A Highly Incendiary News Article

*Content below is completely fictitious and for humor purposes only. The following events did not actually occur. Please do not reference as a reliable source as you will be laughed at, rolled in organic honey, and tossed into a pile Phil Robertson’s beard clippings. You’re welcome.*

There lives in a lonely, lonely town a piranha named Steve. He likes to play with matches. All the other piranhas think he that is a bit weird. They make fun of him. But this goes largely unnoticed because all the piranhas in a single pond in the backyard of one Mrs. McGregor, widow of the late military hero John McGregor who fought in the little remembered 1990 Conflict in the Falkland Islands. (To this day, nobody is really sure what the conflict was about, but at least three hundred donkeys suffered mild injuries.) Mrs. McGregor has grown rather reclusive in her later years and only socializes with her piranhas, 3 cats, and invisible unicorn named Larry. (We have been unable confirm or disprove the existence of said unicorn.) The backstory on Mrs. McGregor has been included for reasons unknown to yours truly, but our editor insisted. (I think he might be her nephew.)

Now what, you say, is news-worthy about this curious Steve? Well, even aside from his unique and pyrotechnic, Steve also happens to be a newly discovered lime-green species of piranha the scientific community is calling Serrasalmus igniscinis. He is the first of his kind to be documented! In fact, as far as we know, Steve may be the only one of his kind in existence.

This raises troubling questions. Namely: Where is Steve going to find a baby momma for his future pescatarian offspring if he is the only Serrasalmus ignicinis in existence? Do all Serrasalmus ignicinis possess an affinity for fire?  And most disturbingly of all . . . Who is supplying a piranha with matches?

What’s Your Story?

The messages that we internalize as our reality have a profound effect on the way we live our lives. If you have a miserable narrative, you often experience a miserable life. If you have an epic, amazing narrative, you probably experience an epic, amazing life.

I am going to hit on some lies I believed growing up.

1. Perfection is something you must strive for.
2. Father God only loves me because Jesus bribed Him with His death.
3. When guys lust after me or act inappropriately around me, it’s my fault.
4. God doesn’t trust women; He won’t let them lead in church except with their husbands or as a children’s pastor.
5. My sexuality is bad, and I would be better off without it.
6. “Left Behind” portrays an accurate representation of what God is like and what our future looks like.
7. If I don’t confess all my sins to God—even though I prayed “the prayer”—I will go to hell. #peformperformperform
8. God only does miracles when you are doing stuff for Him, like mission trips.
9. When you mess up, God is disappointed in you. #performperformperform
10. I’m a sinner.

So, add all that up . . . and crap self-esteem. Very performance-based. Up and down. Up and down. A bit misogynistic. A bit doomsday. Umm . . . anxiety, much? Talk about running day and night on a hamster-wheel of religion. I was in a relationship with a divinity with multiple personalities and narcissistic tendencies. (Jesus loves me; Father hates me, but blood appeases Him?!? Also, it’s all about Him and serving Him and doing stuff and jumping through hoops for Him so I won’t be eternally tortured. That sounds like a nice, healthy foundation for a relationship!)

I was miserable, but I was told  this was it . . . so like it.

I knew I was created for love. I knew I was created for worship . . . but dang. Not like this.

Since then, I have learned some different messages. It makes for a better life story.

1. God really thought I was a great idea and made me perfectly; I am freakin’ awesome!
2. Women are amazing, display a beautiful part of the heart of God . . . and are born to co-lead!
3. People acting dumb has do with whatever’s going on with them; they’re better than that anyways and just haven’t figured it out yet.
4. Jesus and the Father have the same heart towards me. The Father was always 100% for me.
5. God is not a narcissist; God is relationship.
6. God is not a hierarchy; God is a Divine Love-Dance.
7. Holy Spirit does fun stuff like miracles because Holy Spirit likes to and is really, really good.
8. The theology of abandonment is a bunch of satanic b. s.
9. I am fully included; the cross was basically a giant God-hug. He used our rejection of Him and turned it into a great display of His acceptance of us. He is in no way disappointed in me.
10. I am a saint.

My life feels a whole lot better now. I like it a lot more. Guess it matters who you let narrate your story! Now, I have this whole wide world filled with goodness to explore. I have a Trinity I can’t but help fall head-over-heels in love with. I like being a woman. I’m not scared of hell. I like who God made me, and it’s becoming increasingly difficult to judge other people—no matter what whack-a-doodle stunts they pull! I feel happy.

Love you! Hugs!

The Joy Detective

Rewrite: Tragedy to Comedy

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.

 

 

Clary & Watts

This poem was inspired by a video I recently watched featuring an interview with Johnny Lee Clary. He recalls some of his most hilarious and memorable interactions with one Reverend Wade Watts. The then KKK leader didn’t know how to handle this bold man— full of love and a great sense of humor! I write this in tribute to their story. 

I—

I can’t keep up

with this drama;

someone is dissing

my mama,

and what did you

just call

my llama?

I

—haha—

I take it

so seriously

every time

you get all up

in my face

—haha, oh, man!!!—

and hate on me

because of my race!

(Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful, boo!)

Yo!

This is high-comedy;

what do you

want to be?

I see you staring

in the mirror,

but you looking

at me!

And I ain’t

quite insulted

as you’d like

me to be,

but wait—

would you

really

like me to be?

I can put on

that front; yeah,

I can go on

the hunt, yeah!

But I ain’t diggin’

for dirt, man;

I’m looking for gold.

You see the pan?

Look,

I know you’ve been

cast down;

I see them chains

and them rats around,

but that don’t conceal

to me your crown;

I see it hiding

behind that frown.

Now,

don’t you go sayin’

“I’m too lost to be found”!

I love ya, bro.

See you ’round.

 

 

A Goat at the Masquerade

I would like to invite you all now to join me at a very peculiar party. All the other guests in attendance are wearing masks. You get the sense that such a thing is expected at this party. You feel the pressure to fit it in—to stand out. And yet . . . to not stand out at the same time. The desire to feel normally unique just like everyone else.

There are all manner of masks, and many have gathered about into groups—according to color, according to theme, according to size, etc.  You sense a rivalry between these groups. You notice how rarely they exchange dance partners with each other.

Other. Because there are others here. They fail to notice that all alike wear masks. All alike play false rolls in the silence of the shadows.

*Cue creepy music*

They are staring at you like you are naked. You do not have on a mask. Different groups quickly offer you one of their own in an attempt to “save your dignity.”

As if your bare face were something to be ashamed of. 

They call it a “covering.”

It is at that point that something rather curious happens.

A goat. 

*Cue party music with balloons*

With a loud, bleating “baaaaahh!,” the goat runs into the room with a pack of little goat friends, knocking people over. