Suffering's Child

My neighbour was raped by her present husband’s father
 when she was twelve years old.

My neighbour was twelve years old when her present husband was married to another woman.

My neighbour’s husband was convicted of child molestation…

his own daughter.

My neighbour married this man anyway.

My neighbour married a man who is a known child molester.

My neighbour married a man whose father molested her at twelve years of age.

My neighbour …

I asked her why.

“He is a good man.”

“I have loved him since I was twelve years old.”

“I love him.”

My neighbour’s husband sits on his back porch
doing things no man should do on hhis back porch or in his home.
My neighbour’s husband attempts to get women to look at him.

My neighbour’s husband whistles at women.

He does this while my neighbour works.

Works hard.

Works long hours.

Cleans houses for people.

My neighbour cried when I told her.

My neighbour thought it was her fault.

My neighbour was hurt.

“Tomorrow is my anniversary.”

My neighbour apologized to me for her husband’s actions.

I told her it was not her fault.

~

And somewhere another neighbour is experiencing much the same.

A handicapped heart has stumbled on a crutch of lies.

An innocent soul has been subtly stolen and sold into

slavery.

Who can set the captive free?

Who will dry the tear stained cheeks of deception’s child?

Who can cleanse the dark stains?

Who can loose the chains that constrict and suffocate?

Only One

Only One can truly do all these

Jesus

Suffering’s King

~

~Cordelia Darlene~

~

 “This is how much God loved the world:
 He gave his Son, his one and only Son. 

And this is why: 
so that no one need be destroyed; 
by believing in him, anyone can have a whole and lasting life. 

God didn’t go to all the trouble of sending his Son merely to point an accusing finger,
 telling the world how bad it was. 

He came to help, to put the world right again. 
John 3:16
The Message (MSG)

**Update**
  Since this blog, my neighbour’s husband crossed the thin veil that separates this life from eternity.  
My neighbour's husband was lead into a prayer, as he took the Lord of hosts' hand...professing faith in the finished work of Christ.
My neighbour has found her Joy...and her Peace.

As Jesus stated:
 "...I am the Gate for the sheep. All those others are up to no good—sheep stealer’s, every one of them. But the sheep didn’t listen to them. I am the Gate. Anyone who goes through me will be cared for—will freely go in and out, and find pasture. A thief is only there to steal and kill and destroy. I came so they can have real and eternal life, more and better life than they ever dreamed of."

John 10:6-10  (MSG)

Four Blood Moons

Is life as we know it about to change?
Are these signs in the heavens a warning?
Are we (you) prepared?


Regardless of whether or not these events take place as stated by NASA and the Bible, we all realize that the world is engaged in a frenzy of Nuclear fears.  Even as I write this blog, our President is in Israel, supposedly confirming allegiance and alliance to Israel against Nuclear threats of annihilation.  
Our planetary home is changing.
The earth is rebelling against attacks by our own muddied footprints.
We are in desperate need of Help.
Our freedom of speech is being stripped from us.
Our freedom of thought is being brainwashed from us.
Our freedom to protect ourselves is being confiscated from us.
We must arise from our slumber.
We must open our sleepy eyes.
We must run to our Rock...
before we find ourselves swallowed up by the crater of our own making.

Some of you will find offence in 'some' of the words from this man's mouth.  
Just because you might not agree with him on a few things,
does not make him wrong in all things.
He is using his freedom of voice
just as you use yours.
Hitler stole the voice of millions of Jews.
Hitler slaughtered those who refused to accept his self-made 'godlike' opinions and views.
Hitler used his brainwashed and hypnotized pawns to kill Jews, German citizens (and other individuals who helped to hide Jews), political opponents, homosexuals, Polish citizens and the physically and mentally challenged.
Hitler was NOT a follower of 
Jesus the Christ.
We must not...and cannot allow this same evil, idealistic attitude to infiltrate us again.
Let us keep the right of VOICE 
secure and sacred.
Don't fall into the media trap of casting judgement because someone has a voice and uses that voice.

Throw all that you hear
and have learned
on the scales of justice
the scales of 
Truth 
which is
ONE
And you will find
as I have
That you are found wanting.  

The Bible is either all 
Truth
 or not true at all.
Seek wisdom and understanding
as King Solomon did.

