Water Park Revelation: What I Learned from Seeing Elderly Men in Speedos

  Recently I went to a water park with my kids and I have to say, it was downright revelatory. Here are a few things that struck me.  

1. Walmart will sell a bikini to anybody. For reals. No physical prerequisites. Whatever your “situation,” Faded Glory is down with it.
2. That said, 50% of Americans may be dissatisfied with the President, but 99.9% of folks at Splashtown, Spring, Texas, are totally satisfied with themselves. 
3. I don’t know what they are making bikinis of these days, but the tensile strength of it is mind boggling. They should make bridges and sky scrapers out of it. I saw strings holding up, holding back and holding down body parts that I’m not sure the Hoover Dam could handle.
4. Anyone, regardless of race, religion or tax bracket, can get plastic surgery and they do. A lot. All over. I heard a kid ask their parent for some ice cream and the parent replied to the child, “do I look like I’m made of money?” I’m not sure what the kid said in response but in fairness, both yes and no should have been completely acceptable.
5. There should be a Room of Reckoning that you must walk through before entering the park akin to the Southern Oracle that Atreyu had to walk through in The Neverending Story. In that room you should see what your swimsuit will look like after getting off a water slide. If it appears as if your body has in fact swallowed the swimsuit, you should have to put on a pair of shorts. If you refuse, you get fried Southern Oracle style.
6. If you are pregnant, don’t waste your money on a tent-like swimming frock. (See #1)
7. If you are a fair skinned red head like me, do the honorable thing and wear a burqini. (Look it up. It’s a real thing.) Not only will it keep you from blinding others with your luminous, pale skin, but it will protect you from the sun. Plus, if you get one in black, like I have, people tend to let you step ahead of them in line because they fear you may in fact be the Angel of Death.
8. I now know where Tim Burton goes for inspiration.
9. The only people not having fun, the %.1 I referred to in #2, were probably the folks worried about how they looked. Did I see any of those people, the ones tugging their swimsuit to make sure they were covered or sucking in their stomachs? No. I saw no one seemingly worried about their appearance. I assume they existed just by statistics.
10. Being surrounded by folks completely oblivious or unfettered by social propriety, is kind of nice.

While I have to say that although I do not approve of teeny bikinis on women, men or kids, I wholeheartedly am in favor of being ok with who you are. Whatever your situation, tall, short, fat, thin, pregnant to the max, and/or tragically pale, embrace it. If you spend all your time tugging at your swimsuit or wondering which waterslide will make your thighs look the best, you’re going to miss the fun and not just at Splashtown, but in life. How do I know that? Personal experience.

I’ve missed the fun on occasion. I was the girl at the beach digging a hole in the sand so when I lied down, my butt would go into it, thereby making it seem smaller. Yes, I did that. I also sucked in my nonexistent gut and stuck out the padding of my bathing suit top. (Seriously, I had so much padding, I could have been shot at point blank in the heart and walked away unscathed.) 

And, that’s all I was able to do. Suck it in, stick it out, make sure my butt was securely in the hole I had dug. I couldn’t get up and have fun because the only thing anybody can do when all they’re thinking of is how they look, is think about how they look. You can’t surf, knee board, play beach volleyball or even build a proper sand castle because a righteous sand castle involves squatting and bending over.

So, in summary, may we all take a lesson from the lady at Splashtown wearing a leotard and stockings, the elderly men in Speedos and the man with the tattoo that was probably way cooler before whatever surgery he had that cut out the middle portion of it, as well as the multitude of others completely unfettered by social propriety. May we all, like them, embrace who we are and how we look so fiercely that we are able to completely let go and enjoy every moment of life. 

Aliens Against Sexual Assault

       If you keep up with the news through social media, you might have seen the backlash over the newly crowned Miss USA’s comments during the pageant. What? Didn’t know there was a newly crowned Miss USA? Yeah, me neither. I haven’t watched a pageant in forever. However, once upon a time, I did watch it. Faithfully. I wanted to see what Americans were going to send to the Miss Universe pageant. I say what rather than who because I’m pretty sure some of those gals are in fact aliens. Otherwise, it would just be called, The Miss Earth Pageant. (Think about it!)  

