Holy Spirit

We don't talk about Him much. He sort of gets slapped on at the end of a blessing, or honorable mention at the deity awards. Most Christian fantasy authors leave Him out altogether (kudos to Lioness for remembering Him in her Trinity). 

Who is this guy? Is He the third wheel of the Godhead? There's God the Father, Jesus the Son, and Holy Spirit the Uncle No One Talks About.

As far as I can tell, He's actually kind of important. From www.biblegateway.com:

John 16:6-14New American Standard Bible (NASB)6 But because I have said these things to you, sorrow has filled your heart.7 But I tell you the truth, it is to your advantage that I go away; for if I do not go away, the [a]Helper will not come to you; but if I go, I will send Him to you.8 And He, when He comes, will convict the world concerning sin and righteousness and judgment; 9 concerning sin, because they do not believe in Me; 10 and concerning righteousness, because I go to the Father and you no longer see Me; 11 and concerning judgment, because the ruler of this world has been judged.12 “I have many more things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.13 But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all the truth; for He will not speak on His own initiative, but whatever He hears, He will speak; and He will disclose to you what is to come. 14 He will glorify Me, for He will take of Mine and will disclose it to you. 

I understand that to mean the Holy Spirit is who allows a Christian to know truth as God sees it.

When I accepted Christ as my Lord and Savior, something supernatural happened. The Holy Spirit literally possessed me.

This is where non-believers and even a lot of Christians will roll their eyes, shuffle their feet, and either decry me as a kook and a holy-roller or try to change the topic. Sorry, guys, some things have to be said.

I'm not saying I had convulsions or spoke in Tongues or let poisonous snakes bite me. I am saying something more happened than me just making a decision and choosing to act on it the rest of my life, although that happened, too.

When I accepted Christ, I accepted the whole package. That includes God as my Father, Jesus as my Master, Savior, Redeemer, brother (this list goes on a while, so I'll stop there), and the Holy Spirit as my personal God-interpreter. The Holy Spirit sits inside me and whispers stuff, 'cause He's not a shouter. When a nasty thought comes into my mind, the Spirit nudges me. When I behave badly, the Spirit points it out (and I've found "badly" changes meaning the longer I'm in this marriage).

This interpretation works the other way, too.

Romans 8:26-27New American Standard Bible (NASB)26 In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit Himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; 27 and He who searches the hearts knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because He intercedes for the [a]saints according to the will of God. 

The Spirit talks to God for us, filtering our childish ramblings into something God can understand.

I have more to say, but there's stuffing to be made this morning.

Keep the faith.

Red Pumpkin Chili

Most of the ingredients are orange, but the beets turn everything red, so I went with easy nomenclature. All amounts are approximate, 'cause I never measure anything.

2-3 cups beets, chopped
2-3 cups carrots, chopped
1 cup chicken broth (I used homemade bone broth but this could be left out)
1 can pure pumpkin
1 can pinto beans, drained and rinsed
enough water to cover the vegetables
salt to taste - I start with 1/4 teaspoon and add as it cooks because I over-salted once. Never again.
2 cloves of garlic, minced - jar or fresh. Could go more on this if you like garlic.
2 tablespoons chili seasoning
1 tablespoon wing sauce (that's what the label says. I'm thinking "buffalo wing sauce"?)
Optional:
1 drop oregano oil
1 drop thyme oil
Shredded or diced chicken

The beets and carrots take a while to cook, so next time I'll use a crockpot for 4 hours instead of my NuWave at 180 for 3 hours. It will be thick and a little blurpy when it's done, and the carrots and beets should be tender with no crunch.

The beets and carrots are also very sweet, so the chili powder and wing sauce are for balance. Thinking it still needs a bit more on the savory side, so maybe up the ratio on those ingredients. Or find something else to add and let me know.

The diced chicken is a nice touch if you have it, which I did since I just made bone broth, but it would eat fine as a vegetarian dish. Use as a main dish, or as a side dish to something of a more savory nature. Yes, you could add cheese. Something sour, like Parmesan.

Makes 4-6 servings, depending on how much you like it.

The bone broth doesn't add anything tastewise to the chili, but 'tis the season I step up my bone broth intake (for immune boosting), so I tend to put it in everything short of my Lucky Charms.

Enjoy.

Breaking Legs and Burning Cars

Focus on the Family aired a chapel service given by Jay Carty last Friday, and again this morning. It was the same program, so I don't know if it was a mistake or a God-reminder, 'cause I wanted to blog about it at the time.

Carty's talk was about how nice people will go to Hell, and how we who call ourselves Christians are more concerned with people's lives than their souls. I can't find a link for it, but if you want to listen, I'm sure it's on the Focus website somewhere.

He illustrated his "life vs. soul" thesis with the idea that we will inflict multiple cuts and a broken leg to get a trapped person out of a burning car because those injuries are nothing compared to being burned alive, but we won't go out of our way to save a soul on its way to Hell.

I hear you, Jay, but I have to point out that it's far easier to pull a body out of a car than to stop a sinner intent on continuing in sin. In fact, it's not possible for me to stop another human from going to Hell, no matter how many legs I break.

I should pause and say that "sin" has been defined in a lot of ways. When I use it, I mean any action or thought that falls short of the absolute holiness of God and results in me being separated from Him for eternity. That pretty much covers being alive and conscious. I'm not holy, and I can't attain holiness on my own, and that's why the Jesus part of God came as a human, managed not to sin (still don't know how He pulled that off), and died in my place. The whole New Testament is about how and why that worked, so I won't go into it right now.

Even though Jesus did all this, I have to accept it for it to work. I have to accept that 1) I'm not acceptable to God on my own, 2) Jesus wants to be in relationship with me, 3) Jesus' sacrifice was enough to heal our relationship, and 4) I will spend the rest of my life becoming better friends with Him and God.

I can't make those choices for another person, which is why we have the phrase "God has no grandchildren." He's either your dad or your judge.

I have the responsibility to tell people about Jesus, to live the best life I can in His name, and to pray for people's hearts to change, but ultimately, it's up to them. The hardest part of being a Christian for me is knowing that people are trapped in Hell-bound cars and won't let me help them get out, because they can't see the danger.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Angry Moods

Do you ever wake up angry? I can't be the only person that suffers from this.

Sometimes, I wake up yelling. The smallest things set me off. The "FEED ME!" yowls I hear every morning are intolerable on these mornings. The scrabble "to eat everyone else's food and ignore my own" is too much, even though it happens every day. The "I want to sit in your lap and I will fight with anyone who is already there" cannot be born.

And I run around screaming like a banshee, and cursing them and everything else as Spawn of Satan determined to destroy me. Of course, they ignore me, because they're spawn of Satan and determined to destroy me.

On these days, my tea turns out wrong, my clothes don't fit, and more often than not, some part of me hurts like a big dog in a wheelbarrow. But I have days where all of that is true and I manage with grace and patience and silence.

Is this static buildup of tiny evils that explodes into big evil? Is it too much TV, or computer time rotting my brain and destroying my self-control? Maybe. Maybe this is why I need to stop playing computer games, even solitaire. Or, maybe, like Bad Hair Days, this is the inevitable cost of living in a fallen world. Some days are just bad days.

I pray. I eat chocolate. I close my mouth so hard it hurts, but for the most part, the mood has to dissipate on its own, like hiccups, usually hours later. The only thing I can control is the screaming, so I try to control that, with varying degrees of success. I suppose I should be grateful I'm only screaming at cats and the dog (who really never deserves to be yelled at, she's such a good girl) instead of humans who will hold it against me, but I actually feel more guilty. It's not like they can help who they are, and I'm the pinhead who chose to live this way. It's not their fault I can't take it some days.

I don't have a trick to help, or advice to give. I'm not even looking for advice. It's just one of those mornings, so I decided to write about it.

Hope your day starts well and keeps going.

Push button; receive bacon.

Money Musings III

This year has seen a noticeable uptick in my pain levels. I think it was two Augusts ago that my neck pain reached proportions that made me willing to try physical therapy. Expensive physical therapy. That did nothing to alleviate the pain. I was told I am too rigid and should learn to relax (my paraphrase of more tactful, technical jargon).

Thanks. I'll get right on that after I pay you out of pocket.

I learned at my last splint check I have worn that mouthpiece for six years - the first four relatively pain free, the last two, not so much. I was warned I might get another one to two years more years of wear until I need to shell out $650 for another one, coincidentally about the same amount I paid for the non-helpful therapy.

