Mar27

Where Else Would I Go?

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I’ve heard it said that Christianity in America is on dangerous ground these days, because we have so many media choices to choose from that fewer and fewer people will be sharing the same metanarrative. But that’s not only true for Christianity. It’s true for every worldview.

According to The Oxford English Dictionary, a metanarrative is “an overarching account or interpretation of events and circumstances that provides a pattern or structure for people’s beliefs and gives meaning to their experiences.” Media can shape the kind of metanarrative we hold, and the fewer media choices there are, the more likely we are to share metanarratives with those around us. That’s the way things were before the information age arrived.

Now, however, everything is different, because we have the internet.

Now everyone can access information on all the various social, political, and economic systems, not to mention the whole range of religious worldviews, plus we can customize our media consumption to suit our own individual needs and whims. And because we have such a wide variety of choices, and so many different religious and cultural metanarratives to choose from, each different metanarrative, such as Christianity, is less persuasive and influential than ever before.

With all these choices, people are more likely to isolate and construct their own micronarrative, rather than engage in shared narratives with others.

My answer to all this is found in John’s Gospel, Chapter Six,

After this many of His disciples turned back and no longer walked with Him. So Jesus said to the Twelve, “Do you want to go away as well?” Simon Peter answered Him, “Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.” ~ John 6:66-68, ESV.

In other words, regardless of how many micronarratives or metanarratives are out there, there’s only one narrative that’s going to save my soul and get me into Heaven, and that’s the Story of Jesus Christ and His death on the cross, and resurrection on the third day.

So no matter how many choices they present me with, my answer will always be, “Where else would I go? Only Jesus has the words of eternal life.”

Mar24

Monsters Aren’t Monsters. They’re Evil Humans.

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When someone commits a particularly heinous and horrific crime, especially if he perpetrates a whole series of extremely monstrous and evil acts, people ofttimes refer to that person as a monster. But I don’t think such a one is a monster because, it seems to me, giving them such a designation makes them less than human, and it feels like that somehow excuses their behavior.

I think rather they’re fully human, just as human as any other person on earth. The difference is, they’re giving place to the lowest, most sordid, wicked, degenerate, and evil desires that a human being can have. Rather than allowing God to reign in their minds, they’re giving Satan free rein. Rather than being a mix of evil and good, as most people are, they are entirely and perfectly evil, with no good in them, or at the most, very little good.

I’m not sure there is a human being who is perfectly evil with absolutely no good, because it’s hard for me to think about giving up on anyone. God didn’t give up on me when I was at my worst. Seems to me the only one who is entirely evil with absolutely no good is Satan himself, but I could be wrong about that. There might be others who’ve sold their souls to him, I suppose.

Another aspect of this, though the connection may be somewhat tenuous, is when people commit murder and then kill themselves. I’ve always thought people who commit such crimes perpetrate them and then commit suicide so they don’t have to face justice. But I think they’re only thinking about human justice, without considering divine justice, which is much more sure and all-encompassing, because God knows all the facts of the case.

Seems to me such people have, at the very least, a poor understanding of who God is, if they believe He exists at all. If they truly understood God they would know that it would be better to face justice in human courts than to have deal with the consequences of God’s divine justice. In a human court they might be able to get away with lying, if they’re good enough at it, plus they might be able to hide their true motivations before a human judge, whereas that’s not possible with God. God knows our deepest motivations, and the thoughts and intents of our hearts. You can’t put anything past God.

But there could be another reason why people commit suicide after they perpetrate these heinous crimes: maybe they all of a sudden realize what they’ve done, and they find it so unacceptable that they decide they don’t deserve to live any longer. In other words, they’ve created an extreme example of internal cognitive dissonance by their actions, so they kill themselves, thus exacting capital punishment on themselves before anyone else has time to carry it out.

However, in punishing themselves, they’re proving once again that they don’t understand God’s character at all. It says in James, Chapter 2,

Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment. ~ James 2:12-13, NIV.

What that says to me is that while God is a god of judgment, He is also a god of mercy, and if we are merciful in our dealings with other people, He will allow mercy to reign over judgment in His relationship with us.

These people have also shown, it seems to me, that they believe they’ve committed the unpardonable sin, or at least it’s unpardonable to them, and they think it deserves the death penalty. Seems to me they’re saying that they know better than God, which sounds a little arrogant to me, but what do I know.

I for one would much rather have God’s mercy than His judgment, and God is far smarter than I am as far as whether my sins are forgivable or not, so I think I’ll let Him make those decisions!

