Before the Parade Passes By...

As I sat thinking over the headlines that I read, I wondered about the societal penchant for celebrating sin as if it was a new invention that required attention and headlines.

While I was on the Exercycle warming up for my excursion with the Assassin, the thought came to me that we have "pride parades" for a particular sin that is currently seeking legislative approbation and legal standing.

Why a parade? If we make sin seem 'festive' and 'fun' by serving cotton candy and popcorn as we listen to the marching bands stroll by, it is much less threatening and masks the true nature of the menace that lies beneath the glamour and charm that Satan wants us to believe.

If we are to believe that sin is now acceptable, where are the pride parades for other sins, both public and private?

Would we feel comfortable having a 'Wife Beater Pride Parade'?

How about a parade in honor of 'Employee Theft'? 

Would anyone consider attending a 'Murderer Pride Parade' or do we find that morally offensive?

Who would willingly admit their problem and proudly lead an 'Online Pornography Addiction Pride Parade' and who would attend?

Celebrating the deviant and immoral actions we mortals commit doesn't make them right. It only shares the filth to another generation who are frequently not sufficiently able to understand why the older generation believes there should be moral 'lines in the sand' which are not crossed. Too much has become 'subject to interpretation' and believed to be 'no big deal'.

Being popular has never been about being correct in righteous principles. Choosing the do the right thing for the right reason quite often runs afoul of common wisdom and political correctness.

God isn't concerned about our being politically correct, but in our choosing to do what is right --- even when it isn't winning votes, garnering acclaim or being celebrated in film and song.

It isn't bigoted to say that a sin is a sin. It isn't phobic to tell people that doing something that is sinful shouldn't be covered by law. And it doesn't make someone backwards in their thinking to believe that God's laws are plenty good enough without the intrusion of the flavor of the month political statement to alter them in committee.

Living in a small town in the Bible Belt has it's advantages. There are still sufficient conservative minded religiously directed people who believe unashamedly in God and Jesus Christ who are willing to 'just say no' to a lot of things that are accepted as the norm in areas that are more liberal in their thinking, attitudes and behaviors.

I believe in live and let live -- to a point. Unless what you are doing is against the law and you are keeping your business behind closed doors, it is truly between you and God.

But, when your personal desire to crusade for a pet sin means that you are literally shoving that sin into my face demanding that I not only accept it but also like it enough to give you some kind of free pass to display your problems, your desires and your personal peccadilloes in my living room or down Main Street, U.S.A., the reality is that being in a free society now runs BOTH ways.

While you are free to abuse the moral agency you have been granted by God, you don't have the right to compel me to abuse mine to convenience your conscience. That is where the line in the sand really is drawn.

Forcing people to bow down to the idols of popular culture and individual sins is not anything new. Cultures and nations have been crumbled by it before, and will be again.

Whether the idol is a literal symbol, as the wood, stone and metal statuary used in the scriptural sense, or an idea which is 'worshipped' by the maddening throng, the result is the same. It is adultery. And it is idolatry.

It is adultery because people have cast the affections of their heart on something other than upon the true and living God and His Christ. It is adultery because we have broken faith with Him to whom we owe our all. It is adultery because we have welcomed another into the place of honor that should have been reserved for our only hope of Salvation. But like the Jews of old times, we have our Barabbas.

We sacrifice the purity and decency of what is right for the idol worship of what is convenient, politically popular or culturally exciting.

Idol worship, by its very nature, is supplanting true worship with something that cannot ever hope to satisfy. It is accepting a mouthful of sawdust in place of a banquet and, with a lying tongue, proclaiming that the sawdust is delicious to the taste and desirable.

People will believe whatever their moral compass will allow them to believe. We are all in that same leaky little boat of conscience and either sabotaging our own ship by our choices, or bailing out the water madly in an effort to repent and be made whole.

Where is the pride parade that shares the virtues of our Judeo-Christian heritage that celebrates the God of Israel? Where is the parade that displays our love and fealty to Him whose right it is to rule and reign over our very heart, mind and soul?

