Tag: death

Of Bullies & 5 Clues that Your Dictatorship is Ending

The face that could launch a thousand mirrors into pieces.

I have to be very honest with all of you today. I’m REALLY struggling.

I’m reeling from some awful news about a man who’s been going to our church. The article is here, but be aware, it makes for horrid reading if you’re a parent, or have a heart for children.

Everyone is heartily nauseated by this series of events, and plenty of people hope he dies, or is tortured, etc. As sick as this makes me, I continue to wonder where redemption and restoration can be found for all involved. What would God have us do? My heart feels broken.

I ask you to stop, right now, and pray for all involved.

Abuses of authority rank at the top of things I loathe, and I’ve seen it in many varieties that I won’t go into right now. I just cannot seem to get a handle on this situation, right now. I couldn’t sleep last night, and I’ve been wondering just how many young people have been hurt by this person, or those like him.

Sadly, the statics are so high, it’s likely there are more abusers that just haven’t been caught, within our fellowship and community–but I pray not. The trouble is, like rape, child molestation is one of the most underreported crimes. The FBI Law Enforcement Bulletin states that only 1-10% are ever disclosed. Please, read that again, and let it sink in.

Kids like my disabled son, and shy children, are prime targets. And hearing about it all, so close to home, makes my blood run cold, and prompts me to action to defend and protect the innocent.

A FEW FAST FACTS that you should know:
• 96% of these types of abusers are male, and the average pedophile knows the victim, and molests 260 victims during their lifetime.

(I’m not trying to condemn a gender, but seriously…what the heck?!)

• All have a fascination with pornography. Please! Read that again. Now, think: how easy is it to get a hold of that, and feed the monster? Rates of abuse are skyrocketing, with no end in site. If you struggle with this issue, and pornography is in your life. Get. help. now.

Pornography is a gateway poison, that leads to a diseased mind and criminality. We need to come forward, and be honest about just how detrimental it is for all sectors of our society.

• The behavior is highly repetitive, to the point of compulsion, rather than resulting from a lack of judgment.

Um. wow.
And here the other fast facts from that source.

For now,

I’m going to channel my energies in this post to opposing and satirizing Dictators, because that’s about all I can do without crying, at the moment. Bullies come in all shapes, sizes, and varieties, but they have the same basic qualities.

My choice today is Muammar Muhammad al-Gaddafi, who’s a bit dim witted. Bullies thrive with creating fear, dictators especially so. When the fear is diminished, hope flourishes; and many will struggle to the death to gain freedom.

Here are 5 Clues Gaddafi could use to extend his life. But, I really hope he never reads this.

1. Realize the importance of shoes. Sure, women, for millennia, have valued shoes, but in the middle east, the bottom of one’s shoe is considered vile. If posters of you are getting whacked with shoes, your time is running out. You are considered lower than dirt, and probably for good reason.

2. Calling Yourself a Martyr Doesn’t seem to hold any sway. When Gaddafi said, “I cannot leave my country, I will die a martyr,” it probably told his opposition he really just “didn’t get it”, right? Or, maybe martyr in Arabic means “fool”.

3. Your Fancy Hats Cease to Charm People. Nothing says coo-coo like a stupid hat worn by a sociopath. This has never been more true. You folks from Reedsville know just what I mean.

4. Your Putting on of Aires is Lamentable. If you pretend you are Lawrence of Arabia and try to imitate his wardrobe, disaster is probably in your future. Really Gaddafi is decades overdue.

5. If your best friends are dictators, the signs look bad. Palling around with other known dictators isn’t just in poor taste, it shows to your “subjects” that you root for the bad guys, which includes yourself. Try to not be retarded, if possible.

Thank you for hanging on with me, and reading this today.

I’m sorry it’s bizarre. Too many sad things all at once I suppose.
-Lisa

Who Am I? (poem from prison: Dietrich Bonhoeffer)

It’s not so much a matter of who we are, but who we belong to.
This poem was written by a man who would soon die at the hands of his Nazi captors. At the end of his life, he could question who he was, and who he had been, but his resolution to all of that rests in Theological principle, in worldview.

Please enjoy, and feel free to comment.

Thoughtful Thursday: An Almighty, Good God Allows an Evil World?

Human Brutality, one of the World's worst evils.

Here is a response to a difficult subject: Evil and human suffering. Your comments are valuable here. Thanks for reading.

The following are comments from a former classmate Marty Schoffstall as placed within the comment section on blog site of Theology Professor Ken Miller.

From Marty:

Dr. Dorsey [professor of Old Testament Studies] says that the story of the prophets (a rather large portion of the canon) looks like this:

(1) God Is Allowing Wickedness…
For a season…. and the wicked to succeed in their opposition to Him to temporarily triumph over Him (and over those loyal to Him). He may allow them to spurn Him, mock Him, humiliate him, or persecute those who remain loyal to Him.