Well, that crown I am one week away from getting and paying for? Is on an upper tooth, and my mouthpiece conforms to my upper teeth. Meaning, my mouthpiece doesn't fit anymore, and I haven't worn it in 13 days. My "one to two more years of wear" just vanished. I'm going to call and ask if there's a chance this mouthpiece can be salvaged, but I'm guessing the answer will be "no." I could be wrong.

I am surprised I haven't yet awakened in the night from the pain of biting too hard on my temporary crown. Maybe my back pain is preventing me from sleeping that deeply. However, as the days creep by, my left jaw and neck pain are increasing. Is this because I'm wearing a temporary crown, because I'm not wearing my mouthpiece, or because I'm stressed out with all the money my body is costing me? I don't know. The jaw pain has always been on the left. Maybe it's from carrying my purse.

I do know my mouthpiece seemed to decrease in efficacy the longer I wore it, and the cost to tweak it increases every two years. I know I have more fillings in my upper teeth that may need crowns in the next six years, or even more expensive root canals. and it will only take one to make my equally expensive mouthpiece utterly useless.

So, do I buy a new mouthpiece for $650, and hope for the best, even though I'm not sure it will work anymore? Or do I go without and let my teeth just grind against each other until none of them are left?

Because "relaxing" isn't going to happen. Turtles are rigid, from base of neck to base of tail, and that ain't never going to change. Coincidentally, that's exactly where the pain originates. Lot of coincidences in this story.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Money Musings II, or Why I Should Get Rid of Cable TV

To paraphrase those famous words from Airplane!, looks like I picked the wrong week to quit Farmville.

Not really, but last night was the first night this week I didn't have something to do as soon as I came home. This will be the case for most of Winter. I have no Swamp to play in physically, and my brain is tired after eight hours at work. The TV goes on, and the desire to start mindlessly clicking emerges. I played solitaire for an hour before I made myself stop, turn off the TV, and read.

I have watched too much TV my entire adult life. I picked up the habit of having it on in the background from mom, who has tinnitus and uses the noise to distract herself. I don't have tinnitus, and I'm opposed to noise in general, so it makes no real sense for me to do it. I'm increasingly annoyed by the change in volume from show to commercial.

I finally bought cable when the government forced everyone into digital TV. I can't get digital reception on an antenna in a storm, and as a lilapsophobic (yes, I finally looked up the official term for fear of tornadoes), I have to have access to weather information. This incredibly stressful weather year has seen most weather information move online, so I am seriously considering doing away with cable TV altogether. That would save me a bit of money every month that I could use to replenish my emergency fund, remove one of the Farmville triggers, and remove one of the impediments to writing. Should cable prices go up again this year, and I can't imagine they won't, I will say goodbye to TV.

I hope the more I say that to myself, the more likely I am to follow through.

Since I have found a morning routine that, for the most part, fills my time with non-Farmville activities, I am sure I can find some evening routines for Winter. At the very least, I can add a second Classical Stretch program.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Money Musings

Two weeks ago, my dentist said that magic word "crown." This will be crown #2. I have slightly better dental insurance than I did for crown #1, but the bottom line is a large sum of money will be leaving me in a bit more than a week, and it was money I didn't plan to spend.

That's what emergency funds are for, Dave Ramsey would say, and I agree with him. That's why I have one. I even use it for actual emergencies - things I couldn't have known about and planned for - like a filling giving out and requiring a crown to replace it.

OK, I suppose I could have anticipated that someday I would need another crown, but, come on. Do I really need one more thing to over-control in my OCD life?

Anyway, money keeps coming out of my emergency fund, and it is very hard to put back. I have made a concerted effort this year to put money in, and I've done fairly well, but Murphy keeps showing up - in alien van invasions and crowns and sewer stack replacements. It's tiresome.

Does anyone else have trouble reconciling the Proverbial ant vs. grasshopper with Jesus' "do not worry about what you will eat or what you will wear?" I mean, Old Testament teaching is "plan for the future." New Testament teaching is "God will take care of you." No offense, Jesus, but you were a bum. You had no job, no house, no dependents, and you lived off the generosity of various women, like Joanna and Martha and Mary. Yes, all Your needs were met, but I don't want to be a bum.

I guess that would make me one of the various women.

Just a few thoughts as I balance my checkbook.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Homeostasis

Of course, once I decide to avoid Facebook for a while, I start thinking up catchy one-liners to post. Homeostasis is a powerful force. One to five hours a day mindlessly clicking on things is a lot of training to undo. That's just weekdays. Yes, I have a problem. I'm working on it. And, no, I haven't posted anything. I don't think...

I'll apply the 80/20 rule: do beneficial things 80% of the time, and save the 20% for messing up. As far as I can tell, I'm not jonesing for Farmville. It's more "what can I do with all this free time that doesn't involve thinking?"

And that's the point. I've been training myself not to think in my "off" hours. It is far easier after eight hours of applying energy to other people's agendas to play a game. But I am convinced life isn't supposed to be easy. Not under the Curse.

Walking with Jesus is hard. It demands that I go against every natural instinct in my selfish self and follow the Holy Spirit's guidance into love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, gentleness, goodness, and self-control. -I'm missing one... Faithfulness. That's embarrassing.- Those fruits don't come naturally to the Turtle, although I'm pretty good at kindness, and I used to rock patience to sleep at night. For a disciple, ALL the fruits are required, and all of them should be practiced daily.

Baby chicks have to break out of their shells, or they're not strong enough to survive once they're out. Butterflies have to struggle out of cocoons to pump juice into their wings or the wings never work. Bones and muscles have to be used and pushed to remain strong, as Miranda Esmonde-White, 64!, reminded me this morning. Life is struggle.

There were times when my catchy one-liners could have been blog posts, but it was too hard to come up with a title, and extra words. Resuming blogging is one way I'm pushing back against Facebook/ Farmville-playing homeostasis. While I do love my one-liners, that's not the kind of books I used to write. And if I'm ever going to write another one, I have to wake up my brain.

Push button. Receive bacon.

Facebook Hiatus

I'm on Facebook for two reasons: Farmville, and funny posts. I prefer playing Farmville with Friends, and many of my Friends are funny, so I consider this social.

However, in the past few months, I've noticed some changes in Facebook.

One, my Friends don't really play Farmville anymore, and I can't find the feeds of the ones that do. That means I can't play with my Friends. It must be a problem for other people, because Farmville started this "make Neighbors who aren't Friends" thing earlier this year, but that has all kinds of bugs with it and basically doesn't work.

Two, I'm not finding funny posts anymore. I'm finding rants, and articles about social issues, and inappropriate video shares, and outrage over everything from animal abuse to red cups, but nothing funny. I don't watch communist TV (some people call it Mainstream News) because I don't agree with the communist worldview, and I don't want it spouted in my living room until Big Brother truly does own everything. I also don't want it plastered on my Wall. But that's what I'm getting, no matter how many Cats Sleeping in Awkward Positions pics I "like." I used to scroll past them, but I can't seem to get "past" anymore. They just keep going, like a red Energizer bunny, without a single Farmville post to break the monotony.

Every day. No Farmville. No funny. Just communism. Or socialism, which is communist-lite. Or social justice, which is a lie of Satan - that's it's possible to undo the Curse through government intervention. Only Jesus can do that, and He doesn't do it with Other People's Money. He does it through you, His slave, doing His will, one person at a time.

I'm entering my Dark Time, aka Winter. I don't need to be angered or grieved every time I get on my computer. I don't need it, and it's what I'm getting.

You might see me occasionally, testing the waters, but I don't plan to be on that much. I'm going to spend a little time reprogramming my brain manually. My love to you all.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Classical Stretch Continues

If my math is right - and let's face it, that's a 50/20 chance - this is my seventh week of working out with Miranda every workday and most weekends. I've even had a couple days when I wasn't going to get up but I did anyway because I didn't want to risk breaking the habit.

With the change in weather, morning workouts are getting a bit chilly. Also, I prefer "lengthening" workouts to "strengthening" first thing, so I bought season 10 on DVD. Now I control the vertical and the horizontal, and am not confined to whatever PBS is airing.

After 7 weeks, I am noticing a change. My limbs - including my toes, of all things - are skinnier. My potbelly is shrinking. Charlie horse and foot spasm incidents are way down. My shoulder-rounding is reversing, which has been the best benefit so far. I still have back pain attacks, two of them more severe than I've ever had, and I haven't yet found the magic formula for complete neck pain relief, but overall, I'm more fit and flexible than I have been in years. Every week, I keep up with Miranda a little better than the week before. She remains upbeat and non-judgmental.

