Song of the Lioness

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I hear the rumble;

I hear the roar.

It stirs something

in me,

draws me

to soar.

It’s the sound

of my King;

He calls me

“My Queen.”

He yearns to

hear

the bellows

of the deep.

Peer into

those fiery eyes—

in which

neither weakness

nor strength

are found despised.

Fierce protection,

perichoresis;

pardon me, now,

while I write

my thesis.

FREE!

My roar fills the air

as I leap  and I bound

and I dance for

my maned one—

called sometimes

“Lamb,”

called sometimes

“Slain one”!

Beautiful!

I see You

in rain, in sun.

I hear your

whisper;

I feel you

run.

We are not

so far off,

you and I,

for here

betwixt us

meets earth

and sky.

 

 

 

Prophets or Madmen?

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Each culture has a certain set of what we call “norms.”

That means that in one culture a person who is considered “gifted” or even a “prophet” may be considered worthy of being medicated, institutionalized or even killed in another. It all has to do with these “norms” we put forth as a society.

What do our norms say about us as a culture?

Do we even want to look?

I have been thinking about how certain segments of society treat people who have been diagnosed with what is commonly called “Down Syndrome.” Extra chromosome, right? Maybe looks a little different, right?

Me, personally?  Some of the sweetest humans I have ever been blessed to meet!

And yet, how do we treat them? Pregnant women are frequently urged to have their unborn children tested for Down Syndrome. Why? Well, apparently if they do have Down Syndrome, we can simply flush the kid and try again.

Umm . . . this is okay, why???

What are we being taught about the value and the worth of a human being?

Is not perspective a blessing? Do we truly value diversity?

I think we see a truer form of mental illness in people who believe that it is okay to wreak havoc and destruction in the lives of others than we see in all these extraneous labels we are pumping out now-a-days. If you think that it is okay to hurt the innocent, oppress the poor, and rub the faces of the orphan and the widow in the dirt—-that, my friend, is real mental illness.

 

 

I Challenge You to a Duel

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“Don’t mess with Mama-Bird!”

If you grow up in a bubble and are suddenly confronted by a difficult problem or situation, it can be easy to start quoting platitudes. Anything to make that discomfort go away. If you are taught to always say, “Yes, ma’am” or “No, sir” in response to everyone and always to be “polite” and “respectful,” it may be hard to practically function when a crazy person comes at you with the clear intent to harm, spouting racial slurs and swear-words you never knew existed until he showed up. If you were taught that in all circumstances, defer to and obey authority—and all of the sudden you are transported to the age of the Third Reich in Berlin . . . . well, it may be time to question all that stuff you learned.

Now, let’s be clear: in most circumstances, I am in favor of deferring to authority. Proper order and all. (I also like to be polite and respectful—in general.) But there are certain instances where authority seems to have forgotten who it is and is acting as something it ought not be. There are also certain instances where individuals do the same thing. And in those cases, I think that the most respectful thing that can be done is to call it out. Don’t be a jerk about it, but call it out. Do it from a heart that wants the best for all involved.

I know that we are all peace-loving people here, but it is really okay to be willing to fight if necessary. If someone tries to invade your home and attack your spouse and kids, I really don’t think that God is going to be angry with you for protecting them. Conversely, don’t think it’s okay to go and invade someone else’s house with the intent to “steal, kill, and destroy” and believe that you are under His protection when you do so. That’s just stupid.

I’m a woman. If a man comes at me and tries to rape me, I believe that I am perfectly justified if I incapacitate him so that he does not succeed. That’s self-defense. Conversely, if I stalk a man with the intent to pull something equally destructive, he is justified in defending himself against me.

I think that it is important that we do not mistake apathy and passivity for a “kind, gentle, peace-loving spirit.” That opens to us up to all kinds of wickedness. Not just anyone ought be allowed to influence us. King Ahab did alright when he was under the influence of Jehoshaphat, but under the influence of Jezebel . . . awful. Killing people and stealing their vineyards. Not okay.

I was recently given two pictures of a clearing. In one, there were either no guards or completely passive guards who stood by and did nothing while a whole bunch of angry skeleton monster-things came at me with clear intent to do harm. In the next, the clearing was surrounded by guards who did their job and did not allow any of the creepy skeleton creatures inside.

