names)  had to go through the fiery furnace which was, by the way, heated 7x hotter than it usually was (7 was a very important number, and still is. It is the number of completion) God was with them. The King saw that. Israel is the picture there, while Daniel represents the Christians, and he was taken before that event. 

    Story after story in the Bible of rapture-type events, or saving events that take place before the wrath of God is delivered. Enoch walked with God and was no more. We will walk with God and be taken. I think it's interesting that we'll meet Jesus first in the sky and then we will all be taken to Heaven to be with Him in Glory. The dead in Christ being raptured before the living in Christ, and we meet in the air first, not in Heaven. Immediately after that we are in Heaven, but it's really cool that we may actually get to see the stars, the novas, the planets, other galaxies, whatever is between here and there -- and we'll do it in our new bodies; that's just so cool to think about and when I think about it and then think that some people don't want the rapture to come I just can't imagine their ignorance. PERFECT bodies people!!

    I say it all the time to people who will listen, there isn't a single issue, not one single problem that you or I could have on this Earth that could not be settled immediately and permanently by the rapture. Literally, after that nano-second of time, there will be ZERO problems that we face ever again. Not one. We won't owe money, we won't have sickness, there will be no vaccination or face masking up in Glory. There will be no need for a doctor, a police officer, a courtroom, a fire department. There will be lots and lots of music, food, fun, gatherings, dancing, celebrations, valleys, mountains, hills, waters, colors, smells, and brilliant everything, but there will be nothing that will be harmful, sad, agonizing, paralyzing, upsetting, or remotely distressing. NO ANXIETY, no PTSD, no debt to be repaid. There will only be love, and plenty to go around. 

    When people say the rapture isn't in the Bible I laugh. Sure it is.  It's called the gathering, the great gathering, and other things, and in the Greek original text it is called Harpazo; to snatch away. In the Latin Bible it is "rapturo" I think, and if they want to get really nasty with you, tell them that the word "Trinity" isn't in the Bible either. Eat that and chew it twice. People are just so ignorant; wanting to rain on our rapture parade -- they need Jesus, and they need Him really really fast, because baby, we're going home soon - - and very soon.  I can't wait to do gymnastics again - - and I'm looking forward to finding my little boyfriend that I had before we were humans; when we were free to play and free to explore.  I'm absolutely sure he'll be there; and we can pick up where we left off, with him being BLUE and me being GOLD and we explored the real rainbow, popping in and out of its colors for fun. He'll be there, all grown up and manly, bearded and smiling like he hasn't seen me in forever -- and I will not let go of him for a very long time.

    Please Jesus, let this year be the year, and let it happen on Rosh Hashanah (and no, I won't complain if you do it before that either) I really don't want to wait anymore. I miss you.

Photo Credit: CBN Israel

Makes Me Wonder

 Sometimes I just sit in my little chair at my little desk with my internet all fired up while I think about things that have nothing (or very little) to do with reality whatsoever. I mean, there's no place I would rather be than inside my own head. I could spend days on end there if I could just find a way to earn money while I hang out and swim in the glorious pools of my imagination. I could visit the land of Heather, my beloved Scotland.  I could and would be an ambassador of sorts for those who couldn't dig deeply into the folds of their own brains. Through me, they could travel, instantly, spontaneously, excitedly, oh so very sensually vividly.  The crimson laced clouds floating aimlessly as they melt into deeper azure skies; glancing back to see if someone is following me, I hope he is there. I hope he remembered to bring his kilt. (He doesn't actually have to wear it really, not if he's willing to give a grin or two while he removes it.) I won't tell anyone.

    My mind allows me to escape at a moment's notice. Faster really. I can release reality like it's nothing more than smoke on the tip of a fat brown cigar, burning ash and forever gone. Even the lingering vapors of validity would convey the impression that I was someplace where fairies danced and fiesty weasels whispered in dreamlike woodlands. Who wouldn't want to be with me there? I want to be with me there right now; the only thing holding me back is the fact that I'm about to fall asleep and bid my mind hello for a few restful hours; hours I cherish on a daily basis. I only wish I could be more catlike and sleep more often. Dreams become my playground, my body wrapped in veiled thin ribbons, colors, textures, laces, light. I don't remember being here before, but if this is where I'm going to be I'll remember it so I can in fact return again; another night.