In short, I'm glad I found her, and I'm glad I'm sticking with her.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Classical Stretch

I'm turning 44 this month. In my family, that means I have more than half my life ahead of me, barring accident or apocalypse. This is the first year I've started wishing that isn't true.

I may have had aches before, but this is the year I've noticed. I went to physical therapy for the first time for neck pain (didn't help). I've been using oils, back and body aspirin, NSAIDs (not all at the same time), and glucosamine chondroitin. Hasn't helped. I wake up in the middle of the night with back pain, if I'm lucky, because not waking up then means I wake up with worse pain when the alarm goes off.

Many of my Friends suffer chronic pain. I'm not saying I hurt like they hurt, but I don't like hurting at all, so a 3 - 4 on the pain scale is way more than I want to experience in a normal day. Especially when I haven't done anything to deserve it aside from folding laundry (the latest cause of my latest back spasm).

Working in The Swamp helps, but that is a one to two season activity at most in Kansas. Winter and Summer just don't lend themselves to Swamp activities on a daily basis. I used to do yoga, and I've considered Tai Chi, but I have reservations about meditation practices of false religions, even if they might help my back. The mind leads the body, but the body leads the mind, too. Paul the apostle's words in Romans about eating meat sacrificed to idols being meaningless when you give it no meaning is one thing, yet I notice that was one of only two practices forbidden by the early Church for both Jewish and Greek converts. Is my faith really greater than Peter's?

Shuffling around the house about a month ago, lamenting the state of my back yet again, I accidentally turned on PBS (a channel I strenuously avoid nowadays). I caught the tail end of a Miranda Esmonde-White Classical Stretch routine. Zero impact cardio - fabulous for my rickety knees and traitorous hips. Lots of stretching - like yoga without the religion. She emphasizes relaxation, something I've had several highly paid professionals confirm is an issue of mine.

I found two reasonably priced used DVDs for core strengthening and back pain relief on Amazon, and set my alarm for 4:45 so I could be up and ready when her PBS program comes on at 5 AM. I've been working out with her for 7 mornings now, and twice this weekend when the DVDs arrived, and it has helped. My posture is better, the pain is less when I wake up, and I feel more relaxed.

Once again, I run the risk of being the alcoholic who knows everything after one meeting (or, in this case, 7), but this may the exercise habit I've been looking for. I'll let you know in a few months.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Fear As Sin

"Fear is a sin." I've heard this a number of times. Jesus tells us not to fear, the Bible tells us 365 times not to fear; therefore being afraid is a sin. I read it in an article yesterday. I'm thinking I've heard it from some big name evangelists I otherwise tend to agree with.

I've thought about it a lot. I was dangerously close to developing a medication-requiring storm phobia a few years ago, so I had to think about it. If fear is a sin, and any hint of severe weather sent me into freak out mode, was I adding insult to injury?  How could I ask God for help with my fear if I was sinning against Him by feeling fear in the first place?

Fear is an emotion. Emotions, by definition, are out of our conscious control. They are physical reactions to circumstances. Fear involves a perception of danger followed by an adrenaline rush. Depending on the severity of perception and the duration of adrenal stimulation, "simple" fear can become panic attacks or PTSD. Are those sins? Should I feel guilty every time a tornado warning siren blares and frightens me?

I agree that I know I have no reason to fear. God is bigger than any problem I will ever face. However, I have this earth suit that responds to perceived threats with adrenaline, shortness of breath, increased heart rate. I will experience fear at some point, just as I experience anger, grief, and happiness. I believe the sin part comes with the action that follows the emotion.

I cannot stop an adrenaline surge. I can choose what to do with it. I can choose to take the 10 seconds to breathe deeply, to pray and give my fear to God. I can focus on the cause of my fear or the cause of my salvation. That's where the risk of sin lies: in the action.

"Worry" is another issue. I agree that worrying is a sin, because worrying is a controllable action. I choose to worry when I dwell on what frightens me instead of who delivers me. I am a champion worrier, but I am retraining my brain to focus on God instead of worry. I thank Him instead for all the ways He cares for me. Sometimes I have to start very small and silly to grease the wheels of gratitude, but that's OK. I'm learning, and the psalms tell me God not only knows my every thought, He's OK with me telling Him about them.

Fear feeds itself. The more I fear being afraid, the more afraid I become. "Fear is the mind-killer." Better to face my fear, let it wash over and past me, and know that I remain securely inside God's plan. Fear grows less, and love grows more.

Sin or not, God is the only remedy. Turn to Him.

Keep the faith.

Doing Nothing on Vacation

I took vacation time this week. As far as I can remember, this is the first time I've taken a whole week at once. I got a few surprised looks from coworkers when I announced my intentions. Normally, I take a Friday or a Thursday-Friday if the weather is supposed to be especially nice. Why so short? 1) I like working, and 2) too much time off leaves too much time for someone else to mess up my job while I'm gone.

Mom suggested a week would let us goof off like we did when I was in college. But Mom wasn't taking her plantar faciatis into account, and she's been laid up and sleeping while her foot heals. That's cool. I'm self-entertaining. But I can't lie down for more than a few hours at a time anymore without my back screaming bloody murder (as the last two nights attest), so that option is out for me.

I don't have the money to do all the things I could be doing this week, like replacing window sills, replenishing my delicates drawer, or purchasing shoe inserts to help with growing hip/ knee pain, so I have to prioritize.

I have The Swamp to keep me busy, but that only works for so long (because it's hard, exhausting physical labor) and depends on the weather. Yesterday's weather turned out to be rather mild considering the hype, so I'll be out there soon. Days are shortening as I type, and I don't have the lights to work in the dark.

I have a van to fix, too. Can't find a service shop willing to help, so I've turned to Google once again. I finally have a day that won't roast me like a dog in the backseat while I work on the trunk latch. Haven't been able to open the back in two months, and what good is a minivan with a back gate that won't open? Of course, the obvious answer is a minivan with a back gate that won't stay closed, which is another reason I haven't tried to fix it myself. Ah, well. Nothing ventured...

I have a vent fan in the bathroom that likely needs a screw installed at the outside exhaust end, but that requires not only a cool day but a willingness to remove everything from my closet, climb into the attic with or without a multi-cat escort, and wade through blown insulation over ceiling joists to install that one screw. If only I'd done it the first time I was up there. One of my big life regrets.

The sun is finally cresting. That cold front brought 50 degree temps, so today the mosquitoes will have to work around layers for their blood. They're Swamp mosquitoes. I'm sure they're up for the challenge.

I find I'm looking forward to returning to work. This doing nothing on vacation is just too hard for a Turtle.

Still Not a Feminist

I've refused to identify as a feminist, even when Mark Ruffalo called me names.

A Friend posted an article about a normal (as in not overly political or activist-ish) dad who reared feminist daughters by encouraging them to follow their dreams, ignore stereotypes and be independent. OK. That could be my dad. Maybe by that definition, I'm a feminist.

Another Friend on another post pointed out that there are more flavors of feminism than we see on the news (most of which I call "femiNazis" because that's the kind of bias I have) and posted a quiz/survey she endorsed as helping fill out those flavors. I respect this Friend, so I clicked on the quiz just to see what kind of feminist I might be. And lost interest within seconds.

The last question I remember was along the lines of are animals rights a feminist issue. *insert blank stare* Animal rights? Some people think that female animals are more oppressed/abused/neglected than male animals? Or do they mean women do/should care more about animal rights than men? I don't remember the other questions, but they were equally ridiculous to me, and I returned to Farmville.

Which leads to my conclusion that I simply have no lens in my worldview arsenal that highlights "women's issues." I don't look at any given scenario and think "that woman is being oppressed." I do often think "wow, she made some bad choices," or "that is an abusive situation," but that's as far as my feminism goes. I don't believe woman are oppressed more because they're women. I believe everyone has it bad because of sin. Women may experience the consequences differently than men, but I don't find that offensive.

I do find it offensive when "women" are lumped in with "diversity," as in a business is required to have a "diverse" workforce with "minorities," including "women." I'm not able to land and maintain a job on my own merits? I'm hired as a concession to social engineering?