If these prophetic messages are true
in part or in whole,
Maranatha!
            

The next Blood Moon is
 April 4, 2015
This third Blood Moon of the
2014/15 Tetrad
will be viewed 
during
 Jewish Feast of Passover 

Illegitimate Children of Prosperity/Oh, To Smell God's Shirt

   

Illegitimate Children of Prosperity / Oh, To Smell God's Shirt

Several years ago, I had the honor of sharing in the lives of some very special children in a densely populated area of a large southern city. Primarily poor minority communities shaped these secluded ghettos shrouded by interstates and skyrise structures. Tiny deteriorating wood framed houses and brick duplexes occupied almost every foot of city plot. Young men and women clustered together in small groups on empty lots and behind overfilled trash bins--while dilapidated porches and crumbling sidewalks bore the weight of old men with flyswatters and old women with hand held fans. Voices of young boys with tattered footballs and little girls skipping rope camouflaged the stench of despair that seemed to fill the decaying human backdrop. Bare boned canines scavenged for food. Sickly kittens nursed on the necks of children while green bottle flies swarmed their bowls of stinking clabbered milk.

   

This was the life of the invisible, the bypassed interstate secret of the proud and self-righteous…the illegitimate children of prosperity. 

 These are the faces of God. 

                                                 

Thank you Heavenly Father. You have filled the empty places of my heart with riches this world could never have afforded me. You have shown me your eyes, your smile, your spirit and your love through those of these little ones. For that, I am most endearingly grateful.

Anyone who sets himself up as “religious” by playing a good game is self-deceived. This kind of religion is hot air and only hot air. Real religion, the kind that passes muster before God the Father, is this: Reach out to the homeless and loveless in their plight, and guard against corruption from the godless world.

  James 1: 26-27   The Message (MSG)

~~~

Oh, To Smell God's Shirt

    We were discussing the story of Abraham, one of the classic historic figures from the Bible.  During the discussion, a little hand went up and one small boy asked what kind of neighborhood Abraham lived in.  

"Miss Dahlene, did Abraham live in the white neighborhood or the projects?"

Wow!  I didn’t expect that one.  Talk about a loaded question. I decided to stick with the subject at hand and tackle the topic of race and ethnics at a later date. To answer his question, as it reflected the historical setting of Abraham’s time, I proceeded to discuss what it might have been like to live in a desert.  None of the children knew what a desert was.  I could have just shown them a picture book photo of a desert; instead, I asked them to close their eyes and imagine a desert as I described it. 

     So, I described the sun, the sand, the animals and people of the desert.  With their eyes still closed, I asked them to tell me what they were seeing, smelling, touching, hearing and tasting.  I heard responses like:

“I smells a camel, Miss Dahlene, and he sho do stink!”
“I feels the suitcases on the camels back and they feels like Mama’s shoes.”
“I feels the sands in my socks and they’s hot.”
“I see Abraham tellin’ stories about God to his children.”
“I sees lots and lots'o sands and a snake runnin’ from the camels.”
“I taste the wind and it taste like salt in it.”

And so they continued.  One right after the other, descriptive imaginings of the neighborhood and community Abraham called home filled the tiny room.  And then my eyes fell on little Brandi.  Sitting quietly (a feat she rarely accomplished), Brandi’s face was filled with the most peaceful, reflective smile. 

 “Brandi, would you like to share with us what you are imagining?”  

 Brandi took a deep, full breath of air and with eyes still closed and her little heart full of imaginings, she stated:

“Oh Mitt Dahlene…I smells God’s shirt and it sho do smells purdy.”

I was dumbstruck.  Wanting to be certain of what I had heard, I asked:

“Brandi, what did you say, sweetheart?” 

“I smells God’s shirt, Mitt Dahlene…and it sho do smells purdy.”

I felt my eyes tear up and spill over.  The room was bathed in seraphic silence.  My heart was awash in awe. A reverent quiet filled my soul.  My tear blurred eyes scanned the circle of soft tanned faces, statuette and reflective.  With eyes closed and contemplative, I replied:

“You know Brandi, sometimes when I am sitting beneath my favorite tree, or walking in the woods or a park filled with flowers, I think I smell God’s shirt too.  It is like he just walked by me.  And his shirt does smell pretty, doesn’t it Brandi?”  

“Uh huh, Mitt Dahlene, it sho do’s”. 
She continued to smile.