This parade doesn't happen with a marching band, but is accompanied by hymns of gratitude in houses of worship that dot the land. These parades are located where faithful, God-loving people try to reconcile their faith and hope with the realities of the mortal sojourn we are all called upon to endure in varying measure.

The solitude of the personal parade of joy while reading and finally coming to understand a verse of scripture cannot be equalled. There is no band capable of measuring up to the feelings of the Spirit.

We must stand our ground against that which is wrong at all costs. Even if it means our very life. For without a firm foundation upon which to build and live, the shifting sands of ever-changing opinion based solely upon what "feels good right now" will surely bring our house to ruin.

It isn't easy to do the right thing in the face of loud voices shouting that might makes right and that you are being intolerant for not accepting them and their sin.

But Christ promised that he could save us FROM our sins. He cannot save us IN our sins. To do so would destroy all that God is and has promised to us. Heaven is not some debauched bacchanalian event filled with the perversion of mortality.

It is pure and undefiled.

It is free from the stains of earth life.

And I know that there will be rejoicing there for the parade of one time sinners who have repented and come home clean.

We can't be saved in our sins, but we can be FREED from them. But it is truly up to us to decide how we use our precious moral agency. If we do not desire to be free, it is our choice.

But don't expect to find happiness in it. Eternity is an awfully long time to realize that you have been wrong and that you have willingly traded everything for nothing.

Gimme an "L"

“She was looking kind of dumb with her finger and her thumb in the shape of an "L" on her forehead . . .”

It’s been a day.

The idea was to drive up to Nashville and catch a session at the temple in hopes to regain a bit of peace and/or sanity. (please, no snarky comments from the peanut gallery about how 'you can't regain what you never had'...)

The fact that I hadn’t made a reservation at the temple to do any proxy work wasn’t lost on me. I figured we’d get in and get done whatever we were able to do and call it good for the day.

The people were kind and helpful and the time of temple worship and quiet was nice. Also was the added bonus of hearing some of the older women there talk and chit chat about their various maladies of old age and how they affect daily life. It was like background music for my relaxation.

As I sat there trying to unassumingly soak up the quiet of the day away from the distractions of regular daily life, one of the older women indicated that she was no longer able to put her bra on without help from her husband. The other old women nodded along sympathetically. That kind of perked up my radar’s attention since normally, people don’t discuss their undies publicly in that age bracket.

Then, the first old lady dropped the other shoe… “Naturally, with him helping put on my bra, that brings on other issues we have to deal with since he… well, you know…”

One of the other old women cackled and said, “Yeah, we know your husband!” I about rolled off of my chair at that point and could no longer conceal the fact that I had listened in on their not quite so private conversation. I don’t tend to think of senior citizens as being ‘randy’ but I guess they have every right to those feelings just like folks who are younger.

It brought up mental images that I'll be weeks scrubbing from my memory. {shudder!}

When we got back on the road after our morning out, Beth and I started looking for a place for lunch and chatted over her newest technological toys. She has a mobile WiFi hotspot and a new iTouch that also has a camera. They were both added to her stable of technological aids to help her with her school work. That they are also useful for fun is just a plus. As we drove along, I looked over some of the features as she explained them and we decided it was time to eat. Naturally, we selected our favorite 5-star restaurant.

Techno rednecks that we are, we used Beth’s WiFi hotspot to chat to each other while we were separated by the apparently communications impassable abyss of the Subway table’s length.

Geeks.

Yeah, it’s time to look for the place that brand that scarlet letter “L” onto our foreheads…

Beth’s new techno toy has an engraved scriptural reminder about ‘opposition in all things’. She said it was appropriate since that scripture carried her through the grueling opposition of officer’s training and was also a reminder that techno toys can be a doubled-edged sword – useful and potentially destructive – dependant upon how and where and for what they are used. Sort of a 'grandma' reminder that dampens the elan.

She asked what I would put as an engraving on the back of mine.