Maybe that's my blind spot regarding feminism. Maybe I couldn't possibly have gotten a job before the whole "equal rights" thing because a man wouldn't give it to me. Seems reality changed that perspective in World War I (or II, I really can't remember when the Rosie the Riveter era happened - probably because I'm not a feminist), making necessity the mother of equal rights, not feminism.

Frankly, I'm tired of the subject. Unless some new evidence comes to light, I consider this matter closed. I am not a feminist. Bully to those who are. Glad you've found your cause.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Finish What You Start

I'm sure I've said this before, but experience is teaching me how true it is.

Finish what you start writing.

It doesn't matter if it's a lousy first draft with terrible characterization and a sappy ending. What's important is that it's equally lousy throughout.

If you don't finish, then you get a hunchback of Notre Dame kind of monster where parts are extremely overworked and polished, and parts are spindly and lousy, and parts are just missing, and who wants to attach garbage to fine jewelry? It's paralyzing.

Nope. Better to puke the whole mess out at the start and work on cleanup later when you can stand to look at it again.

That's not really the best analogy, since most people don't make sculpture out of vomit, but it's the best I can do this morning.

Finish what you start.

Launching

A tiny garden spider took up residence in my bathroom several weeks ago. No idea where she came from. One morning, she was there in the corner, sitting in her invisible web. It was cold outside, and she had caught two ants, so I let her be.

She later caught another spider. She was earning her keep, and staying close to her web, so I let her be.

In the last week or so, she has caught nothing. The ants aren't coming inside anymore. I worried about her. A spider has to eat to live and spin webs. The longer she went without food, the less likely she became to be able to do anything about it. I should move her outside.

But she's a house spider. She doesn't know The Big World. She isn't prepared for temperature extremes or thunderstorms or birds or bigger spiders.

What spider is prepared? Spiders know only what God programmed them to know: survival. They do what they can because it's all they have.

This morning, I caught her (very carefully, because a spider can get trapped in her own web) and took her out to the compost pile, where I hope ants are plentiful enough even for a starving arachnid, and there is some shelter from rain until she gets established. I hope she does well. I hope she grows and meets a mate and has a sack full of baby spiders. I have no way of knowing, but I choose to hope, even though my heart says I waited too long and her best hope is to be eaten quickly.

I wish I didn't care so much about spiders and wasps and flies and earthworms and crows and - well, you get the idea. I wish I didn't believe from my heart that all life comes from God and is therefore precious and deserving of respect and kindness. I wish I was OK with nature's cruelty, and didn't believe it is only a result of The Curse that Adam and Eve and every human since brought down on creation.

If wishes were fishes, we'd all eat steak.

God's blessing, little spider. By His grace, we'll meet again, and you can tell me your adventures in The Big World.

I Am Not a Feminist

With the release of Daughter of Anasca, this suddenly seems important to say. DoA has many capable female characters, so it's tempting to think I'm all about woman power.

I'm not. I'm about people power.

I don't think woman are oppressed any more than anybody else. I don't think we need special laws, or special interests, or special salaries, or whatever. I think every person is responsible for himself (yes, I even still use the masculine as a generic pronoun because that's how English works). I hate things like that test - whatever it's called, starts with "B" - that women dreamed up to quantify how much time women spend talking to each other about "not men" in movies. Every time I see a reference to that sort of nonsense, I want to put on an extra bra in protest. Stop telling me I'm oppressed. I'm not.

If I'm anything, I'm a female male chauvinist, because I do believe whenever possible, men should be "in charge." I find it sad that we live in a culture that thrives on emasculating men. This is a worldview issue for me, created not only by my family of origin, but my training and education. I wish more men would step up and stop letting the women do all the work.  

I didn't write DoA as a book about oppressed women overcoming society's unfairness, although I understand if some readers take that away. I wrote about two girls and two boys growing up. I put Cahnar and Spidraax in there because boys grow up, too, and they also have trouble doing it. 

That's all I have to say about that. Today, anyway. Breakfast is calling.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Procrastination or Inspiration?

With the release of Daughter of Anasca and my current Farmville fast, I have no excuse not to be writing. My official WIP is Dangling Justice, the prequel to Star of Justice.

However, I just read a not-good book by a best-selling author about psychics in New Orleans, and it left me with a strong urge to write something better. I haven't felt an urge like this since college, when I listened to secular music and got writing ideas all day long.

TT: I've tried listening to secular music nowadays, but the stuff is so coarse and inappropriate, I don't want to write any stories it might inspire. 

The prequel to Dangling Justice, and the story that really started it all, is Past Ties. This idea also sparked 20 years ago, like Daughter of Anasca, and could be considered the first story I ever "finished." It was about 50K words and ended on a cliff-hanger, but I'd never written anything that long before with a continuous timeline.

Past Ties is more sci fi than fantasy, set in future Kansas and involving time travel, psychics and cyborgs, inspired by Arnold Schwartzenegger's Total Recall, Jon Larroquette's Second Sight, and a campy B movie called Jack's Back starring James Spader as identical twins (that remains unavailable on DVD, even though I check Amazon every year). Originally it was set on Mars and Earth. I ultimately scrapped it because a) it was melodramatic crap that served mostly to boost my word count to the magic one million, and b) because I didn't want to do the loads of research necessary for all that egghead stuff.



Anyway, I've realized a couple things. One, I write space opera, not sci fi. I don't claim to prognosticate the future or even accurately describe current scientific possibilities. All I want to do is suggest that certain things might be possible, and hopefully not be too wrong. Two, and I give credit to Kessie Carroll's guest post on NAF for this, I don't have to write a brick to tell this story. It might make a fine novella. I did have plans to write two other books to complete the story, so three novellas might first be ebooks and eventually, a combined print novel.

Finally, and most importantly, Past Ties makes Dangling Justice make sense. It introduces the main characters in their own element and explains why they end up causing so much trouble in Ah'rahk in the first place.

So, there's a good chance Past Ties will appear as an offering to the reading public. It may be the death blow to any future non-fantasy writing attempts on my part, but it might not. I do know a few die hard geeks I suspect would be happy to provide some balance on the science. Or mock the compost out of it. 


I'm transferring the file to Scrivener. I'm determined to let go immediately of every 20 year old word that doesn't fit in my new idea of what this story could be. I will accept the challenge. I will Spock my own fiver.

Applaud the jellyfish.

Spock My Fiver

I saw this article on Facebook shortly after the death of Leonard Nimoy.

"Spocking the hell out of fivers" instantly became my happy thought of the day, combining both the idea of the stereotypically infinitely accommodating Canadians bucking the system and my favorite Vulcan (sorry, Tuvok, I loved Spock first) and his foray into the world of bad language (even-numbered Trek films don't suck). It also became my mission.

I began a one-woman campaign to bring "Spock my fiver" into the American lexicon. To do this, I offered definitions. The phrase must be useful, but also respectful of both the human Leonard Nimoy, and the Vulcan philosophy of logic and order.

"Spock my fiver" is the positive, which connotes "icing on the cake." To Spock my fiver is to do me one better, take it to the next level, put bacon gravy on those biscuits. It can also connote friendly one-upmanship, as in "you did that? I can Spock your fiver. I did this."

"Don't Spock my fiver" is the negative, which is still respectful but in the other direction. Telling a story and someone else finishes it, probably better than you would have? "Man, don't Spock my fiver." Akin to "Live long and don't steal my thunder."

I will autograph books to young writers with "Spock my fiver" as an encouragement to dream bigger than my success (not hard at the moment). I've already signed one, matter of fact. I will use it in at least one of my books, right alongside Solar Roadways.

I have made progress. Today, a co-worker used the phrase in context. Several Facebook Friends seem intrigued by the idea. I hope they, too, are spreading the seeds of the Canadian Vulcan fiver mythology. Perhaps, one day, it will find it's way into a Heavens to Betsy book. Dare I dream the Turtle may even have a footnote? What a fiver that would Spock.

Spread the word, my friends. Spock my fiver. Spock the hell out of my fiver.

Daughter of Anasca

It's done. And by "done," I mean Daughter of Anasca is available on Amazon in print and Kindle versions. Unlike Star of Justice, this is a young adult fantasy, suitable for ages 12 and up (maybe younger, depending on the child). I wrote it as a stand-alone, but I have a few ideas that could end up a sequel.

I plan to offer it on Barnes & Noble in print and Nook-compatible, but that "next thing" involves another learning curve. I'll tackle it with the slow and steady approach.

Here's the print link and here's the Kindle link.