    There are times when I wonder who that man may be, if there will be one, who can release his own mind long enough from fear and fret to wiggle and twist a dance with me through airy breezes cascading from sapphire lifts just before dusk calls the two of us to her breast. Makes me wonder what this poor man ever did to God to serve such penance as to remain with me, and what wonderful peace I may have been mercifully shown for the same gift from Almighty God...my pleasure to be his woman if he will be my man. There is but one. There can not be more. The poor soul must truly be repentant for something in his past to be charged with trying to wrangle my spirit while we tickle each other through the mossy clover on the moors of my mind. Whatever it is that he has committed against our Holy Father, I am grateful. But a dream - - is a dream. 

    Tonight is another night, the end of a summer month, the beginning of another time. Tonight is a genesis of sorts for mind's ardor, for my excitement of what is to be, what is to come, what is to be revealed. Tonight I rest and rest well, I live to draw breath enough to sustain another fantasy full and ripe with the fruit from the valley. I am again able to stare into the darkest of skies to see the tiny pinpricks of light declaring that there is a Heaven I will be a resident there one day; just not today. Tonight I rest and I know that the very stars I gaze upon are being seen far far away by perhaps the man who is wondering if he would ever be given another chance to love. 

    When I am awake I know that there is no one strong enough to be my captain; not at this time. I am a force to be reckoned with; myself refusing to be tamed. When I am ready, when God is willing, there will be a partner to my spinning, there will be one to remove my ribbons and hold me against his form. There will be a man dear enough, strong enough, faithful enough to God to be my everything but not tonight; tonight I dream. Tonight I wonder. I imagine. I smile. 

Photo Credit: Ean Grimm

Homelessness for Children

 I could bore you with all the gory details, the stats on how many kids today are either homeless or without a bed to sleep in at night. I could tell you the numbers, draw your attention to the data, and cause your brain to dull out from overload; but I would rather just get your attention another way. I've been teaching in one capacity or the other since the beginning of the 21st Century. Though it doesn't seem like it. Sometimes it seems like it's been 100 years while other times I barely know I've learned anything at all about the profession. If I'm not learning on a daily basis I feel that I'm falling far behind my peers. One thing for certain that I do know without having to look it up in a book, online, or use a lifeline, is that children who are homeless do not thrive in educational environments due to the very base facts that they are displaced physically, mentally, emotionally, financially, and spiritually. These kids have a greater chance of self-harm than any other demographic.  Look it up. It's real.

    By nature (and perfect design) a child is brought into the world through the same old-fashioned way that every last one of us arrived here. We were either conceived in love or happenstance, but we were conceived and if we're living and breathing we were born. We weren't hatched and we weren't made in a baby factory, found under a cabbage, or brought to the doorstep by a big gangly stork. We were born. We may have been born to good parents; as being homeless does not mean that the people who find themselves in this situation are innately bad, but many are born into homelessness, abandonment, and in a general state of playing catch up from the day they arrived. It's not uncommon in my particular school district where I live, to run across kids who have lived on the streets for more than two years running. Some of the more grounded homeless kids are those who in fact have adapted to their living arrangements, be that as they may be. Some of the more challenging homeless students are the ones whose parents have only recently found themselves under more exigency times, and now they must face unbearable decision making regarding whether or not they can even find a way to get their child to school, to the place where he or she will at least be warm for eight hours, be fed breakfast and lunch, and at least have a roof over their heads for now.  No wonder these kids show up early and leave later in the day.

    A kid without a bed is a drastic thing. Sure, there are families living with other families too, and crowding too many faces into a house, I get that. We see that as often as we see kids living in cars, under bridges, and literally inside the bus stops. Driving to work each morning I pass the same woman and her two young daughters who have made rest at the back of a church; the church can't allow her to come into the building when it's closed, but at least I feel that when it is open they may allow her to wash up, use the restroom and maybe do something for her. I have stopped to talk with her, but she doesn't speak English and she's not willing to get too close to someone she fears could turn her over to authorities. It must be gut-wrenching for some of these immigrants who expose their souls to give their families a new way of life only to find themselves begging for bread and a place to wash their hands each day.  Dealing with issues I've never had to deal with, have really only read about and watched on television; these parents and children walk it, talk it, breathe it, move it, manage it, and when they can't manage it they lose it. I feel so helpless when I realize I can't do much more than pray.