 ~~~

Oh, to smell God’s shirt

To experience the Father’s presence so divinely intimately

To breathe in the fragrance of Love

The “Purdy”

To feel safe

To feel peace

To smell God’s shirt

God's Fast...'nuf said

 ^1-3 “Shout! A full-throated shout!
    Hold nothing back—a trumpet-blast shout!
Tell my people what’s wrong with their lives,
    face my family Jacob with their sins!
They’re busy, busy, busy at worship,
    and love studying all about me.
To all appearances they’re a nation of right-living people—
    law-abiding, God-honoring.
They ask me, ‘What’s the right thing to do?’
    and love having me on their side.
But they also complain,
    ‘Why do we fast and you don’t look our way?
    Why do we humble ourselves and you don’t even notice?’

^3-5 “Well, here’s why:

“The bottom line on your ‘fast days’ is profit.
    You drive your employees much too hard.
You fast, but at the same time you bicker and fight.
    You fast, but you swing a mean fist.
The kind of fasting you do
    won’t get your prayers off the ground.
Do you think this is the kind of fast day I’m after:
    a day to show off humility?
To put on a pious long face
    and parade around solemnly in black?
Do you call that fasting,
    a fast day that I, God, would like?

^6-9 “This is the kind of fast day I’m after:
    to break the chains of injustice,
    get rid of exploitation in the workplace,
    free the oppressed,
    cancel debts.
What I’m interested in seeing you do is:
    sharing your food with the hungry,
    inviting the homeless poor into your homes,
    putting clothes on the shivering ill-clad,
    being available to your own families.
Do this and the lights will turn on,
    and your lives will turn around at once.
Your righteousness will pave your way.
    The God of glory will secure your passage.
Then when you pray, God will answer.
    You’ll call out for help and I’ll say, ‘Here I am.’

~

^9-12 “If you get rid of unfair practices,
    quit blaming victims,
    quit gossiping about other people’s sins,
If you are generous with the hungry
    and start giving yourselves to the down-and-out,
Your lives will begin to glow in the darkness,
    your shadowed lives will be bathed in sunlight.
I will always show you where to go.
    I’ll give you a full life in the emptiest of places—
    firm muscles, strong bones.
You’ll be like a well-watered garden,
    a gurgling spring that never runs dry.
You’ll use the old rubble of past lives to build anew,
    rebuild the foundations from out of your past.
You’ll be known as those who can fix anything,
    restore old ruins, rebuild and renovate,
    make the community livable again.

^13-14 “If you watch your step on the Sabbath
    and don’t use my holy day for personal advantage,
If you treat the Sabbath as a day of joy,
    God’s holy day as a celebration,
If you honor it by refusing ‘business as usual,’
    making money, running here and there—
Then you’ll be free to enjoy God!
    Oh, I’ll make you ride high and soar above it all.
I’ll make you feast on the inheritance of your ancestor Jacob.”
    Yes! God says so!

 Isaiah 58

The Message (MSG)

 ^{A special thanks to BibleGateway.com}

 

The Frozen Frost-Free Frig

The frost-free refrigerator freezer had a ¼ inch layer of frost covering the back panel of the freezer section.  Water dropped from inside one corner of the open freezer door, splashing against my foot as it fell to the floor beneath it.  I stood dumbfounded, gazing into the open freezer where frozen foods were now beginning to thaw.  Feeling broadsided once again, I closed the freezer door.  Plopping down onto the kitchen stool I heard myself helplessly utter: “Do you think I could get a break?” 

~

It had been one situation after another since I had purchased this small home.  There was the evening that the water level timer on the washing machine malfunctioned, sending gallons of water throughout the home, and sending me racing about attempting to rescue damageable possessions.  And who could forget the broken water line and the miniscule hole in the ice maker tubing that unknowingly and subtly flooded the area beneath the kitchen sink.  As if that wasn’t enough, the ceiling was leaking from an old tree injury during a former hurricane, while the new central air cooling unit wires had shorted and burned out just in time to welcome a forecasted heat wave.  It had taken days to remove the old musty green vintage carpet that spilled over from my bedroom into the hallway.  It is the memory of the nasty, sticky and crumbling spongy carpet padding I had to scrape from the floor, inch by back aching inch, that remains embedded amongst my exhausted neurons. Sound like a page from the Ziggy comic strips?