This all happened this weekend when, quite ahead of schedule, my second proof copy got delivered on Saturday. Since it looked fine, and I'd done everything else, I clicked "approve proof," and BAM!, it was published. Bit startling, really.

I now have to figure out if there's a way to order bulk copies that doesn't involve me paying taxes twice. Until I've solved that conundrum, which involves reading a 52-page pamphlet (HA!) by the Kansas Dept of Revenue, I won't be ordering bulk books. If you want it now, order it from Amazon, and I'll sign your copy next time we see each other.

I did want to post a little excerpt from the book:  

Special Thanks

To my final proof readers, Theresa, Kat and Hilary, who found everything from missing periods to giant plot holes.

To my friend, Grace, for all her encouragement and help.

To Matt, for swooping in like a tech-wielding superhero,

To Larissa, who not only read the first and final drafts, but provided the accountability to finish, and

Finally, to my God, for limitless love and grace. 

Thank you, also, to my fans, whoever you are. This story isn't set in Caissa's world, but I hope you like it, too. My next project is back to Ah'rahk for the Star of Justice prequel.

Keep the faith.

Progress Report

You all know I'm trying to self-publish. This is a thing at least a dozen of my author friends have done, so it shouldn't be that hard.

Enter the Turtle.

I am not an autodidact (self-teacher). Thank you, Katherine Coble for an introduction to that word. I am a teacher. I would rather teach a man to fish than fish for him, but everything I know I learned from a teacher somewhere in my life. I don't forge new paths. I don't test every button or option in a program to see what it does. I don't fiddle with every setting because I can't remember how to replicate those results. I follow the manual.

Grace taught me the margins that have worked for her in the 28 (?) books she has published in the last six years. I discovered my ancient Word program doesn't convert to PDF specs that CreateSpace wants. I could just keep sending huge files to all my friends to convert for me, but I don't want to do that for the rest of my publishing life. I found a Friend who helped me find LibreOffice, free software that does convert to CreateSpace specs. Fabulous.

New hurdle: the LibreOffice converted files add 8 pages to the finished CreateSpace project and I can't figure out why, how, or if it matters. It does matter a bit because it makes the book bigger, which affects cost and cover size (a whole other learning curve). Are eight pages that big a deal? Not necessarily, but before I just sigh and accept, I'd kinda like to know what I'm doing or not doing that's causing it.

I'm not suicidally frustrated, like I was when Star of Justice was being prepared. The benefit of total control is I can walk away and sling mulch if I need to. But I really thought this would be easier - the number one cause of conflict in life, by the way: false expectations.

I'm going to keep trying, like Edison with his light bulb, and tonight I'll convert and upload the 18th (at least) attempt in the last six days to CreateSpace. Eventually, by accident, I'll stumble on the right magical formula to please the Machine Overlords, and with my newly acquired experience points, I'll  move on in the Publishing level of the writing game I call The Swamp.

On a more satisfying note, God finally provided a dump truck load of free wood chippings on my lawn, so I have plenty of mulch to sling when it all gets too be too much.

Keep the faith.

My Greatest Fear

I am a worrier. I try very hard not to be, but I come from a line of worriers so it's a nature and nurture thing. I worry about weather, cost of living, icy roads, and a whole bunch of other things that are outside my control. This leads to me being a control freak about things I can control, like having a multi-step tornado safety plan, and an emergency fund that would make Mrs. Ramsey proud.

However, what's harder to see from the outside is that all my worrying and control freakness stem from a single source: what will happen to my animals if something happens to me.

If I lived alone, I would be carefree. I think I'd be so depressed and miserable on a regular basis I wouldn't get out of bed other than to go to work, but I wouldn't worry anymore. Frankly, I'd be waiting impatiently for God to take me out of this increasingly insane world.

I worry about how I can protect my charges during disaster or emergency. Or Rapture. The Rapture bothers me a lot, but so does being dragged off to jail for being a Christian with my door open, and my little ones left to fend for themselves. That thought makes it hard to breathe on my best day. 

They're just things, Turtle.

No. I have things, and I don't care about what happens to those when I die.

Animals are not things to me, no matter what the law says. They're lives. Too many lives, it can be reasonably argued, but lives nonetheless. I won't abandon them in case of fire. I won't get myself downstairs if one of them is upstairs. I won't risk an auto accident if it means I become paraplegic, and they go to the shelter to die ('cause that's what happens to 99% of cats in shelters. They die).

Is this a stupid way to live? Yeah. My head knows that, but my heart runs these things, and I don't know how to control my heart. I can't be the person who thinks only of herself when seven other lives depend on me for their subsistence and overall protection. I don't want to be that person.

So I worry. I know it's a sin. What I don't know is how to apply God's grace to cover my critters. He and I have talked about it a lot, and the conversation shows no sign of concluding.

Just know, if something happens to me, my one and only remaining concern is that my critters be cared for. This is why I made a will. This is why I won't commit suicide (because they wouldn't get their hefty insurance payment that will provide for them for the rest of their natural lives). This is why I wrote this post.

My first Bible study of this year will be "peace." Seek, and you will find. I'm seeking, Lord. 

Keep the faith. 

Put Up or Shut Up

Tallahassee Florida says it a bit differently, but this isn't Zombieland (yet), and I'm not Tallahassee Florida (yet).

Today is the day I intend to complete publication of Daughter of Anasca. It will be an uphill climb. I have to read 250 pages looking for spots where I foolishly removed hyphens. I have to return to Createspace after four months and remember where I was. I have to return to GIMP after four months and finish off the cover, which I think just involves sealing the layers or whatever it's called when you take all the layers and fuse them together into a single image. Part of me thinks I should save an unsealed version, just in case, but I may have already started when that thought occurred to me. Bit late to close the barn door after the horses have eaten the children. I have to figure out how to get an Amazon created book onto Barnes & Noble's site for Nook readers, although that doesn't have to happen today. Naturally, all of this involves technology, and we all know how well the Turtle does with tech.

However, I'm showered, oiled, and fed (actually, I'm eating while I write this to save time). I'm dressed in my Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe comfy T-shirt, my "I am not the Commonwealth" sweatshirt, yoga pants to avoid binding issues from sitting so long, and my housecoat and thick socks because I'm doing all of this at the desk computer instead of under the electric blanket with the laptop. I have my bifocals on to prevent eyestrain headaches. In short, I am armored to do battle with geek issues.

I took today off because daytime TV on Friday sucks, so I won't be tempted to turn it on. I planted long-growing crops on Farmville so I won't go check on them. The radio is on low, and I will change stations if people start talking in distracting ways. I have healthy snacks, a pile of flavored cocoas and green teas ready to drink, and bottles of Citrus Fresh and Peppermint oils ready to sniff for energy and concentration. I have my favorite pens (Pilot PreciseGrip extra fine 7 pack of colors, including pink and purple) and a fresh notebook ready. I have a spray bottle to hand to ward off unwelcome lap sitters (which I just had to do). I am even prepared to lock the cats in the basement if they all turn into Satan Spawn. I hope they feel this. I also hope the sun comes out so they'll disperse to sleeping sun spots.

I have some short physical tasks planned for when I need to stretch. Finally, but mostly importantly, I've invited God to guide and direct the process, and asked Him to cover my tail when I make whatever mistake I'm going to make today. I'm as ready as I'm going to be. 

So that's my day, Deo Volente. Best get to it.

Keep the faith.

PS: Jason Gray's Remind Me Who I Am just came on the radio. I know who I am. It's gonna be a good day.

Goodbye, 2014, you were OK

Last year wasn't horrible. I could go so far as to say, for me, it was a good year.

Mild weather, no massive losses or traumas, steady job, enough money to pay my bills: what more can I really ask of a year? True, I only harvested six zucchini, but I made a blueberry shelter, strung a fence and lost a pant's size working in The Swamp. Writing goals were almost non-existent, but part of that was intentional. A bit of sabbatical.

So many times I've considered not writing anymore. For all practical purposes, I've adopted a non-writing lifestyle. I'm not driven like I used to be. I have no explanation for this, but it is time to accept that if I am going to write, I must do it without a monkey on my back whispering in my ear. That's OK.

If you know me on Facebook, you know I found an old journal going back to 1996. This "dead inside" feeling has been with me that long. So has my tendency to depression. It's time to accept this is how I am, and move on. Enjoy the little things and all that. The beauty part of living with chronic depression is knowing it comes and goes. Just hold on a little bit, and the chemical wash recedes.