Even if you’ve never seen a pageant of any sort, you do know that at some point, the women/aliens are asked questions and to the credit of the competitors, they are tough questions. The topics cover world events, popular issues and other stuff that proves the female beings can think on their feet and/or that the signal from their mothership is coming in loud and clear. 

Alright, I’ll quit poking fun. I have friends who have done the pageant thing and they are smart cookies. The problem I, and many others, have had with the competitions is that there seems to be a pretty wide disparity between the importance of the women’s inner and outer beauty.  

However, this year, the focus ended up being solidly put on a woman’s brains and what she said. Miss Nevada was asked by a judge how she felt about the epidemic of rape on college campuses. In her response, she dared to say that women should be taught to protect themselves. And, within moments, Twitter nearly broke. People were hash tagging (more like bash tagging) her right and left. Tweets proclaimed that women shouldn’t have to learn self defense in order to not be assaulted, that men should be taught not to rape (Like it’s a class at the local Junior College), and that she was insinuating rape was the fault of the victims for not being able to defend themselves and all and all it was the perpetuation of the “rape culture of America,” which is to say, our tendency as a society to excuse, tolerate or simply accept the act. (Deep breath.) 

I cannot say that we condone it, however we certainly don’t deal with it, in fact we do a really great job of not dealing with all manner of abuse. We teach strategies on avoiding dangerous situations and safety tips and that “no means no” and it’s not the fault of the victim. But darn it, we won’t physically teach the down and dirty reality of self defense. We teach, “this shouldn’t happen” or “go tell an adult,” but not the, “if it does happen, you gouge their eyes out.”

Here’s the thing, Miss Nevada, the winner and current Miss USA, wasn’t just giving an uneducated opinion or one gleaned from a pageant coach. The lady is a 4th degree black belt in Taekwondo. That’s a huge deal, a decade of work at least, and entitles her to be addressed as Master Miss USA. When she answered as she did, she spoke from experience. Nothing on earth teaches you the importance of defending yourself like learning to defend yourself. As soon as you are taught the skills, you understand quickly how completely assailable you are without them. The only thing I can compare it to is handling a gun. You have no idea the damage it can do until you learn to shoot one and when you finally do, you have a deep respect for the weapon.

I have been a student of martial arts for years and truly can’t see myself not being one. My introduction was through a self defense class and before taking that class, if I had been asked what I would do were some one to attack me, I would have said I would beat the snot out of them. The truth, however, was when the instructor jumped at me, I cowered inside and out. And, it wasn’t because I was surprised at how being the target of aggression felt. I recoiled because being attacked is an affront to not only the senses but our civilized self. It shouldn’t happen, everything in us says it’s wrong, which is why self defense is essential. That same domesticated part of us that is saying, abuse is wrong, is likely hesitant to stop it for the same reason. Hurting another human doesn’t feel right, even when they are hurting us. 

Here’s what I mean. One of the first things I was taught was the eye gouge. When the instructor said the words, I grimaced. When he asked why, I said I didn’t want to blind somebody for the rest of their life. He put his hands on his hips, cocked his head to the side and said that attacker was trying to steal a mother from my children, a wife from my husband, a daughter from my mother. That person was trying to take my life and I better always assume that was the intent: to kill me. (It was a very Liam Neeson, Taken, kind of moment!) And, he was right.

Look, physical assault isn’t a myth, ok? It’s not a unicorn. It exists. It happens. You know how often? 78 women an hour. Stop. Reread that. 78 WOMEN ARE SEXUALLY ASSAULTED IN THIS COUNTRY EVERY SINGLE HOUR. And that’s just the women, not men (yes, they are assaulted too), not kids and that’s not including violent assault without sex. 

Strangely, I bet ya, almost every person in that statistic knows how to swim. (Stay with me.) I bet you somewhere along the way somebody taught each of those women to swim as a matter of safety. Never mind that water could be avoided, never mind it wasn’t going to jump out of the bushes on a college campus and drown them. They were taught so they wouldn’t be one of the ten Americans that drown everyday. But, ironically, they probably weren’t taught to fight against being one of the 78 sexually assaulted every hour.