Hmmmmm. I thought about that. And I’m still thinking.

One of my institute teachers asked us if we were being “steppingstones or stumbling blocks” to the success of others and if things we relied upon fell into either category.
Kinda made me think about how I use the techno toys in my own life. While I don’t want to feel like technology is a catchall for evil, I also don’t want to embrace it as a bosom buddy that is a secret usurper. So I’ll have to ponder what engraving would best describe my uneasy relationship with the technology that has become redneck standard for me.

I guess the funniest part about how Beth and I were using the chatting back and forth was that we both knew it WAS just for fun. Unlike people who employ technology as a barrier to human contact, I believe I'd miss both the interaction and expressions on the face of people I'm talking to, and devices will never fully share all of the gestures that we make as we talk would be missed if the conversation was completely reliant upon technology.

Sure, there are symbols and geek-speak for a variety of actions, but when someone says “ROFL” are they really rolling on the floor laughing… and would you really even CONSIDER rolling on the floor at Subway’s?

Eeeeeeew. Wilted lettuce giblets, bread crumbs and a soggy pickle stuck to your clothing, plus assorted marks of where people had walked in and out of the building and the bathroom… call that another big Eeeeeeew!

The son of a friend came up with a new acronym of “LQTMS” for reading chat messages. He said it means: “laughing quietly to myself”. It would save the amount of incredible embarrassment and energy of action if no rolling on the floor were actually performed and more likely reflects the truth. We read something funny and snicker, laugh or guffaw while we are in private somewhere. If we are in public, we temper our reactions to keep from becoming the mall jackass.

Back to the inscription for the flip side of the iTouch, Beth suggested I engrave my iTouch to say “TROLL!”.

I told her it should say “I am NOT a troll!” Upon further reflection, I think I should add one of those little ‘sticking out the tongue’ emoticons as well as putting “NYAH!”.

She also called me a ‘dillweed’ today. I hope it was a term of endearment… otherwise, I think I know what to do with a lovely dumpster full of wilted lettuce shreds and shrivelled pickles.

By the way, in your travels to and fro in the earth, if you should happen to find where the queue forms for where the permanent “L” is placed on the forehead… please let either Beth or me know. I’m sure we'll let the other one know where to go since we will need to be in line together to get the ‘scarlet letter’ of the loser.

Technology rocks.

In the hands of a couple of Deep South rednecks, the best you can hope for is an Alabama roll.

Oh, and in a further proof of "losery-ness", when we left Subway to head home, Beth couldn't find her sunglasses. We looked in the car, she looked in her purse, she even went back into the restaurant to find them...

yeah... losers with a capital "L"... they were hanging down the front of her blouse.

Neither of us saw them.

I'm not sure who wins (or loses) on being the biggest loser.

Sunday off kilter

Our meetings for church are from 1 to 4 p.m. while the building remodeling and new construction rages on. It makes my Sunday feel sort of like an episode of the Outer Limits.

I don't mind the odd time most Sundays, but there are some Sundays that are definitely harder than others and I miss that drooling, eyes partially opened, slack-jawed napping that used to take up part of the day... generally sometime between the hours of 1 and 4 p.m.

I'm a big girl and can get along without a nap fairly well, but there is something luxurious about having a nap that refreshes.

Sadly, that isn't possible unless I do the napping during church. Although it wouldn't ruffle my feathers one bit to stretch out across a pew and wrap up in my thoughtfully packed beforehand stadium blankie, others would whine.

Don't you just hate whiners?

They would say ugly things about how I shouldn't be there if I'm too tired to be away. Probably a valid point, but so is the point about being there in church unless I'm dead.

They might mention the fact that I'm taking up a significant portion of the pew in a horizontal position preventing other congregants from having a place to sit. To them I say, "Use the overflow seating! That's why God invented it... so people who overflowed the regular seats could sit down somewhere less padded."