(2) God is redirecting their evil….
to accomplish his own good purposes. The deeds of the wicked play into God’s hands and are used by God to further his own semi-secret agenda. [During this time when evil appears to prevail], God’s children are encouraged to: (a) Trust God, (b) Wait patiently for the time when God will intervene and right all wrongs, (c) Remain loyal and obedient to him.

(3) Finally, God dramatically intervenes…
to defeat his enemies. God is vindicated the wicked are punished; and those loyal to God are rewarded.

Now as my old friend friend Dr. Cunningham from UVA who was a very competent Roman Catholic Theologian on the side used to say:

“…mercy and justice are always in tension. We want mercy for ourselves, and justice for the other…”

Eventually we grow a little wiser and want some mercy for the other as well; however, we can never give up the concept of justice completely. Some decisions are so revolting (like genocide) that they must rigorously opposed, some people are so broken (like serial killers, serial kidnappers, etc) that we invest enormous time and money in the criminal justice system to stop them, they are horribly corrosive to society, they must be stopped.

How do you respond?

Shame and wanting to poking out your own eye

There’s a feeling you can get, after you’ve done something horrible. It’s so bad, that you might consider poking your own eye out (if for nothing else than a viable distraction.)

My first job (besides babysitting) was as a hostess at Eat’n Park Family Restaurant. A woman about 10  years older transferred there. She had been a waitress for a long time (even a decorated one. Yes, Eat’n Park is special like that.) She also had the name “Lisa,” just like me. That’s about all the ingredients needed for good communication and lasting friendship, right? um. No.
Background:
Sometimes I’d goof off and crack jokes in passing with Lisa. No big deal. (If you know me, this is all highly typical behavior.)
WELL-
One day, like a stoke of non genius, it came into my head to wisecrack when I noticed Lisa had a blue pen scribble on her forearm. I noticed it was actually a very sloppily rendered mark of her own name. The “L” was super long on the bottom, and not in a cursive way. It was just odd. It struck me as humorous. I already knew she had a 4 year old daughter. Her little girl had probably been playing with her waitressing pen and wrote out her mom’s name all by herself. Or maybe Lisa had done it–for a joke, or because she was bored. So, feeling my comic Einstein vibe coming on me (which is inversely proportionate to my rational thought and good judgment), I said–rather flippantly, I might ad–“Hey, what’s that on your arm? Is that so you don’t forget your name?”

Sudden. Dead. Powerful stare.
Awkward pause. I could hear a spider near the salad bar blink.
Then I noticed she had a sort of sad “How could you, you freaking jerk?” look on her tired face. (I picked up on that because I’m really good at feeling people out!)
It was a tattoo.
A horrible one.
A mistake.
Perhaps a drunk boyfriend or trashed stepdad scrawled it there. Who knows. But whatever the story was, it was part of a painful past. A past she did not want thrown in her face by some stupid and insensitive quip from a dumb teenager.
My heart froze with panic. It’s the kind of panic where you start to smell yourself. A cold sweat mustache erupts on your lip usually, too
.
Would she stab me with a steak knife?
Plan to burn me “accidentally” with a scrod entrée platter? (Wicked hot, they are!)
I fumbled around, and got out, “um… hahah… I’m just kidding.” I was trying desperately to appear nonchalant. I considered whistling a tune to prove it.
Still, she just looked at me–steadily.
“I’m sorry,” I said, getting up the nerve. It felt like a blanket of shame washed over me. Self-loathing–all over the place.
She shook it off, and went back to work. From then on I tried to be extraordinary nice to her, in every way I could think of. I bused her tables, and got her refreshing beverages, and tried to be as pleasant, and positive as I could. She didn’t hold it against me, beyond a day or so.
Once, after a 10p.m.-5 a.m. shift when my dad failed to pick me up, she even drove me home in her weary beater of a car.
I still wonder about her.
It was poke-your-eye-out shame.
I’ll never forget it.

Have you ever had “inner death by shame”? (you can just answer yes or no, unless you want to be brave and tell your story)

The Precious Rest

early twilight

I was allured by this Flickr picture the second I saw it. It seemed beautiful, yet also strange. A genuine napping red fox in a field of tall clovers? Curious.

The image info told that it was indeed this fox’s last rest. Possibly rabies did him in. What a mournful occasion, but what a comely little beast.

(I apologize that I haven’t been able to find the image again, to properly link to the artist. If anyone can help me with that, I’d appreciate it.)

Come to Rest

From madness to rest

You’ve wandered too far and then too close

You’ve grown weary

You find yourself in the soft clover

Feeling the pull of death’s slumber

There is some precious beauty about you

In this early twilight

In your last breaths

In your grassy bed

So fragile, mortal, yielding

What was wild and fierce, unpredictable

Now laid down, quieted, helpless

Will you awake in another field with new rabbits?

Will you suffer no more?

Lay your head down

Come to Rest

Your thoughts or comments are welcome.