I’m not saying any assault is the fault of the victim for not knowing self defense. It is not. I repeat, it is not ever the fault of the victim. I’m saying, if you think it’s important to know how to swim, take self defense. You’re more likely going to need the later than former. Does it mean you will never be attacked? No. And, a whole lot of drowning victims know how to swim, does that stop anybody from learning the skill as a precautionary measure?

Knowing how to defend yourself will not only lessen the likelihood of you being attacked, and it does, but it gives you a fighting chance to survive, literally. It gives you the confidence to fight back and fighting back does take confidence just as reporting the crime does. Reporting abuse, that takes vicious bravery. And you will get some in knowing how to defend yourself. You will hold your head higher and look at the world differently. Not as a place of aggression, but a place where there can be peace because by golly, you can bring the peace if need be.  

Please, learn self defense. You deserve that. You don’t have to be in shape or a certain size. Promise. No matter what your physical circumstance, you can learn something. Call your local martial arts place, police station, YMCA, your church, call your kids’ school and request it. It’s a matter of safety. And, it not only makes you safer, but those around you as well.  

So, this once, just this once, I’m going to advise all of you, men and women alike, be like a pageant contestant. Learn to fight. Fight like a high heeled, sequin gown wearing, black belt holding minion of destruction. You deserve that. You’re worth that. 

Thank you, Master Miss USA. Thank you for encouraging all of us to take a stand. You are an inspiration. And, if you are an alien, thank you for coming in peace and daring to speak out against violence. Live long and prosper. May your spray tan never fade.

Encouraging Disappointment

   Not long ago, my friend Ben, a writer, editor, magazine owner and all around cool dude, sent me a writing job posting he had seen on a freelance site. He said it sounded like me. And, it did. The advert was looking for a gal with martial arts experience, the kind I have. There was also a short excerpt describing the character. I had to laugh when I read it. Her fighting style is just like mine. Yes, I have a fighting style. It’s basically a lot of spitting and dirt throwing. And manic screaming. Actually, my fighting style is a lot like me: close to the ground. My height is a bit of a disadvantage standing, but the ground is the great equalizer for me. I’m hard to hold onto, move quick and use my legs as much if not more than my arms. If you’re trying to imagine it, picture yourself trapped under a blanket with a crazed squirrel. (By the way, in that scenario, I'm the squirrel.)

    The character was a mercenary sort. She killed good guys and liked it, drew out the process of killing often taking the person to the ground and choking them out with her legs. (That’s my schtick.) Now, I’m not much of a killer. In truth, I’ve hardly ever killed anybody that you know of, but I understand how people like her, like Gustavo Fring, Micheal Corleone and the ilk deal with it. Professional killers compartmentalize the act. They do it, then pack the memory of it in a box and tuck it into a dark corner of their brain. Yeah, I could write this gal’s character. And, after reading what some of the other applicants had written in response to the ad, I knew I could do it better than them. They all extolled their writing ability especially that of action scenes. My application simply read, “You’ve just described me.” The person who placed the ad got back to me within 15 minutes.

    He was in the UK so the time difference proved an inconvenience. We needed to talk about the assignment more in depth, I had a lot of questions. Was it an established character or new? Would I be continuing an already created series or new one? Was it for a book or website? And, of course, how much would I get paid? No matter how many times I emailed the gentleman those questions, he answered none.

    After several days of playing tag on Skype, we managed to discuss things more in depth via Google Messenger. Still, he answered none of the questions I had previously sent. However, when I asked him the character’s backstory, he quickly sent it along. Now, if you’re not a writer, backstory is the character’s past. Everything they have been through that has lead them to where and who they are now. The reader may never know it, but a writer must in order to make the character on the page into a three dimensional person, the kind a reader doesn’t just read about, but gets to know.

    He sent the backstory and it was awful. The woman had been sexually abused as a child and became psychotic, killing small animals as well as another child. She loved killing and enjoyed her current job of killing “good guys.”