Mar10

I Hate When That Happens!

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The other day I was on my way to a therapy appointment when I came to a huge traffic jam blocking my route. Traffic going the opposite direction was flowing smoothly, but on my side it was pretty much a parking lot. It became abundantly clear in fairly short order that I would be late for my appointment if I didn’t do something drastic.

This was an important appointment for me, because McT and I had scheduled a two hour time slot. I’d never had a two hour therapy appointment before, so I was really looking forward to this session.

I managed to stay calm for a while, until I realized for sure that I was going to be late. I called McT and left a message with that information, and told him that I was very frustrated about the fact that I wasn’t going to get my whole two hour session. In fact, I wasn’t just frustrated, I was yelling-out-loud pissed, and my anger was mostly at God.

I hate it when I feel angry at God. When I get angry at God it never feels right or justified, but sometimes circumstances get all messed up, and everything goes contrary to my plans.

I know the saying that says, If you want to make God laugh, tell Him your plans.

But I’m just not mature enough yet to be able to not get angry when something happens, especially if a lot of somethings happen, to mess up my plans. It always feels like God made it happen that way on purpose.

I know that probably sounds ridiculous, but it’s the way I feel.

Feb27

Confronting Evil By Talking About It

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When I was a teenager I was forced into having two abortions by the cult in which I was being abused. Well, first they raped me to get me pregnant, and then they aborted the babies that were the product of the two rapes.

The first one happened when I was about thirteen, and the pregnancy was terminated in an abortion at about three months, before the baby was viable outside the womb. It was a boy, whom I named David Adam Christopher.

The second one, when I was about fifteen, was terminated somewhere between four and five months, at a point when they knew the baby would be viable long enough for me to be able to bond with her before she was murdered. And yes, it was a girl. I named her Emily Margaret Rose. For both babies I tried to pick the most beautiful names I could think of, names that were not only beautiful, but were also at least partly biblical with good meanings.

In the abortion that killed David Adam Christopher, I have a very clear picture in my mind of a machine that I’m assuming was an abortion machine. It was a large blue rectangular box with a clear plastic dome on top, and as they were sucking the baby from my body I can see his tiny body parts mixed with blood swirling in the dome as the machine was running.

With Emily Margaret Rose it was even worse. I was the one who had to kill her, though in reality it was murder. I had no choice; they forced me.

After she was born they made me hold her, and they forced me to nurse her. At the time I didn’t understand exactly what they had planned, and I didn’t know why they made me bond with her, but I was glad for it. Then they took her away and put her on a table, which turned out to be an altar. She was naked, and they made me take off my clothes as well, something I always hated doing.

Then they made me go to the altar and they put a dagger in my hand. The dagger had a special kind of double-edged blade that had a thick electrical cable coming out of the handle. The cable was hooked up to a machine that generated electrical current, and as long as the machine was on, current flowed into the knife. As long as current was flowing I couldn’t let go of it because my muscles couldn’t stop contracting. The only way they would allow me to drop the dagger was if I stabbed Emily until she was dead. I had no choice. Not physically, nor emotionally, mentally, or spiritually.

I can see very clearly in my mind’s eye the images of having to do this to my beautiful baby girl. And I can distinctly hear her shrieks of agony as I plunged the dagger into her tiny body.

I take great comfort in Psalm 139:8 when I contemplate this horrific memory, because I believe what it says, that I was not alone in that Hell-on-earth, that God didn’t abandon me even there,

“If I ascend into heaven, You are there; if I make my bed in hell, behold, You are there.” ~ Psalm 139:8, NKJV.

I also believe I will one day meet both my beautiful babies when I get to Heaven. I hope they can forgive me for what I was forced to do to them. I’ve often felt that I should have been willing to die myself rather than allow them to be aborted and murdered like that, though if I had died I wouldn’t have saved them from anything. They were created by the cult for abuse, and they would have been sacrificed before very long, as appalling and unspeakable as that is.

I feel so many things as I relive this event. I don’t go back to it very often, and  I didn’t expect to do so today, but it came out as I was talking to McT about other things in therapy. And once I start talking about it, it doesn’t take much to take me right back to that scene again.

I don’t know if that means I haven’t truly put it behind me or what. I’ve repented to God over and over again, and asked His forgiveness for every aspect of it, but it’s just such a horrific thing, it feels like I can never repent enough, even though I know that Christ’s work on the Cross was completely sufficient to cover even this awful sin. I know, at least in my mind, that I had no control over what happened, that I was forced into it, but I’m not sure if I know that deep down inside.