And so, I made my way to the World Wide Web.  Surely someone in the world has experienced a frozen frost-free frig?  Typing into my search engine:
“Help, my frost-free refrigerator freezer is frozen”,
I was introduced to forum after forum of misfortunate "frugal frozen frig" (say that really fast three times) victims like myself, each sharing their momentous expertise.  I finally settled with a refrigerant expert’s advise to remove perishable items, cover the floor with towels, turn off and unplug the frig freezer, prop open the doors and let the refrigerator stand for 24-48 hours until completely thawed.  After thawing, I would plug it back in, turn it on and see what happens.  With a bit of luck (which I apparently lack) the problem would simply be the high humidity of these record breaking summer temperatures.  Otherwise, I would need to call in an expert (unless I wanted to experience a catastrophic injury or early death).  Sounded like good advice to me. 

I decided to speed the process and spare my already deteriorating kitchen floor of the excess water that was sure to spill out from the drip pan while I was not in attendance.  With instruction from my new expert web acquaintance, I degutted the interior of my freezer, including the ice maker, and began thawing the now exposed frozen elements with a hair dryer.  And of course, there was the continual sopping up of water from the drain pan to prevent spillover.  Within a few hours, the job was completed.  Freezer guts replaced and drip pan clean and dry, I plugged the refrigerator back in and set the temp to normal.  I had done my part; now it was up to the refrigerator. 

Three hours later, the freezer was cold and a few ice cubes had formed and dispensed into the ice cube pan.  
My friend had returned from her afternoon walk, dropping by with some words of encouragement.  
“I said a prayer for your refrigerator”.
  I thanked her for her support and shared the hopeful news.  The next morning a nice supply of ice cubes rested in the pan.  The freezer and refrigerator were at normal temperature and I could see no frost inside the freezer.  

~ 

Have you ever found yourself in a situation of extreme low body temperature?  In other words, do you know what it feels like to freeze?  I experienced near frostbite while on a contracted job assignment in the Wild West several years ago.  It was the worst winter for that area of the country in seven years.  After days of feeling captive to my tiny motel room, cabin fever finally set in.  The craving for fresh air and freedom hung over my countenance like the icicles hanging from the eaves of that small inn.  So, donning my warmest coat, cap and gloves, I headed out into the frigid temperatures.  After about 15 minutes into the less than thought out stroll, I wasn’t feeling all that cold anymore.  I passed a man shoveling snow in his drive.  On his front porch a black and white cat eagerly struggled to push open the door.  We waved to each other as I attempted to say:
 “Your cat sure wants in the house awfully bad”.  
However, what came out of my mouth sounded more like:
 “Yuh ca su aunts eh duh how awhly ad”.

 “Are you that lady from the South?  
You need to get inside before your brain freezes”.  
With a nod and half frozen smile, I hurriedly returned to my motel room.  Pushing open the door, a gush of warm air from inside the room hit my face and I immediately felt dizzy.  I sat down on the bed.  Looking up at the ceiling, the room appeared to be spinning and my nose felt as if it was growing away from my face; perhaps like Pinocchio might have felt during a moment of deceit.  OK, time to call ER.  I pulled the phone to my side and dialed.  The ER doctor was called to the phone.  After a series of questions, it was determined that I would survive my ordeal and that I was not to take any more strolls into the below 0 temps. 

~

Not so unlike that frozen freezer or freezing flesh, there are times in our lives when we might look or feel as if everything is fine from the outside; but deep within us the frigid temps of life are freezing us solid.  We might not even be aware of our state of being at the moment, due to our benumbed status.  Little by little we glaciate under the chill of the bitter cold.  But we don’t have to harden into an ice sculpture.  We don’t have to spend our precious days frozen and fearful.  There is a still, sometimes faint but steady voice that calls to us from the inside of our frozen soul.  It calls to all of us, amidst the noise and distractions.  It is no respecter of persons.  It calls us to open ourselves up,  to expose our frozen guts. It bids us purge ourselves of the rotting flesh of a watery grave.  Its radiance and warmth penetrates our core and melts our hardest of hearts.  And as we begin to diffuse into its compassionate glow, we become renewed in its life giving condensation. 