    Now, you may be thinking that I had a problem with her having been abused sexually and the things she did as a result, and I was. But, that’s life. Those horrible things happen. However, they don’t happen the way he was describing them. Sexually abused girls don’t become psychotic. They may be psychotic but that would have been something that previously existed, a sickness that would have been exacerbated. Also, girls don’t kill small animals as a rule. Tragically, that’s a boy thing.  

    Also, the “man hurts woman so woman gets back at man,” thing has been done. I told him as much. And, what exactly was it about her experience that made her enjoy killing good guys in particular versus any guy? And, it might be a better idea if she didn’t enjoy killing as much as he said she did. People have a hard time keeping their mouth shut about things they love especially psychotics. They get careless because they are so wrapped up in their psychosis, they lose sight of how messy they are. I told him it might be better if she didn’t have an emotional attachment to the killing, if it was just a job, something she took out of and put back into a box in her brain. Her reasoning for hating “good guys”? Maybe she could have mob ties. Maybe the upright government types took her family from her and was raised by a still very connected uncle for the sole purpose of revenge. It was a matter of honor for her. Therefore, moral.

    Now, for those of you thinking I was being rude, I was doing what he was supposedly wanting me to do. I was creating a person that would be written about. Not just a character. A living breathing entity whose life would be chronicled. 

    He didn’t respond to my suggestions, but rather sent me a scene he had written. I shot it full of holes too. I asked him why, if, as the scene described, she was trying to be quiet and remain unseen on the ship she had just secretly boarded, from the ocean, she would do so many loud things? Why would she trip a man then beat him up? That’s loud. Why not just break his neck? If she was keen in martial arts it would have been easy, quiet, quick and clean. Why did she run, in a wet frog suit no less, which would have left a trail of water that would have been seen? 

    After a good bit more of what all I just wrote, I finally sighed, shook my head, and told the man if he was still wanting me as his writer to let me know, and I bid him, “cheers.”

    I called a girlfriend of mine that was probably as excited about the writing prospect as I. She’s a for realsy fighter and a good one. When I was telling her all of the issues I was having with the guy’s story, she interrupted me and said, “you’re too smart for this guy. You’re an actual writer.” Hmmm, I thought and let the concept roll around in my head. I’m an actual writer. Yeah, I am an actual writer.

    The guy was well intentioned. Looking back at what he had written, I saw what he needed was more experience. He needed to study the craft of writing, study people, personality traits and idiosyncrasies, be raked over the coals and get lots and lots and then a whole lots more criticism. That’s part of it. It’s a lot like fighting. You’ve got to work at it even when you don’t want to, sweat it out, take your lumps and then get back up and do it all over again and the whole time, keep your eye on the masters and imitate them until you feel you can do it on your own. And, I’m telling you, you have to eat criticism with a smile without a wince because it’s the thing that will make you more than you are now.

    This experience made me a better writer because it really made me see that I’ve become, well, a better writer. Five years ago, I wouldn’t have asked the questions I asked, wouldn’t have seen the holes I did, wouldn’t have known to because I only knew how to write characters. Now, as I said, I write about living breathing humans who live in word pictures. Because, I’m an actual writer. And no disappointment, not even a super cool freelance job that falls through, will keep me from being this thing I’ve decided to be and getting better at it all the time.

    Sometimes you don’t see yourself for who you really are until you have to take a good look at what you aren’t. On occasion, that requires you to be disappointed, let down, betrayed, hurt, broken. But, if that hurt causes you to face your reflection and stand a little taller in it, it’s worth it. I’m very disappointed the freelance thing fell through. It would have been right up my alley. But, I’m thankful for the disappointment. Without it, I wouldn't know how far I’ve come. So, really, if you think about it, every now and then, disappointment is a blessing. It keeps us grounded, keeps us reaching, fighting and pushing. Or not. And, if not, then whatever it was wasn’t really a disappointment, it was a course change. If you aren’t wiling to keep pushing, it’s either a thing you don’t really want or a thing you aren’t tough enough for just yet. Maybe that’s part of the reason God allowed you to be let down. To make you decide whether or not you're the type of person who will pull himself back up.