I say that because whenever I think of it my feelings get all jumbled up and chaotic inside. They kind of flit and fly all over the place and I have a hard time catching them so I can look at them. It’s like they’re trying to escape detection so I don’t have to deal with the underlying issues.

The problem is, I want to deal with those issues. I need to deal with them.

I do feel a great deal of guilt and shame about what happened, and I also feel a huge amount of sorrow, grief, and distress about it ~ sorrow and grief at what might have been for those two babies had they survived and escaped the cult, and distress at what I put them through in the process of aborting (David), and killing them (Emily).

Of course there’s absolutely no guarantee that they would have been able to escape. Given that they were created by the cult for child sacrifice ~ the reason they raped me in the first place was to get me pregnant so they could use the baby that was the product of each rape in rituals, with the ultimate goal of sacrificing the baby’s life ~ something expressly forbidden by God in the Bible,

They have built high places to Baal on which to burn their children in the fire as burnt offerings to Baal, something I have never commanded or mentioned; I never entertained the thought. ~ Jeremiah 19:5, CSB.

They have built the high places of Baal in Ben Hinnom Valley to sacrifice their sons and daughters in the fire to Molech ​— ​something I had not commanded them. I had never entertained the thought that they do this detestable act causing Judah to sin! ~ Jeremiah 32:35, CSB.

What the Christian Standard Bible (aka CSB) calls a detestable act the King James Version calls an abomination, which the dictionary defines as an atrocity, a horror, an obscenity, an evil, a crime, an outrage, and a monstrosity. In Hebrew this word means a morally disgusting thing, ethically wicked, and an abhorrence.

It’s good to know that God finds what happened to my two babies as morally repugnant as I do. I just wish I hadn’t been forced to participate in it.

I guess what I’m getting at with all of this is that, even though I’ve made a lot of progress, it’s obvious that I still have a whole lot of work to do. Thankfully, God is able and He’s still on the throne of my life. He’s been doing miracles in my life from the beginning on, and I don’t expect He’ll stop now.

I thank God for that!!

Feb26

Everything And Nothing All At The Same Time…

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This will probably be a hodgepodge of everything and nothing all at the same time. I’m having a terrible time with hitting myself, and I’m trying not to, but failing miserably.

Kim suggested a new web browser, called Brave, that promises ultra-secure browsing on the internet, plus freedom from ads, and I’ve tried it. I like it, but it’s SOOO ultra-secure that I can’t use any of the websites I usually use, because Brave blocks JavaScript, whatever that is, from being enabled, and if JavaScript isn’t enabled then the website won’t load, and you can’t do anything with it. And that includes this blog. So until I figure out the ins and outs and the technicalities of Brave, I’m going to be stuck using Safari.

And for now, I’ll have to post this as is, because I have to write about something that’s much more pressing, but I don’t want to just toss this out and forget about it. I can come back later and add more to it as the Spirit leads, and as I feel like it.

Feb5

An Interesting Yet Painful Paradox

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I just realized an interesting paradox, that I’m able to accept the fact that I’m flawed and imperfect, yet while recognizing that fact, I still expect myself to be perfect.

My pursuit of perfection has led to thousands of incidents of self-abuse over the years, yet if I acknowledge that I’m imperfect ~ as is every single member of the whole human race ~ then such a quest is a fruitless endeavor, and will always be one.

Then why do I continue to pursue it?

I don’t know.

Maybe I can figure it out, with a little Spirit-led assistance.

For one thing, it may be rooted in the cult and its rituals, which seemed to be never-ending. For instance, there was the one that they started doing to me when I was as young as two years old, where they had me in a room with a high ceiling, and a huge bonfire in the middle of it.

There was a metal table suspended from the ceiling by pulleys and a big timeclock on the wall, and there was a naked man tied down to the table. They would ask me questions, questions which had no answer, but they would expect me to come up with the right answer, and when I couldn’t the pulleys would lower the table closer to the bonfire. And the timeclock gave me a certain amount of time before it dinged. Once it dinged it was too late for me to answer that unanswerable question, and the pulleys were triggered to lower the table.

Because the table was metal it was like a frying pan, so as it got closer and closer to the fire the man’s skin began to burn, and the man started screaming in agony. He begged me to make the table stop moving towards the flames, and pleaded with me to answer the questions correctly. But given that the questions were unanswerable, and that I was only two or three years old, that was an impossibility. So all his screaming and pleas did was confuse me and make me panic-stricken and frantic.