That voice is the Spirit of Truth.  If we listen and heed the Spirit’s call to “Come forth!” from our frozen death, we find our souls ablaze in the afterglow of His Light.

 We don’t have to run to the World Wide Web for our help and salvation.  We just need to turn to the Spirit of Truth.  He will neither deceive us nor bring us harm.  He will instruct us in the ways we are to journey.  And in His Light we will remain…frost FREE!

But when he, the Spirit of truth, comes, he will guide you into all the truth.

 John 16:13 NIV

So if the Son sets you free, you will be absolutely free.

 John 8:36 God’s Word Translation

  

Ms. Mary..I See You

Most people become irritated at the animated gym clip that pops up when Microsoft Word is opened.  But I am not like most people.  I kinda like the little guy.  Those large animated eyes entertain me.  The ever-so-slight movements keep my mind actively searching for the following word or phrase just so that I can see what he is going to do next.  Right now, he sits on a document smiling directly at me, occasionally glancing towards my document while scratching the top of his little gym clip head.  A little weird?  I would agree.  But somehow just knowing the small animated paper clip is there makes me feel less alone at the moment. 

I don’t mind being alone.  Sometimes I relish the opportunity.  Ms. Mary, a widow in a small town I lived in some years ago spent her days alone.  Following the death of her husband, Mary rarely left her home.  Mary visited the mailbox at the same time each evening.  3:15 pm would not pass without the small socked feet of the fair complected woman strolling slowly to and from her mailbox.  Her expression was always the same, emotionless.  I never saw visitors to her home.  On occasion, a local church group would make attempts to invite her to services.  She would accept their brochures with a nod of thanks before closing herself in - and the church group out. The grocery delivery boy would set bags of groceries on her porch swing, knock on the door and leave.  Mary would appear moments later to retrieve her goods.  Mary was totally alone.

I heard years later that Mary died on a beautiful Sunday afternoon, exactly 3:15 pm.  She had a massive coronary on her stroll to the mailbox.   The small community took up a collection for her burial.  Mary died alone.  She was 93 years old. 

I often wonder how the computer age would have affected Mary.  Would she have a Facebook profile?  Would she have tweeted her thoughts on Twitter or kept up with every tweet from her television idols?  Would Mary see social media as an opportunity to connect with those of her past; or would she view its exploitable disclosures as nonsense, thus continuing in seclusion?

What would Mary think of this presently slumbering gym clip?  Would its animated antics provoke a smile?  I like to think so.  I have often pondered Mary smiling or laughing during her moments alone.  I would visualize a warm smile as she remembered her wedding day or prenuptial courting rituals..followed by a sigh of contentment. Did Mary sing quietly to herself of love and life?  I hope so. 

Although a child at the time, I saw Mary.  So, I guess one might say that Mary was never truly alone.  Mary just did not know that I saw her.  I still see Mary in my mind and feel her in my soul.  Thus, Mary’s memory did not die with her.  We are never truly alone and forgotten as long as someone sees.  

 Someone, somewhere, sees each of us and knows we are here. 

Ms. Mary..I see you.

 ~

Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! 
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands...

Isaiah 49:15-16

~

As I close this entry the little gym clip will morph into an animated motorcycle and drive off in search of another welcoming host, I suppose.
And with his “adieu”, I will smile.

The Lone Goose

September 2, 2012

A lone goose calls out from the foggy dawn of the small lake this morning.  There is a pale eeriness to its desperate plea for response.  With each pause, silence is returned.   A few feet away, Autumn Trail preens his iridescent and white feathers.  An unusually handsome Muscovy Duck, Autumn Trail has found company with the lone Canada Goose.

***

Canada Geese have been abundant this summer, and from these bounteous beings spring the cutest little tutu tailed goslings.  Week by week I watched as those tiny chirping chicks morphed quickly into beautifully cloaked adult geese.  Walkers, runners, strollers and sitters alike would pause by the bank of the lake for a quiescent peek into the less than private lives of these migrant visitors. 