Frankly, they don't have a leg to stand on, or a butt cheek to sit on, regarding this issue because everyone knows latecomers get the sloms and drinds of seating anyway and shouldn't expect to usurp the padded benches upon their late arrival.

Of course, the ever present issue of snoring is of concern. Thankfully, if you poke me, I stop snoring and break your finger. Solves that concern!

Then, the finally issue of the parting of the seas of drool... if you are troubled by drool from sleepers, I would ask that you focus your kind attentions on things of a more troubling nature that people who are not in a somnambulant state do...

Non-church sleepers are well known to commit 99.9% of all crimes.

Non-church sleepers cause 99.9% of all motor vehicle accidents.

Non-church sleepers are responsible for world hunger.

The list goes on and on and on.

So quit bugging me and let me catch 40 winks between hymns. Of course, that might create a problem since I generally sit right up in front to direct the music for the congregational singing...

Should I disappear from sight between the music having slid out of my seat and into the floor, just get up and take my place to direct the next hymn.

I guarantee NO ONE will notice since they don't pay attention to the person leading the hymns anyway. That's why there are 73 different tempos going on in your average church service as well as having about 16 variant volumes of singing.

If only I had perfected sleep walking... it could have been an interesting day.

There has to be a better way

Washing dishes is not an activity I enjoy. I'd much rather be catching 'the pepper' from a young pitcher with more speed than he knows how to handle or mowing the yard. Seriously.

But, like all things in life, there are some unpleasant tasks that require doing because the Jetson's lifestyle has yet to catch up to our desires. No home robot to take care of the chores and no cars that fold up into briefcases. I'm crushed.

Today, the dishes have taxed me to my limit, though.

Regardless of the careful flow of the arrangements in the dish drainer, the dadgum plastic Tupperware tumblers are DETERMINED to compel me to wash and rewash them in some sort of Twilight Zone moment, which has NOTHING to do with half-naked vampires...

The tumblers, apparently possessed of some sort of artificial plastic intelligence, pop off from the little cup holders on the side of the dish drainer and skittle across the floor like they are alive, which they probably are.

I scoop them up.

I dip them back into the sinkful of scalding water (at least that is what everyone tells me the temperature is when they are compelled to washup something that is tardy to the party and I'm done with the dishes).

I wash them and rinse them and reattach them to the sides of the dish drainer.

Alas, it doesn't last.

The bliss of drying dishes is marred by the sound of the tumblers smacking the porcelain tiles once again.

Or, in a total change of direction, they slip off and roll around the counter knocking the recycling off into the floor.

Either way, I'm bending over scooping up something from the tiles and wiping up little droplets of bone breaking liquid that will certainly come back to create agony if given half a chance.

I'm ready for some entrepreneur to get on the stick and create the Jetson's kitchen for me. While I enjoy cooking, I must admit I'd like the convenience of having Rosie the Robot to whip up a sumptuous 7-course meal from leftovers. I'd also like a self cleaning kitchen.

And while we are on the subject of self cleaning room fantasy, I'd also like a self cleaning bathroom. There cannot possibly be a long list of tasks more odious than that of cleaning the toilet. After all, consider what it is employed to do...do...

Sorry, juvenile pun at your expense. But you smiled and that makes it worth it.

I have wondered if someone could take the time to invent a drying station for the home kitchen so that things could roll through like a small pizza oven set to warm, not bake, the dishes. The convenient little machine could also stack them and put them away.

But, if we are going for the gusto, how about the Star Trek version of dishes. Some aspiring wanna-be rich kid needs to invent the replicator. Then everything from soup to nuts and the serving dishes that hold them would be returned to their subatomic state to be rendered into something else at a later date.

And, since atoms are notoriously clean, even waste products and garbage could be similarly reduced, reused and recycled. No more landfills!

Oh, well.

The last of the dishes calls to me since I was a complete slacker and didn't do a single dish before bed last night.

Does that make me a bad person or simply a hopeful one? Hoping that by morning they would have done themselves or been subatomically rearranged into fat free Belgian waffles?