That was the kind of perfection that was expected, even demanded, of me throughout my childhood. Nothing I did was ever good enough, no matter what I tried, and if I made a mistake, my mother made like I’d done it on purpose if I didn’t act remorseful enough. I remember spilling a glass of milk at dinner a few times when I was a kid, and if I didn’t act abjectly apologetic, she accused me of doing it on purpose.

Like, who knocks over a glass of milk on purpose, especially if doing so is going to result in a beating and/or getting raped, considering that Harry used rape as punishment for anything and everything.

I’ve wondered if having to feel that kind of abject remorse for a simple mistake is the seed that was the genesis for the self-abuse. It makes sense to me that it was, but even knowing that doesn’t seem to make any difference in being able to stop doing it, and that is extremely frustrating to me. Sometimes I feel desperate in my desire to not do it anymore. Lately I’ve taken to asking God to take me Home ~ that’s Home to Heaven ~ just so I don’t have to go through it anymore.

It’s just so painful, and I hate doing it!! It can’t be pleasing to God! It just can’t!!

The first incident of self-abuse I remember was while I was a student at Ripon College, and it was during my junior year. I was taking pipe-organ lessons (Ripon had a small, two-manual pipe organ), and one day during a practice session that wasn’t going at all well, I got so frustrated that I completely lost it, and I scratched my forehead so badly that I drew blood. I ended up having to find a Kleenex to staunch the blood-flow so it wouldn’t ooze down my face and make a mess. I also ended up ripping the pages of the music, so I had to figure out how to mend them so they were still readable.

The other early incident of self-abuse that I remember was when I was visiting Priscilla and Malcolm in Colorado, and they asked me to macramé a plant hanger for Bernice (Malcolm’s mother). They paid for all the supplies, and everything, but I only had a week to complete it, and somewhere in the middle of it I figured out I’d done a whole series of knots wrong and had to rip out a huge section of work and do it over, so I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to finish by the deadline Priscilla had given me. As a result I scratched my forehead and my arms, making an enormous bloody mess of myself.

They didn’t ask me how I got the scratches on my face, but I’m sure they knew, and I was too embarrassed to mention them.

I was able to get it finished on time, even a few hours early, though I ended up having to stay up all night to do so. I was so sure Bernice wouldn’t like it that I couldn’t be in the same room with her when they gave it to her. I had to hide in the other room. That’s how afraid of her criticism I was.

Fortunately, all my fears were for naught, because she loved it, and it remained hanging in her house until the day she died, several years ago. In fact, from what Katharine says, it’s still there.

So that’s my story, my terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, perfectionistic, and painful story. I feel a desperate craving to be free of it. If I could open up my skull, and find the part of my brain that contains the self-abusive perfectionism, I would rip it out so I wouldn’t have to struggle with it anymore.

But I can’t, so I won’t. I guess I’ll have to trust God to do that part.

Rats!

Feb1

I’m Perverting God’s Word. Moi? But Yes!

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It occurred to me recently that I’m twisting God’s Word. It says in the Book of Hebrews,

And without faith it is impossible to please Him, for whoever would draw near to God must believe that He exists and that He rewards those who diligently seek him. ~ Hebrews 11:6.

But I leave half that verse off all the time, because I’m terrified that I’m not pleasing God. This is the Book of Hebrews according to Sarah,

It’s impossible for me to please God no matter hard I diligently seek Him ~ Hebrews 11:6, Sarah’s Word.

That’s a hard truth to accept about myself, but there it is. Something I never want to be guilty of doing is adding to or subtracting from God’s Word! I love the Bible, more than any other book I’ve ever read or known of.

The Bible has some severe things to say about people who pervert God’s Word. Like, if you add to it then God will add all the curses listed therein to your life, and there are a LOT of curses in the the Bible. And if you take any words away from the Bible then God will take your name out of the Lamb’s Book of Life.

I REALLY don’t want that to happen! I like being in the Lamb’s Book of Life a LOT!!

Of course my version of Hebrews 11:6 assumes that I have no faith, which would be why God can’t be pleased with me, according to the real version of the verse, as quoted above. Also, I realize that I’m basing that perception of God on the fact that it was forever and always absolutely and completely impossible to please Harry, and it also felt like it was futile to try and please my stepdad as well.