    One of the statistics that just goes right through me is the fact that a homeless child is nine times more likely to fail a grade than any housed child.  A homeless child is displaced usually more than three times during a school year, and each time he or she is displaced, moved around, they lose nearly all of the educational study they may have begun to retain. The new school may not be teaching the same things, or it could be teaching exactly what the child has already gone over, so yeah, they may get that lesson down, but not the one before it which wasn't taught at the older school, but now maybe forever lost and you know there isn't time to go back over the who, what, when, where, why, and how of the "Tell-Tale Heart" or "The Giver" when the real questions sound more like "Where am I going to sleep, what am I going to eat, who is going to try to hurt me, when will this be over, and how do I even cope with all of this?"  

    Interestingly, one of my homeless students told me she was homeless. I think she did this because she understands that under Oklahoma law I must report it to the Department of Human Services, and maybe they can find her a shelter or a better way to cope.  She wanted me to know that even though she wasn't living in a home, more like a tent in the woods (her words) she would read every word of every story because it gave her an escape from her reality.  I couldn't hold back my emotions. I couldn't restrain my tears. We're not supposed to hug the kids really, those days have passed, but I couldn't stop myself from reaching for her and just squeezing her.  I let her know that if she ever needed more books she could take them. If she ever wanted more paper, pens, just anything I could provide, to let me know. You know I'm that teacher that finds a way to sneak an extra bit of string cheese, apple, Pop-Tarts, or something to the ones I know are struggling.

    When you think about the school year starting, and all you can think about is COVID-19 or if the school's teachers or students are wearing masks on their faces, change your thoughts every now and again to the harder colder reality that there are students who slept outside last night without blankets. There are students who eat once a day if they are lucky, and can only really get food at the schools.  Think of the kids who fight for everything they have, which may include the one pair of jeans they wear every day because they just don't have anything else. It is never, and I mean NEVER the kid's fault that they are homeless -- as a society, we need to do so much more, and I'm not talking about just building shelters. We need to build relationships. We need to understand that one terminated father or mother could lead to four starving children who lose it all -- over what? The father or mother may have used their cell phone during work hours to call home?  We have too many issues in this country to deal with to have to be so petty as to release parents from their jobs for lesser reasons.  The consequences are dramatic in most cases.  

    The Bethany Christ Trust, a homeless shelter and social refuge for people in crisis is a great place (in Scotland) helping more than 7,000 homeless people, many of them students, on a daily, weekly, monthly, annual basis.  We need more places like BCT here so kids can go into a safe place to talk to adults, get to know people who care, understand that there are ways to survive drastic circumstances. Through God, through Jesus, through the Spirit, there are ways to share our love and our resources. Until we come to these conclusions we are destined to repeat the strangely routine methods we've used for too long and that have caused so much damage.  A homeless child is five times more likely to succeed with a suicide attempt because they truly want out of their current pressures.  We need to stop that before it becomes six times, seven times, and more. We need to know the signs and be willing to reach out when our hearts are pricked - - will you help?

    Some of the signs that a child is homeless are: 

    They pull away from crowds, lay their heads down to rest more, hoard food, steal money and food, show up to school really early and stay really late. They often wear the same things, but they aren't clean most of the time. They talk about the days they had a house, if you listen to the way they say things you'll understand they are speaking in the past tense. When they had a house. When they were OK.  We should all be a part, or willing to be a part, to end this horrific reality for others. We are blessed.  We are given the responsibility to do more with that blessing. There, but by the grace of God, go each and every last one of us. Literally. 

    

Photo Credit: UNICEF

Let's Have a Real Conversation About Self Worth

 I won't apologize for the content of this blog. This is going to be one of those times when the truth needs to be not only told but heard.  This is one of those times when I speak my mind because it may assist or help others to understand that it really is OK not to be OK all the time. You're allowed to feel down, you're allowed to be upset, you're allowed to be angry about a situation as long as you also take a moment to fully understand and appreciate that even if something is your fault, you are not defined by your mistakes. You are defined by how you respond and what you do after you realize you've made the mistake. You simply cannot beat yourself up over and over again about something you may have been a party to that got out of hand. Own your mistake, yes, but move forward from it, and learn from it. No one has the right to strong-arm you (bully) into believing you are worthless or worth less. There is a difference.