On an early morning walk this summer I noticed something in the road ahead.  As I briskly approached the object my reluctant and dreaded suspicions were confirmed.  One of the geese lay motionless on the warming blacktop.  A dirty, soon to be scorching tarred pavement cradled the body of this stately creature I had so enjoyed observing.  I made a spontaneous decision. Confirming death, I gently lifted the goose and placed it in the water.  This life-giving water, the source of which in just a few short months had been a haven of liquid refreshment, refuge, food, courting ritual and community, would now embrace the small withering carcass making its way towards the center of the lake.  I would contemplate in silence as the waves gently rocked the flaccid form. Behind me, the familiar flock of geese (including the season’s goslings which by now have taken on the appearance of young adults) watched intently.  I had become the observed.  Looking into their piercing black eyes, I wondered what they were thinking, communicating, feeling, comprehending.  They had spent their entire summer together.  Were they aware of the dramatic scene being staged before them?  Someone was missing a parent, child, sibling, mate and companion.  And now, just beyond the bank of their summer home, feathers glistening beneath the morning sun, the flock watched with reverent caution.

 “Into paradise, may the angels lead you” 

I whispered.

Days after, a lone goose would be seen lagging behind while the rest of the flock flew in and out of the lake area.  The young were finally in the air and learning the ways of their ancestors.  But this companionless soul would remain, calling loudly as if in quest of someone,  eyes roaming to and fro, endlessly in search of that which was lost.  From a distance, I would see the same scene night after night, a tiny silhouette swimming alone, its sole companion, the Muscovy Duck who had preferred the odd alliance with the flock of geese over three inseparable Mallard Ducks who had made their home at the lake.

~

It had been several days since I had seen the lone goose.  The flock spends less and less time here now.  Migration season is very near -] perhaps today.  I sense the lone traveler is making its last desperate attempts to call to itself the absent companion, the one whose spirit now hovers over the waters, keeping watch over its flock.  As I unhurriedly stroll home, the lonesome call of the solitary goose follows; its forlorn echo piercing the depths of my soul. 

~

We call into the darkness, the thin veil occluding our vision from all that is Light.  
We search, eyes wide open, for a miniscule glimpse of Hope. 
We listen intently for that inner voice to reaffirm and reassure us that we are not alone.  

 We tirelessly and desperately pursue that which our soul is familiar--Spirit.  

 We lag behind, separating ourselves from the conformity of routine and the habitual,
 in pursuit of--Purpose.  
We are on a wild goose chase, all the while its spirit hovers just over us--and within us. 

~

Bathed in a chasm of darkness, the spirit of God hovered over the waters. 

 “Let there be Light!”   

And it was as he had spoken.  Light entered the world and it was good.
 And that light was the Light of all life.  
And we no longer desperately call out into the darkness.

Run to the Rock

August 27, 2012 

There is a storm brewing in the Gulf today.  For the past few days home owners and businesses have been preparing for Isaac.  Storm surges, high tide and increasing waves precede his arrival like the herald trumpeting the arrival of the King.  But Isaac does not come adorned in fine array.  Unlike the King’s regalia, symbols of power and majesty, Isaac arrives bedecked in the scars of destruction, grief, pain and much sorrow. 

     And here I sit in my tiny home, momentarily safe, quiet and free of the burdensome tasks of batting down the hatches and storing up life essential commodities.  The only tremble of fear I feel comes from the small red dog curled up next to me.  Piper Grace senses what so many creatures of the non-human form sense.  She instinctively feels the storm deep within.  Her body responds in a sequence of quivers and the need to draw closer to that which appears secure.  Piper does not realize how unsteady her rock is.  She has no idea that her safe boulder teeters on the edge of demise.  If she knew this, would she continue to suffocate my lap with her writhing uncertainties? 

     Where is my rock?  Where is mysafe haven?  Who do I run to when the storms of life surge about me?  Into what lap can I leap to find warm comforting arms embracing me?  

The storm has arrived.  I am running to my rock.

From the ends of the earth I call to you, I call as my heart grows faint; lead me to the rock that is higher than I. 

Psalm 61:2
New International Version (NIV)