An example of that futility was one time after I had graduated from a program in medical assisting. I got the highest overall score that anyone had ever gotten at that school ~ a 99.25%, and when I told my stepdad about my amazing score, all he could say about it was, “Why didn’t you get 100%?”

I felt SOOO ANGRY when he said that!!

I had worked so hard to get that score, slaving night after night memorizing volumes of material that I didn’t think I’d ever use.

And all he could say was why didn’t I get a 100?!?

DAMN!!

I think he thought he was encouraging me, but he wasn’t. What he said cut me deeply. It made me feel like nothing I did was good enough.

I had to forgive him. I didn’t want to but I had to. It wasn’t for his good, but rather mine, so I did.

This is a hard thing for me. It’s so difficult for me to differentiate between God and my father, to separate them and put them in unrelated categories. I have to detach, disengage, and disentangle God from my father in my mind, will, and emotions so that God no longer comes to mind when I think of my father. So that the only reason my father might come to mind when I think of God is because I want to pray for him.

That’s my goal, and I know it’s doable.

Dec25

Christmas Without Christ Is Just mas…

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What that means is if you remove the word “Christ” from the word “Christmas”, all you have left is “mas”, which isn’t even a word.

In other words, Christmas without Christ is just another day.

That is to say, Christmas without Christ is meaningless, and yet, more and more, people as well as businesses and institutions, are attempting to do that very thing: remove Christ from Christmas and turn it into something it was never intended to be. It makes me feel very sad that it’s happening, because, in doing that, people are missing out on the greatest blessing they could possibly imagine, if they would only receive it.

And all they have to do is acknowledge that Jesus, God’s amazing gift, is the real reason we celebrate Christmas. All you have to do is look at the word Christmas to see the truth of that. The word has nine letters, and “Christ” comprises two-thirds of them.

And for all the joy that Christmas is supposed to bring when its true meaning and purpose are understood, and when Jesus is brought in and involved as an integral part of its celebration (which I desire to do with my whole heart), every year at Christmastime I go through hell, because I feel all disjointed and fragmented and out of sorts ~ anything and everything but joyful.

I have some idea of why, but I’m not sure if what I know is everything about why, and even if it is, it doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll be able to deal with the holiday better. The way I’m dealing with it now is to do a whole lot of avoidance and escapist behaviors, and I don’t think it’s working.

Why can’t I just enjoy Christmas for what it is without all the turmoil and confusion? And “for what it is” means celebrating it as Jesus’ birthday as a human baby, as God incarnate, and God’s Gift of salvation to humanity. I’m beyond exhausted with all the confusion and inner tumult and chaos I go through every year. I just want it to be OVER WITH!!

I don’t know that I want to do what other people do around the holidays. You know, race around like a mad chicken trying to find the most expensive gifts for all my friends because the best way to celebrate Christmas is to spend as much money on each person as possible.

I don’t think so! Not going to happen!

Jesus will still be the reason for Christmas for me, because Christmas is still meaningless without Christ. It’s still just another day as far as I’m concerned, and I wouldn’t want it to be any other way.

Nov27

A Hope Deferred, and a Decision Made.

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A long time ago, many, many years, in fact, I wanted to be a doctor. That’s all I ever wanted to do from the time I was ten years old. And my grandmother encouraged me in that desire because she bought me these marvelous books of medical illustrations by this guy named Frank Netter, who was a physician, but he was also an artist who specialized in doing beautiful and highly technical medical illustrations.

Frank Netter is dead right now. He died in 1991. But they’re still using his books of medical illustrations.

Unfortunately, the realities of my life, kept me from fulfilling that dream, (the abuse I suffered as a child made it so I’m not able to handle much in the way of stress, and medical school is very stressful), and I never even got accepted to medical school. I took the MCAT ~ and did poorly ~ and I applied to one school, but I wasn’t accepted, I’m sure because my MCAT scores were too low. My GPA from UCI was good, 3.46, but it probably wasn’t good enough.

It was a crushing blow, because, as I said, that’s the only thing I’d ever wanted to do with my life.

That was over thirty years ago, back in the mid-’80’s, and to this day, I still don’t know what God wants me to be when I grow up. Once I lost that dream I was never able to find another. I tried music for about a year, but couldn’t stomach the idea of having to practice for hours at a time. I thought about being a therapist, but at my age, graduate school ~ plus the years and years of collecting hours for licensure ~ feels impossible.

I still might consider it, however.

I’ve thought of art, but not as a career.