    Embrace life’s disappointments. Without them, you’ll never know who you are, how tough you are and what you really want. Because, and you can count on this, if it’s a thing you want, really hunger for, not having it won’t be a disappointment. It will be encouragement to try harder.

Pooping as Pupae

        About five summers back I ordered a butterfly kit for my kids. The advertisement for it showed wide-eyed children watching excitedly as their cuddly little caterpillars made the beautiful transition to winged wonders. When I placed the order online, I have to admit I was as excited as my kids, maybe more, to get them.

Arrive they did. Five skinny caterpillars creeped around in a clear plastic jar that had a beige sediment at the bottom that, according to the instructions, was food to fatten up the little creepy crawlers. The kids and I put the container in a well lit place, named our new friends and eagerly awaited their metamorphosis.

Within a few days the caterpillars bulked up as expected. In the process they strewed the food all over the cup. I forgave them for it. As well equipped as they were with feet, they didn’t have a hand on them so, it stood to reason they would have to kick stuff around and how can you do that neatly? What came next though, began a horrifically messy chain of events that would forever change how I saw butterflies.

A week after they arrived, while I was quietly sipping a cup of coffee, I glanced over at the caterpillars and choked in surprise. Their cup, that had been a little on the disorderly side, was now a full on disaster zone. Food was everywhere and there was silk webbing strung all over. I picked up the cup and held it to the light half expecting to see tiny little beer cans roll around in it and at least one caterpillar with a look of regret. Instead, there were five cocoons hanging from the lid. 

I did as the directions instructed and hung the little insect mummies in the large butterfly enclosure that came with the kit. The kids were elated and kept a close eye on our friends. We all knew what would come next, the life cycle had just aired on Sesame Street. The cocoon would grow larger and it’s walls thinner. Then, the beautiful butterflies would emerge poetically. 

Nope.

The pupa stage was a long one. We got used to seeing them just hang there and quit looking so much. I expected they would emerge when we weren’t paying attention and they did. And, considering how they looked, I was thankful we didn’t witness it. The wet, trembling monsters clung to the netting on the butterfly house with fat droplets of blood dripping from their lowest hanging limb. I couldn’t tell if it was their own or perhaps the a victim they had completely consumed. Crimson spattered the walls and painted the floor. I’m telling you, that butterfly enclosure looked like a scene out of a Robert Rodriguez movie. Silence hung in the air as the kids and I stood looking at the scene until my daughter broke it with the accurate summation of “ew”.

I skimmed the instructions looking for a warning that read, “if your butterflies are bleeding, run. Run and don’t look back.” But, there was nothing, not even a mention of what we were seeing and I didn’t recall Elmo saying anything about it either. I was pretty sure I would have remembered, “Elmo thinks the blood dripping off the butterflies’ bottoms looks like happiness,” or any variation thereof!

According to the internet, what were seeing was normal. It wasn’t blood and our butterflies weren’t murderers. It was meconium. Poop. The little suckers had pooped as pupae.

After a few days, they grew stronger and we let them go. Three flew right off, one bounced a bit and the last had to sit on my finger a moment for a breather before taking the plunge. It wasn’t a pretty start but, like the others, it finally fluttered out of sight. All left me with an enduring truth: change, even when for the better, is hard. For everyone. It doesn’t matter who you are, or what you are, getting down the road of life is a struggle. It has to be or you won’t be strong enough to go forward. You will just remain a dripping, trembling creature hanging onto the netted wall of existence.

So, go forward friends, into the summer, onto college or over the hill to a new place completely and be patient with yourselves. Go ahead and be that butterfly that’s more butter than fly for just a few moments. But, at some point, be brave enough to relax your grip and try out the wings of your new experience. It’s ok to bob and weave until you find your strength. And, don’t vex yourself by comparing your flight pattern to those around you. Every butterfly is different. So what if some seem to be having an easier time at flying than you and some how manage to look amazing as they go. So what if they never seem to get caught in a rainstorm or the grill of the big rig of life. Just because you don’t see it doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. Remember, no matter how big, colorful or majestic the butterfly, no matter how graceful their flight, they all started out with the same humble beginning: in a big pile of their own poo.