This is not to say don't treat your depression. Depressed people are extremely hard to live with, so don't do that to your loved ones. I self-medicate with St. John's wort, extra sleep, exercise (even daily stretching helps) and my new Winter best friend, vitamin D 5000 IUs per day. I am saying if you live on the line, don't let it become your only focus. 

The world hasn't ended, so I may as well continue to play along. I'll never get anywhere if I don't start, right?

Keep the faith.

Why Tiny Homes Are Fascinating But Not For Me

I own an 823 square foot house with an unfinished basement of equal size. I live in about 800 feet of that, and use the rest for storage or cat space. Frankly, the cat space is more important. I wish the space was distributed differently, and I often consider and occasionally implement ways to utilize the space I have more effectively (the loft bed being an excellent example).

Katherine Coble is fascinated with tiny houses, and posted this on FB yesterday. She doesn't want to live there, but admires the ingenuity.

I watched the 5 minute video, and shrank back with a sort of mental claustrophobia every time they demonstrated the "combination" of ways the space could be used. They can attempt to reassure me as often as they wish how liveable the space is, but I saw a hotel room for either the very poor or very rich.

No fridge or freezer means I'm either grocery shopping every day, eating out every day, or making ramen for every meal. A four foot wardrobe means I wear uniforms to work and the same shirt and pants every weekend, with possibly one nice church outfit. I can also have only one heavy coat. My library would have to rotate out on a monthly basis. I could own no knickknacks, no musical instruments other than a harmonica, no craft supplies, and no comfortable seating. In short, the entire space requires me to live in a city where I am completely dependent on what I can buy or rent from others, like food, transportation and a padded chair. This is anathema to me.

I abhor McMansions, too, so please don't think I object to a simple lifestyle using available materials. I can only say I am too American, too big-sky Kansan to consider life in an urban shoebox appealing.

Plus, there is no space for a litterbox in this lifestyle. I can't be a part of a life with only outside cats.

Keep the faith.

People Are Hard

Why did God tell us to love our fellow humans? It's too hard.

I suppose He did it because only He can do it. It's one of those things we can't do on our own. It reminds us that we can only love others through Him.

People are hard. Even the people I love dearly disappoint me on occasion. The people I barely know irritate me constantly. I read blog posts or FB comments and inevitably someone says something that makes me want to walk away from all humanity, sometimes in disgust, sometimes just from exhaustion.

It's hard to remember I'm annoying, too. That my existence or beliefs may irritate the snot out of someone else. That God made us both and instead of being irritated by our differences, I should study them and consider what that says about our Creator, and be grateful I'm not alone in the room.

Except I often prefer to be alone in the room. One of the reasons I'm single.

Christians don't have the luxury of being alone. Jesus actually commands us to meet together often, for fellowship and building up. I know I'm ignoring God when I don't do that, and I know it's dangerous to ignore God. I'm His slave. He can use whatever means He wants to bring about my obedience.

Oh, but my Lord, people are hard. Way harder than cats, even though they're often similar.

Keep the faith.

Pre-Publishing Checklist

I must first say the search bar on this blog is the worst I've ever used. As in, I don't think it's even trying to find the words I type into it. Wow. I finally had to use Google to get the link to the original article. Fail, blogspot, although I still love you for many reasons.

Ok, on to topic.

I posted the meat of this June 6, 2012 after Star of Justice came out. Took me forever to find it again, so I'll print it this time and put it in my publishing notebook. Yeah, I have a publishing notebook. If it took you four years between books, you'd want better notes, too.

1) Run spell check on the entire document. Especially important for made-up names. Just be sure to spell them correctly the first time. This brings me to the addendum to 1): pay attention to spell check while running it.

2) Run grammar check on the entire document. This one will have you banging your head over every fragment of dialogue, but it will catch some (few) things. Not as many as you might hope. I also never trust its suggestions, but it's a good way to make sure you're saying what you mean to say.

3) Run "find" for everything you can think of, in an orderly fashion, with a checklist. In fact, 1) should probably be "keep a checklist of things to check." Extra spaces, extra punctuation, words that should be italicized or capitalized. Words that shouldn't be italicized or capitalized. If you think of it, write it down and "find" it. Every time.

4) Keep a list of things to check and check them off when you've checked them. I found a couple of things I meant to check or change, yet apparently failed to check or change. Do you know how irritating it is to think of doing something and fail to actually do it? Yeah, you probably do.

5) Read the entire document (yes, I mean that) in a format other than the one you normally use. Really read it, too, not just skimming. I spotted the missing period while reading Star of Justice on my Kindle. Stupid me failed to note the spot, and despite my best efforts, grammar check and "find," that period insists on remaining missing. I figure it's God's way of humbling me.

6) Ask someone else to help. If you haven't abused your friends, someone will be willing to take a look at your final draft and notice the stuff you miss. If you have a brilliant Little Sister like I do, she'll even take a pic of the problem and text it to you.

Well, this checklist ain't gonna check itself off. Got a book edit to finish.

Keep the faith.

I Hate "Worship"

Had an experience at work that crystallized this thought for me. I was asked to help lead in the singing of Christmas carols at work. Not a problem. I have decades of experience not only with singing in front of people but with leading worship. Part of a youth in lay ministry.

It became a problem when I walked into the party room to see the guy who would be playing guitar setting up what looked like a karoke stage with three mics, an electric guitar (silly me. My brain didn't go there), and a teleprompter. We had no song sheets for the folks who would be singing with us, and we weren't going to practice ahead of time. My control issues gland immediately started secreting. As I was not "in charge" of this venture, I did not take over as was my urge, but my brain hopped into overdrive to simultaneously begin planning for every horrible contingency while not appearing to panic, just in case no one was in charge of this venture.

TT: I sadly have a great deal of experience with "group" activities that are just a bunch of people who "want to help but not lead." I consider many of those people utterly useless in such situations. Harsh? Yes. True? Also, yes.

Turned out, the guitarist had canned music to go with the teleprompter words, but it was exactly in my breaking range, so I couldn't sing for the first song. That didn't matter much because the music was so loud, I couldn't hear myself anyway. I didn't know the second song, and neither did anyone else in what had become "the audience" because I watched their lips not moving. By the fourth song, I decided to "bring out the clown" and camped it up as much as I could, hoping to salvage what I frame as a total fiasco. A fiasco I can't forget, because it's bothered me all weekend. I'm sharing it with you in the hopes this will finally put it to bed.

Please don't think I blame the guitarist. He was doing his best in a bad situation. Just like the rest of us.

My whole issue with today's church music slammed into my stomach. The band wanna-be's who sing their weird harmonies on stage with deafening instruments and songs that not only don't include music for those who can read notes but change every week so we can't even learn it by rote. It's not possible to have group singing when the group consists of the five to seven people on stage. It angers me enough I don't go to church anymore to worship.

Join the choir? What choir? I don't want to be part of the band, and I don't want to be a groupie. I want to use the voice, and the brain, and the ears God gave me to tell Him what I think of Him, and I want to hear myself and the people around me as they do the same. Call me old-fashioned. It's like Worship Group has become the Singing Nanny for the Church. Don't worry, little sheep. We'll sing for you. God gifted us with talent, so don't you worry your off-key heads. We've got it handled. And we've made it loud enough we don't have to hear you when you miss those notes you didn't know were coming.

TT: Wow. Didn't know my vitriol had reached those levels. Sorry.

Anyway, should singing at work take place next year, and I be involved, I will exercise my dominance and create a Christmas caroling atmosphere with the words on a projector, and audience requests, and no electric anything other than the computer I use to Google-search lyrics. I'm not a lounge singer, and you're not my audience. We are in this together, and I'm sorry I helped lead you to believe otherwise.

Keep the faith.

Ignore Your Feelings

We live in a society of "how do you feel about that?" "Follow your heart." "Do what makes you happy." It's called post-modernism, and it's a rejection of Truth as an absolute.

Problem with that philosophy is feelings are subjective. It may feel great to eat as much cake as you want in (let's be nice) an evening, but keep that up night after night, and you'll ruin your health, even if it makes you happy at the time. The immediacy of the happy feeling doesn't take into account how bad you'll feel later, even a short time later.

While I consider this a profound, life-guiding truth, I'm more complaining about my reaction to weighing myself this weekend. That Maintain Don't Gain challenge I told you about offers an extra credit point for weighing in once a week. I'm not required to record the result, and I don't have to do it, but I had access to a scale so I weighed myself. And discovered I've gained 5 lbs, according to the scale.