I felt like I heard the Lord ask, “In which scenario did you feel more loved?”

I responded, “The second.”

Love protects.

 

Jellybeans

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I have an extreme fondness of rainbows.

I see a rainbow, and I get extremely happy.

The thing about jellybeans is that each color has a different flavor. I think that is phenomenal. Pure genius. I like to imagine the ROYGBIV part of the light spectrum as having distinct tastes. Distinct, yet unified. Seven colors. All part of this pure white light refracted through some sort of prism.

The Bible talks about the Sevenfold Spirit of the Lord. It’s a topic I am still exploring. This sense of awe and wonder tends to strike whenever I begin to contemplate it. I read about this rainbow surrounding the Throne of the Lord. This is a fun Deity. A jolly Trinity.  A kaleidoscope of joy.

Multiply. Multiply. Multiply.

All this creativity! Ah! So awesome. So good.

 

Rewrite: Tragedy to Comedy

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From where I stand, a tragedy is an unfinished story.

No matter how long, no matter how many pages . . . if the happy ending has not been reached, it is an unfinished story. It requires editing. Rewriting.

I realize how offensive this may sound to those thoroughly addicted to a miserable life validated by their favorite literary pessimists. But, lest you forget . . . a pearl is made through an offense embraced by its hosting oyster. And so, I wish you many, many pearls in the days to come!

To end a story prematurely is much like ending life in the womb, killing a caterpillar in its cocoon, or interrupting Easter mid-tomb. It simply ought not be done. It’s a disgrace!

On the other hand, pain is given so much more worth and value when one does not seek to cut it off early. Don’t be so ridiculous as to off yourself in the midst of the doctor resetting your broken bone; I do assure you: there’s good to come! Some things—after being broken—actually grow back stronger.

 

 

Not So Jaded

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I am not looking for love.

That might sound a bit odd to some of you. How many different posts and articles out there are giving tips on “finding love”?

I stopped looking for love when I realized how absolutely silly that is. I don’t need to find love because I already have love. Or, more accurately, love already has me. It’s the very fabric that holds together my being. I cannot function without it. I would fall apart without it. It is the very substance that I breathe. The image in Whom I was made. It’s just . . . there.  Kinda like that dog in “Up” that just won’t go away. He keeps following Carl around no matter how many times he is rejected. That’s a tiny glimpse of what love looks like. Tiny glimpse, mind you. Tiny! Tiny! Tiny!

Now . . . I am looking for love.

????

Actually, I habitually enjoy looking around and appreciating what I have been blessed with. So, yeah, I look around to see what I already have. Sometimes, I look around for the air. Sometimes, I look at my toes and think, “Nice! I have toes.” I love to go on treasure hunts because I always expect to find a treasure. It’s just out there, waiting for me. Set up for me to find.

Now, as the argument goes, “You just don’t live in the ‘real’ world.” I am sure that anyone with that argument has sources and experiences ready to be quoted. They may do so to their hearts’ content, and when they are done feeling tired and weary and depressed and weighed down by the worries of the world, perhaps they will come and consider Someone different.

I did not mistype.

That word-choice was quite intentional. Capitalization and all. I said “Someone” instead of “something.” Truth, for me, is not merely a list of facts and figures subjectively manipulated to support whatever is morbidly trendy. Truth is a Person. “Truth is Life is Love is Jesus Christ in relationship in the Trinity.”

And if you can say that five times fast, I salute you!

I really, really like being alive. It’s awesome. The thing about seeing the Christ everywhere is that it’s like perpetually being surrounded by a hug. You can have a miserable day, but in the end, you are held in the arms of love! The misery fades, but the love lasts—because love is faithful, and misery is such a cheater!

I define “love” or rather “Love” by Jesus Christ (and—for that matter—the whole Trinity) because I can’t find a better definition out there. Everything else just seems selfish and sad in comparison.

I say that knowing that people have all sorts of ideas as to who Jesus Christ and the whole rest of the Trinity is/are. (LOL, language limitations!!!) I say that knowing it’s not always the best communicated, and people get confused about it all the time. It just can’t stop me from falling head-over-heels and stumbling around like a really, really happy drunk.

Feel free to message me if you would like to taste the Source of the Bliss.

Until Next Time,

The Joy Detective