 

I Can't Do This

      Confidence is highly over-rated. Seriously, it is. I think (and I could be wrong, glory knows I’m good at being wrong) it’s more important to just do whatever it is, confident or not. Now, I can hear some of you saying, “that takes confidence.” Negatory. I’m walking proof. I feel pretty certain I can’t do most of what I do, I just do it anyway. That’s my motto: I can’t do this, but I’m doing it any how. That often comes across as confident. But, ask anybody that knows me very well if I’m self-assured and they’ll tell you I’m very much not. I just don’t care that I’m not.

Now, I’m not saying you don’t need to believe in yourself. What I’m saying to you is that the amount of confidence you have should have no bearing on wether or not you do a thing or at least give it a shot. Don’t pin your ability to achieve on the belief that you can. Because, guess what, life doesn’t wait for you to be confident. It doesn’t care one bit how good you feel about yourself or your abilities. It's going to do what it's going to do wether you are ready or not and 100% of the opportunities life throws at you that you don’t catch because you aren't confident enough to do so, will pass you by %100 of the time. Ok, sometimes opportunities hit you in the head, but still you have to catch them as they fall.

I’ve been in martial arts for about three years and it started in self defense. The teacher was great. The more I learned, the more he expected and he didn’t allow for half way attempts. Once, when we were about to go through an attack scenario, I got all nervous (aka unconfident), put up my hands and said, “wait, let me think what I’m supposed to do before you kill me.” He laughed and said, “you think when you get attacked somebody’s gonna wait for you to remember what to do? No. Now, get your hands up.” He then proceeded to fly at me like a puma.

For the record, I did the defense sequence completely wrong, but I still defended myself. I couldn’t do what he was expecting me to do, but I did it anyway. The it being that I defended myself and that was all that really mattered. Not my execution of the particular skill taught, not how well I believed I could do it, not my confidence. But rather, the fact that when that muscle-bound man (seriously, he looked like a balloon animal) jumped at me and swung his fist, I didn’t freeze up. I didn’t bemoan the fact that I hadn’t learned with any manner of confidence what he had taught me not five minutes previous or that he was bigger, stronger and I was so scared I might have peed in my pants a little. (Don’t judge me.) I just got out of the way.

Quit focusing on your confidence because it is totally irrelevant. Simply a luxury, not necessity. Should you have it? Yes. Strive to build it? Of course. But don’t think it has to be there. You do not, I repeat, do not have to believe to achieve. Sometimes the achieve comes before the believe. Sometimes you just have to look a monster in its ugly face, be scared of it, be smaller, weaker, less capable, be completely unable to defeat it, then run at it like a crazy person. Don’t even pause to take a deep breath. Does that take bravery? Yes. Also, on occasion, utter lunacy. But, bravery isn’t nearly as hard to come by as confidence. Sometimes bravery is just a matter of closing your eyes.

Now, friends, should you be stupid? Try anything and everything regardless of the risk? No. If you think that’s what I’m selling here, then you “ain’t right” and shouldn’t have access to the internet much less this blog. I’m saying that if you see an opportunity that a confident you would take, take it. You don’t need confidence. I officially liberate you from that presumption here and now. You just need the desire to do it which you already have if you thought, “if I only I had the confidence.”  Your effort might not be pretty, might be as graceful as a three legged pig, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you didn’t shortchange yourself and all those around you who need to see somebody have an ounce of gumption. Be that person. Be the person brave enough to say, “I can’t do this, but I’m doing it anyhow.”

Things are getting worse

Folks say that quite a bit, "things are getting worse." My mom says it every time the media reports a tragedy with the delicacy of flinging paint. She says when she was a kid, such and such awful thing didn't happen. I then have to remind her that when she was a child, the holocaust was going on, American Japanese were in internment camps and the atomic bomb was dropped over Nagasaki. That leads her to the days of Camelot, when the Kennedys were in the White House. Things were "great" then, magical even. "Yes, mom. So charming that black people got to have their very own water fountains! The President was having affairs, the Cold War was good and hot, Cuba had missiles pointed at us..." Around then, she generally interrupts and calls me a know-it-all.