I know this is 5 lbs of muscle. It has to be, because I've been exercising 30 minutes nearly every day for 3 weeks while avoiding sugary snacks. It could also be the layers of winter clothing adding weight. Doesn't matter, though, because when I saw that extra 5 lbs, my feelings said, "That's it. You've worked this hard to gain weight? Time to quit. Go eat a dozen of those cookies you're here to bake and screw the challenge. You can find your 5 points some other way."

Because I ignored my feelings, I didn't eat a dozen cookies. I didn't eat one, actually, although I did lick some dough off my fingers at one point. Yes, I washed my hands before going back into the batch. I'm not going to quit working out. I'm not going to stop the challenge. I am going to start measuring my waist instead of stepping on the scale. I don't need that extra point, and I certainly don't need such an emotional downer in the middle of the challenge.

In case you haven't figured it out, scales are liars. If you are trying to be healthy, don't trust your scale to measure success. Trust your clothes, your breathing when taking steps or walking to your car, and the encouraging remarks of friends and family. A measuring tape is pretty accurate, too, if you're not obsessive about it.

Keep the faith. 

I'm Getting There

I make a bunch of big promises and then stop blogging.

As Murphy would agree, once you have a plan, life makes other plans for you. This is good news for once, as the other plans life has seem to be actually finishing Daughter of Anasca.

Yes, while contemplating something completely different, I figured out how to solve my unhappiness with the current ending of my I-want-to-be-soon-published WIP (as opposed to my still-in-first-draft-stage WIP that waits until I'm done with DoA). The blog will take a back seat until the rewrite and final edits on the last 100 pages are done and that sucker is uploaded to Amazon whatever it is I'm using to self-publish. CreateSpace, maybe? Can't remember at the moment.

My deadline for publication is Dec 20, the last day of Autumn 2014. Best get to it.

Keep the faith.

The Mustache Dream

Tired of me yet? My biggest fear is not that you will tire of me, but that I'll make this revelation so complicated and enormous it will become burdensome instead of freeing. I'd be tempted to stop, except for the mustache dream.

Two days after the election, and two posts later, I dreamed I had a Sam Elliott-Tom Selleck sized walrus mustache. For some reason, it was blonde, but I don't believe that has anything to do with anything. I shaved that sucker off as fast as I could, and it took a ridiculously long time and left a pile of luscious blonde locks on the floor.

While I don't ascribe to Freud (or Jung) or their theories about dream interpretation (I'm was a Minuchin gal myself in practice), I do believe the brain is complicated and occasionally expresses things in ways we don't immediately recognize. This is all rationalization-speak for why I went to Dream Moods dream dictionary to see what they say the mustache was all about. 

To dream that you have a mustache when you don't really have one signifies that you are hiding an aspect of yourself. You are putting on a disguise or showing a different aspect of your personality. If you are a woman and dream that you have a mustache, then it indicates that you are expressing your power through your words and your verbal expression.

To dream that you shave off your mustache denotes that you are revealing your true self. You no longer have to hide under some disguise or some shield. 

Interesting. Days after deciding to consciously express my Biblical worldview and conservative values on my blog, I dream this. I don't know how they draw their conclusions, but I'm a little impressed. 

With my subconscious' full approval, then, I continue this self-imposed quest of cultural influence on an infinitesimal scale. It may only be to cement those beliefs in my own mind. That's OK. 

And because my curiosity got the better of me again, I looked up the blonde thing. 
 

To dream that you dye your hair blonde indicates that you literally need to lighten up and quit being so serious all the time. Try  to be more upbeat.

There you have it. I'm also supposed to keep it light and funny. I'll do my best.

Keep the faith. 

Maintain, Don't Gain

My insurance plan offers a substantial reduction in premiums if I "earn" points the previous year through health "challenges." I have no problem with employers or insurance companies offering incentives to encourage healthy lifestyles, thus reducing the need for preventable health-related expenses and keeping overall health care costs down for every customer. Bribes work. Even Proverbs agrees with that (Prov 17:8). Earning these points has never been an issue for me because, by their definitions, I'm a healthy person.

The point requirements were changed this year (as is their right). I have to do a little more to qualify than usual. In theory, this is not a problem because, again, I'm a healthy person. However, I'm also a person who doesn't like anyone "in my business," including my health insurance company. I resent checking in with my daily healthy choices.

Being a mature adult who wants that discounted premium, I am adapting and participating in one of their challenges to get the extra points I need. It was a personal goal I made months ago when I got my pants altered after losing all the weight during the spring, so it isn't out of my way to participate in the "Maintain, Don't Gain" during the holidays. I get daily points for each of the following:

• Exercising 30 minutes or more 
• Eating a healthy breakfast
• Eating a healthy lunch
• Limiting treat foods to 1 serving or less
• Limiting alcoholic or sugary beverages to 1 serving or less

Except for the exercise (unless it's Swamp Season), I generally do all this anyway, but having to tell them I do all this is galling. I fear that accepting the reporting requirements will train me to accept worse down the road. At what point does voluntary involvement become indentured servitude?

I'm thinking about it way too much, you say. You think about it for a while, and tell me if I'm wrong. This is the "freedom above all" leaning of my conservative mind, the part I categorize as "Libertarian" because it's inclined to be contrary in the name of freedom, and prefer stubborn resistance to reasonable cooperation because cooperation leads to dependence and that must be avoided at all costs.

Anyway, I'm watching what I eat and using that 30 minutes of exercise to burn off my irritation at having to report it, and, I expect, I'll lose weight over the next 6 weeks. Which will irritate me, too, because that's not the goal. Welcome to my OCD hell.

Keep the faith.

Point of View

Point of View is a daily talk show whose motto is "Defending Family, Faith and Freedom." The show is over 20 years old and used to air on a radio station here in Topeka until that station changed hands and formatting. I wasn't willing to give up the show, so I started listening to the broadcast on the internet.

The best day of my life was the day I met host Kerby Anderson in person, and got to hear him interview Kris Kobach, then running for Kansas' Secretary of State. Click the link to read about that. It seems tame now when I think of how pumped I still am about that day.

I listened to Point of View for years until I changed to a job where I can't listen at work.

The show is available for download, and they have a way to listen with your phone, but I'm the Turtle, and I don't use tech well. I stopped listening for nearly three years, although I continued to support the show monthly. They were the first ministry I ever donated to, and I had no qualms the quality would change just because I wasn't listening.

I was right. As part of my new year's resolutions (which for me started when my boss Kris Kobach was reelected for a second term as Secretary of State - Go, Kris!), I decided to give up the useless hour and a half of TV sitcom reruns I'd been watching after work, and replace it with a Point of View episode from the website pointofview.net.

And there they are. All my old friends, mentors, brothers and sisters on the front line of the culture war, examining current events under the lens of a Biblical worldview. Highlighting ways to spread God's love and light in the darkness. Modeling how to disagree without being disagreeable. Daily illustrating, time and again, my own views of what it means to be a Christian, to be a conservative, and to be compassionate without compromise.

I strongly encourage you to make Point of View part of your life. I have no doubt they will bless and challenge you.

Keep the faith.

The Second Punch

Punch number two came about after watching, of all things, Babylon 5. Yes, I watch Babylon 5. I consider it the soap opera version of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.

The Minbari are my favorite race. They do everything in threes, including their caste system: warrior, worker and religious. The main character on the show, Delenn, is of the religious caste, so we see a lot of how those folks live.

The purpose of the religious caste is to express the religion of the Minbari, which is, in typical sci-fi fashion (if the goal isn't mocking religion in general, that is), an androgynous mismash of one-with-the-universe, reincarnation, karma kind of stuff.

Delenn is a kind of priestess, being high up the religious hierarchy, and everything she does expresses religious significance. This really comes home during her courtship with John Sheridan, but it's visible in most episodes. She's like a woman monk who can marry.

It got me thinking that if this fictional character could live her entire life with an active awareness and implementation of her religion, why don't I?

Yes, I know she's fictional, but I watch these shows because they make me think about my own life, so bear with me.

I have a real religion, and relationship, with Christ. Why is that not a deliberate part of my day? Praying, study of my holy book, applying what I study, seeking a oneness with Christ instead of the universe. Why couldn't I be as open and nonchalant about that as the Minbari are? No one looks twice at Delenn when she does her religious stuff. Yeah, yeah, she's Minbari, but the concept isn't that far off. The only downside I could see was starting. I might get some odd looks at first, but people would get used to it.   