I just can’t seem to find anything that suits me enough that I’m willing to put forth the time and effort necessary to make a career out of it.

I guess, more than anything, that makes me feel like an extraordinarily lazy person.

Harrumph!!

I do like to write, and I think I’m fairly good at it, but I don’t know if I’m good enough to be able to make a living at it. I’ve been told that my poetry is publishable. I’ve also been told that I should write and publish my story, because God has worked miracles in my life, and He’s set me free from a lot of my abusive childhood, and He’s continuing to heal me from the rest of it. I thank God for that. I’m just not sure if I’d be able to do a proper job of putting it in written form so people would want to read it.

Publishing my poetry doesn’t feel too intimidating because it’s already written, so all that would be needed is to find someone to publish it. Writing my story is another matter. That feels completely daunting to me, because, not only would I have to write it, but I’d have find someone to publish it, and I don’t really know how to do either one.

Maybe I should just do it and let God worry about the rest. If I’m doing what He wants me to do, then how it gets done is really His problem, isn’t it?

Yup, it is!

Maybe I should take a creative writing class with an emphasis in writing a memoir. That might help get me started.

Now I just have to figure out where such a class might be located…

Nov27

Christmas, In All Its Wonderfulness, Which Is Why I Hate It.

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I hate Christmas. There, I said it. Sacrilege I know, but that’s how I feel.

There are reasons for the way I feel, mostly having to do with Harry and stuff he did to me when I was little.

For instance, when I was about five, I made an ashtray for him for Christmas. You know, one of those ashtrays made out of clay that little kids make in nursery school or kindergarten for their dads? Well, the one I made for Harry was rather large as ashtrays go, more like a bowl you put fruit in, and I painted it yellow with green spots. I was rather proud of that ashtray because I’d worked very hard on it, and all I wanted was for Harry to like it.

To my great misfortune, not only did he not like it, but he hated it. In fact he hated it so much that he smashed it, and then he raped me. In front of the family he gave marginal approval, but once everyone else was gone from the room, he told me it was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen, and he threw it on the floor so it broke into a thousand pieces. Then he dragged me into his and Mom’s bedroom and raped me.

It just occurred to me that his reaction was way over the top, and even my statement of it ~ that it was way over the top ~ is grossly understated. I mean, if you don’t like someone’s gift, you don’t have to react by breaking it and then beating up the person who gave it to you. If you don’t like it, just don’t use it.

I’m extremely grateful for God’s gift of Jesus Christ, for the fact that Jesus was willing, even glad, to divest Himself of His majesty and power as the Creator of the universe so He could assume human flesh as a baby in a manger, and live a sinless life so He could go to the Cross and save us from our sins.

What I hate is all the hypocrisy and folderol that goes with the holiday. People seem to have forgotten why we celebrate Christmas. All they care about anymore is seeing how much money they can spend on their spouse, or their brother, or their boss, or their dad, or their aunt, or their dog.

Their DOG, for goodness’ sake!

Or their cat. Same difference.

And then there’s those ridiculous ads for Lexus that they only show before Christmas. You know, the ones where they show someone getting a new Lexus for Christmas, with a huge, gigantic bow on the roof of the car. There are so many absurdities in those ads, the most apparent, of course, being the ginormous bow on top of the car. Another absurdity is the whole idea of just any ole schmo being able to purchase an expensive car like a Lexus, when most people are lucky to be able to buy a small economy car.

What CAN the Lexus people be THINKING!?! 

Oh, and don’t forget all the humungous light displays that are so popular now. ABC even has a show every year called The Great Christmas Light Fight that’s basically a contest throughout the country to see who can come up with the best Christmas light display, that has NOTHING, absolutely NOTHING to do with Jesus Christ. And tonight is this season’s first episode.

Oh joy!!

I don’t know but what there might be other issues I’m not aware of that also influence my feelings about the holidays. I wish I knew what they were. It feels like it would be easier to deal with present day realities if I knew what was in the past ~ kind of like the foundation of the past would make the present house easier to build.

Thankfully, I’m no longer experiencing the soul-killing depression I used to go through every holiday season, from the beginning of October through the middle of January. God seems to have healed me of that.

I can only hope that the issues continuing to hinder me from being able to enjoy Christmas for what it’s really about will be healed by the Lord. Then I’ll be able to accept those who celebrate it for other things, as well as commemorate it for the birth of Christ, which is the real reason we’re supposed to celebrate the holiday.

I can only hope.

Right!