I don't fault my mom. We tend to remember what's bright and shiny about the past. I can't tell you how many times I've tried to watch an old 80s movie with my kids and have had to turn it off because I had forgotten how foul (Grease) or terrifying (Gremlins) it was. And, there's nothing wrong with focusing on what was good. It's healthy even...so long as it doesn't blind you to what is still good.

As a Christian, I do see that my voice isn't deemed worthy unless it is contradictory to what the world deems fit. And then, it's worthy only to criticize. Others may speak openly against my Savior, criticize my faith in Him and His word. In fact, the condemnation is often praised for its boldness and bravery. That wouldn't have happened fifty years ago. I will say that. But, is that because things are getting worse? I don't think so.

Fellow family of faith, I think we need to be careful in looking too fondly at the past and declaring the decline of righteousness in the United States. In fact, I think our freedom is greater now more than ever. Why else would Satan challenge it so? Was there really a need to challenge it so vehemently decades ago when social media didn't exist and the Word was only preached, literally, only by word. No. Now, however, our voices carry. So, Satan has to change his tactics. Of course he wants to publicly denounce us and shame us. We are more public than ever. Praise God.

Am I saying that we should just go quietly and lie down in a dark corner? No. But, if we just wag our heads and claim things are so tough on us these days, we are much more likely to become discouraged and discouragement breeds despair: the opposite of joy. I Peter 3:15 reads that we need to be prepared to tell others about the hope within us. Folks, nobody is going to do that if hope is abundant. They will only ask about it when it is in short supply.

God uses the dark to show the abundance of light. During the reign of Antiochus our fore bearers, the Jews, were hung on poles and lit on fire to light the streets. Later, in that same dark city, the light of another slain Jew brought on the baptism of more than 3,000 people most of which were Jews, the direct descents of the people who burned to death as torch lights. Is it any wonder that God chose that to be the place to publicly proclaim the birth of Christians? And, you do know that was a disparaging name to begin with, right? We were being made fun of with that name, and now, it is our identity. What was dark, became a light of hope.

So, brothers and sisters in faith, please don't shake your heads and bring more attention to the darkness. Instead, look at this world as a place ready for light. Things aren't getting worse. We aren't being thrown to the lions for entertainment, set on fire so that folks can better see the streets. We aren't hunted or in fear for our lives. Not, in the United States. Elsewhere, yes. But, not here. Don't let our lack of persecution turn us into whining babies that pout because the life God promised wouldn't be comfy is indeed not comfy. Did we think He was joking about that?

If things really are getting worse, we have two choices: we can bemoan the fact or we can look at it as even more opportunity to share Jesus. Can we do it as freely as we once did? Nope. So, what? We just don't do it? How about we just get creative? How about we start letting our kindness, our work ethic, our willingness to reach out, our love of sinners (which we are, by the way), our grace, our compassion, our ability to act as a unit be the thing that preaches. Can't outlaw that, can they? And, if they do? Well, then we'll just have to figure out something else.

Today is a great time to be a Christian. Don't let your memory of the past blind you to the light that is. And speaking of bright light, Gremlins is a freakishly scary movie. Don't watch it with eight year olds!

Welcome to the 'Hood

I have been asked more times that I can remember (which isn't saying much considering I'm not even sure I remember what underwear I have on) if I have a blog. Well, now I do. Just seemed right. Or inevitable. Whichever the case may be.

One of the things that has kept me from it is that a blog is supposed to have a theme like vegan cat food or something. (Yes, that exists. 'Cause nothing says vegan like retractable claws and fangs!) I'm not so much a theme person unless that theme is Various and Assorted. I'm a Christian, Speculative Fiction writing, 40 something year old stay-at-home mom who enjoys martial arts, spicy Thai Food, raisins in my oatmeal, reading and doing nothing at all. Kind of a walking contradiction. But, hey, that's what it's like here in the Red Writer's neighborHood.

So, get comfortable and stay a while. Drag your crazy out to the curb and throw it in the street, you'll be in good company.