I started. I started practicing my faith openly, with references to God and Jesus, with prayers, with attributing my actions to One above me. Yeah, I got a few looks at first, but practice makes easier, and nowadays people don't blink twice when I bring Him up. In fact, I've had more opportunities to witness than ever before, and in far more natural circumstances than meeting that stranger on the bus.

The hard part is the accountability. When I screw up, God gets the blame. I figure He's a big boy. He can handle it.

Keep the faith.

One of A One-Two Punch

I used to be a quiet Christian. I behaved myself and acted like a "good" person (I can't think that word anymore without hearing Jesus ask, "Why do you call me 'good?' Is anyone good but God?"), and figured people would know I did it because I'm a Christian.

I failed to reason how people would know that if I never mentioned Christ.

Then I read a primer on Islam from something like the Islamic Center for Muslim Outreach. I have it around here somewhere, but I'm too lazy to go find it. A totally legitimate, slightly more than a pamphlet about the seven pillars of Islam, and why I'd want to be a Muslim. I'd never seen a brochure for another religion, so I read it. And got a little convicted in my own religion.

Islam has some things going for it. Daily charity, for one. Respect for their holy book (According to the brochure, the Koran should be kept in a special place higher than anything else in the house and read through entirely every month. It's a bit smaller than the Bible, so this isn't as scary as it sounds). Sharing of their faith. Muslims are encouraged to proselytize.

Christians are encouraged to share our faith, too, by Jesus Himself in the Great Commission, if you want only one example, but we have so much else in the Bible to study and emulate some of us overlook that one.

So I'm pondering this book on Islam, and wondering, if they willingly, openly speak about a god that I believe is false, why am I hesitant to speak about the One I believe is true? That is the difference as I see it. My God actually exists. That's why I serve Him. If I didn't believe that, I'd do something easier with my life. Or I'd be a Muslim. Or a Wiccan. I have an affinity for the Wiccan worldview. It's very peaceful.

But I chose (and still choose) Christianity. Why was I silent about it?

I'm out of space, so I'll give you the second punch tomorrow.

Keep the faith.

Organizing My Thoughts

Last week I started a post on a very specific thought prompted by something on FB. In the course of writing, I realized a few things.

One, worldview is almost impossible to quantify. Every sentence I wrote led to another brick in the foundation of my worldview, and it felt like all of them needed explaining. For those who have a similar worldview, the explanations don't have to be lengthy, but for those on the 180 from my worldview, I'm talking utter nonsense. 

Two, it's a bit harder than I thought it would be to focus on why I consider myself a conservative without slinging a few snarky arrows at the other side. I am determined to do it, however. Kerby Anderson regularly says we can disagree without being disagreeable, and the fastest way to shut down communication is to fail to show respect to the humanity of the opponent.

Three, I need to organize my thoughts. I don't want to explore every issue in excruciating detail, but I don't want to cause more confusion, either. I am a creature of order. I'd like a little order in my presentation.



So, I made notes, and I hope to present a brief and somewhat ordered account of why I believe and behave the way I do. Much like Luke did when writing his Gospel. Except I don't claim this is divinely inspired. I'm crazy, but there are levels of craziness. Mine is mostly related to cats. 

For those worried about my fiction writing being sidelined by this new focus, rejoice. I'm on the last leg of Daughter of Anasca edits (with some help from My Dear Friend as gamma reader), and I've got a plan to finish Dangling Justice, which is a first. It's as though I've been trying so hard to be non-offensive, I'd stopped being able to say anything.

As I once told her, and My Dear Friend reminded me, "You can be my friend, or you can not be offended, but you can't be both." True dat.

Keep the faith.

A Load Off

You know, that little bit of writing yesterday morning about current events really helped my attitude. It's like I've been holding this huge burp inside, and I just couldn't move right until I got it out.

Yeah, that's disgusting. I'm the Turtle. Hear me revolt.

Has the depression lurking around the corners of my soul been because of my silence? Have I kept my opinions so quiet for fear of offending that I've stifled my own joy in life? Turned my anger inward, as the therapist in me would say?

I took a few minutes after yesterday's post and jotted about a dozen potential post topics relating to my conservative worldview. I haven't had a dozen post topic ideas in years. Literally.

Because this started as my writing blog, I've steered away from divisive topics that might attract trolls and alienate readers. But the fact is, I don't have much to say about writing at the moment. Plus, my worldview will spill out in my books. Not as obviously as in this blog, but I will always be conservative. I will always believe in God - an impossibly intelligent, powerful being able to create everything from nothing with a word. I will always believe in the sanctity of human life, even when I personally want to smack most humans within minutes - occasionally seconds - of meeting them. These beliefs will permeate my writing. They have to, because I write therapy books.

Anyway, I'm going to continue with the "thoughts on conservatism" theme for a while because at least I'm writing something, and it may help me write other things. If you don't care about conservatism, sorry. I will try to keep the posts brief and personal to me, sans ranting.

Keep the faith.

Radio Silence

I've had a lot to say over the past few months, but none of it seemed suitable for publication.

Writing well takes time and energy, and, while it could be argued I've had the former, the latter is sadly lacking. Again. I'm starting to think I have a low-iron issue. I guess that means I should return to the spinach ingestion. blech.

You might think the recent election (Republicans taking control of both national Houses, and keeping control in Kansas) would make me happy, since I am a registered Republican. It does not. Nothing in the political realm makes me happy nowadays.

Our representative republic (that's what America is, folks, not a democracy) is working. The people we've put on Capitol Hill do represent us. They are moderates with no plan, no concept of history or the future, no ability to work out differences, an entitlement mindset that believes it is not only OK to take from those who have and give to those who have not but mandated by God, when they espouse a belief in God (and many do. Americans in general still want a "religious" person in office, even if Americans in general don't know or care what religion it is).

The problem is not with the politicians. The problem is with us - the people being represented. We are divided, almost straight down the middle at this point. Multiple opposing worldviews attempting to express themselves in two parties. The only reason we still have two parties is because 50% of people vote along straight party lines because they don't care enough to pay attention. I used to be one of those.

E. Stephen Burnett got me thinking with one of his FB posts pre-election. It was along the lines of "conservatives worry about elections; liberals worry about changing culture." That's why liberals are winning, even if this election seems to disprove that (All this election proved is people are mad and don't know what to do about it).

So conservatives like myself need to take the time and energy to explain why we are conservatives, and demonstrate the implementation of those conservative values in our own lives. We must put our actions where our beliefs are, and hope to rub off on the 50% who've just never thought about it. I intend to break my radio silence with a few posts about why I am a conservative (forget Republican for now. That brand means less every day, just like "Democrat" means less every day). It may be too late, but maybe not.

Stop looking for a leader, folks. You're the leader. 

Keep the faith.

Spinach Smoothie

The quest for tooth improvement continues. I ate my bag of spinach like potato chips and learned an important lesson.

Spinach tastes funny.

Perhaps this is the aging of my taste buds, but the bag I ate was reminiscent of floral soap. Not the detergent taste I experience with cilantro. This was a persistent, pervasive floral scent that I couldn't wash away that made it difficult to remember I was eating food, not cleansing supplies.

I'd never thought of spinach tasting anything other than "green," so this is a bit off-putting. Until I get used to it, I'll ingest the majority of my spinach in juice form. I am using store-bought organic spinach. Maybe it will taste different from The Swamp.

I added a little water, lots of spinach, pineapple chunks and juice, vanilla Greek yogurt, one Fuji apple, and a dollop of honey because - can you believe it? - it wasn't sweet enough. Mostly, the honey and the yogurt seemed to smooth out the taste. That made a glass and a half of green frothy stuff.

I'm not giving portions because you'll have to see what makes you happy. The yogurt has so far been one portion/cup of Oikos because I didn't want to buy a whole tub if this went south as some of my experiments do. I liked it better with the yogurt than without, even though it didn't make much difference in consistency. I have a cheap blender, too, so my apple chunks retain some of their chunkiness.

Now I'll have to do a cost analysis, because Bolthouse Farms makes a drink called Green Goodness that has way more "stuff" in it (like seaweed and wheat grass) that I can ingest for $1 per serving. It's tempting to snap a cap and pour for $1 instead of assemble, make a mess, disassemble, clean the mess and start over with the blender every day. I probably get more fiber the old-fashioned way. I certainly get more exercise.

Happy Monday, dear readers. Eat your greens.