    YOU are a magnificent being in and of yourself. Our God, Himself, made you in such a way as to be uniquely crafted. Not only are you made in His image, but He literally only made one of you. You are therefore the best you out there, and not one of us, no matter who we are, can say you are less valued than ourselves or anyone else. YES...yes, there are those people who live and breathe by trying to one-up someone else and when that person, or a person like that, is married to a person who has a history of PTSD, lower self-worth, or anxiety, it can really be a volatile and vulnerable thing indeed. I am talking very specifically here, and where I know that my friend will read this blog and understand I am speaking about him, this blog is also about others who are too hurt to step forward; thank God my friend is strong enough to allow me to share a bit of his story to help those who live (and have lived) through similar circumstances. Where this story may or may not fit your story to a T, it may strike a chord, or it may ring a bell, and if it does, I want you to KNOW, not think, but to KNOW that there are people out there who will never condone such behavior - - it's not that hard to find us. Look for us! We want to help.

    My very close friend is a man. He is currently going through a divorce that he realizes now is long long overdue. Not one of us, his friends or family, would have wanted or hoped that his 17-year marriage would end in such a manner. He and his wife have two daughters, they raised and fostered another child who is grown now and living on his own. They have started a very successful business together, and when the divorce is settled, he will likely buy her portion of the business out so that he can work on rebuilding all that he has lost over the past few years to her constant abusive behavior and attitude which manifested itself both emotionally and finally (after many years of verbal abuse) into physical abuse. I say finally because once the physical abuse began and (we'll call him John) John could determine that what she was actually doing was wrong, he finally found help through speaking to male friends who he believed would understand.  He was absolutely too embarrassed to tell any of his close friends who were female because what he was going through was quite difficult to express in words that we would comprehend. When He did tell me what was happening, I just stood in my tracks and wanted to cry for him. I wasn't sure if I could even reach out and hug him, or if even that sort of touch would bring back painful flashbacks of what he has been enduring over the past few years as the abuse escalated.

    John is in his late 30's and his wife is just a few years older. She had been married before and claimed to have been abused. John felt that she would be a perfect partner because of her history with being abused, perhaps she would be able to understand his emotional stress (baggage) from being left to fend for himself as well as to try and defend himself against an accusation that labeled him undesirable as far as society was concerned.  He wasn't actually guilty of the crime he was accused of, but through low self-worth, he confessed to something he didn't do in order to protect who he thought loved him. Not only did it leave him with a permanent criminal record, but his character was also scarred as well, making it very difficult for him to be employed if he was to be around money, children, or older people who needed specialized care.  Because his degree was in Music, John wanted to teach and become a music minister for a church. Those dreams were flushed when he admitted to a crime his partner had committed.

    When he met his wife she seemed ideal.  She was pretty, young enough to still want to start a family with him, and she even suggested that he stay home and raise the kids. She had a son she was raising, a foster child who was 7 or 8 by this time. They began a modest life in a modest house, in a modest part of England where he was rarely questioned about his past.  Things were rocking along rather well until he wanted to bring more of his own personality to the forefront, which of course meant she would need to take over some of the house duties. Her argument was that she already "brought home the bacon" and she felt that she was cutting him a deal by "allowing" him to be unseen and under wraps. Isn't that what he wanted? Why was he trying to be more now? After ten years she had grown to understand that his role was at home while hers was in public where she would be honored and praised for all of the hard work she was willing to do, all of the sacrifices she had to make because he was apparently not capable of bringing in a decent income with his past haunting him, literally dogging him, and biting at his heels constantly.  It's just that John had found a way to put his past behind him, over time, and now he wanted to let the world see his talents as a writer and singer; couldn't he have the best of both worlds? Wouldn't she as his partner and wife want him to achieve more? He thought so, but he was mistaken.

    There were highs and lows, ebbs and flows, ups and downs, and when I tell you that I heard about every one of these events I am being 100% honest with you. I listened to John, I talked with his wife. I watched them, I asked questions. I prayed for their marriage. I prayed for their singular hope of becoming one again, being strong enough to work through it. Both of them were Christians, I wanted the best for the girls mostly. Having to hear mom and dad fuss and fight constantly is just no way to live, they say the children are always the victims, and where that's true, John was certainly hurt pretty hard.  

    I would say it started with lies about him at the office. She told family members he would say or do things he never said or did. These were things he would not likely ever be told about, but the looks were unmistakable and the comments at times, were just a bit too telling too.  She had obviously begun expanding on those stories, maybe exaggerating just enough to garner a bit of pity for herself. Isn't that the standard game plan?  Eventually, it came down to John realizing that he was being lied about and he stood up for himself a couple of times, only to be slammed back into his hole of depression and anxiety when the two were alone at home and she was literally blaming him for why they couldn't have nice things, go on fun vacations, or keep a bit of money in savings. He was always to blame, it was his fault for not working, not bringing in enough money, but if he worked they would have to find daycare for the girls, and it would all wash out in the end. These were the years that he was needed at home, and with COVID and lockdown, there was absolutely no way he could go out and get a job making enough to cover daycare when the girls were home from school!  Lockdowns caused a few couples to focus in on what those vows actually meant. No one expected for better or worse to be worse. Not really.

    Those vows we take are real.  For better or worse is not optional. It is what it is. For richer or poorer is gut-wrenching when poorer shows up, and then couples are expected through Christ to cherish too! What? I mean yeah, cherish is sort of thing.  How many actually fulfill that one on a daily (hourly) basis after years of marriage? Most couples struggle to meet eye to eye on finance, sex, raising children, discipline, school work, housekeeping, jobs, religion, and politics.  I know my own parents were rather unique in this manner, I can honestly say that my daddy worshipped the ground my momma walked on, and she, to the day he died, breathed his air as if it were her own. They were in love; but they were not without issues, arguments, troubles.  I will tell you this openly, my daddy never laid a hand on my mother, and she would have never dreamed of hurting him either.  John's wife never met my parents, and apparently, for her, it was acceptable to slap his face from time to time when she was upset. After the face came the punch to the stomach, and after she got away with that enough times, she punched him in the groin so hard that he was sent to the E.R. TWICE.  

    My eyes well up when I think about it.  My throat begins to close when I imagine the pain that both of them went through to get to the point that they could harm the one they promised to stand beside come what will, come what may.  It took eleven hard, long, agonizing months of abuse before John began sleeping separately, and another year before he finally broke down and began making plans to leave his wife.  Not being the breadwinner, he had to plan a way to escape without losing his children. He had to find employment, be able to obtain, maintain, and manage his own apartment, but having never had a place in his own name before, that was not an easy task. He didn't have any family to help. One of our friends co-signed. I couldn't as I wasn't in England. I wanted to. I sent money because money is all I could send.  (and love of course)

    John's history of self-hate kicked in, but he was such a pro at wearing the mask of civility that we were fooled for such a long time. He would say he was fine. He and his wife appeared at parties, online, in photos, memes, comments, you name it, they looked perfect -- that was the goal. They pulled it off, and no one was the wiser, but everyone was the loser in this scenario.  No one comes out smiling or smelling like a rose when abuse is the flavor of the day over and over again. My God, and I mean it, MY GOD, I am thankful that John stopped his madness and was strong enough to put an end to his anguish.  His suffering was longstanding, it was overt, it was covert, it was detailed in his prayers but not to anyone who would have beaten back the jungle to find a way to help him. I can't imagine the sorrow his heart created for itself having to suffer for so long alone. Literally alone because he didn't want anyone to know of his defeat.  He placed the blame of it all on himself. This is so typical of those who have been through such terror; it's a vicious incredible cycle that can't stop if someone doesn't seek help. We didn't know his wife was secretly drinking, staying out late with "friends" and gambling online.  He hid those facts to protect her, trying to get her the help he felt she needed. All the while, every time she screwed up, somehow it was his fault. 

    Oh, I beg you. I plead with you, and I implore you to please ask for help if someone is hurting you or making you feel as if you are to blame for something they are doing but they are too much of a coward to let you stand on your own.  I pray you will seek God's help, man's help, friend's help, church help, some sort of real help to get out from the quagmire that can cause you to conjure imagines of yourself being less than what you are - - YOU ARE AWESOME!  If you haven't done so yet today, please thank God for your existence. I don't know you, but you being here is glorious, and we are all connected somehow. If you weren't here we would all be less -- you make us more. You fulfill us. We are all subject to being hurt. Let's all be willing to stand up and help when we can. 

    That really is all I have to say about it - - except that I am so proud of John for realizing that even though he has put 17 years into this relationship, he doesn't have to continue it if it means he is forced to be held back and put down for having his own opinion and desires. He is truly a hero to me today. God made a really good one when He made John and when the rapture comes, and you're up there - - you'll find him someday, he'll be the one smiling, knowing that God never makes mistakes, and John (and you) are proof of that fact. 

Photo Credit: Psycho2Go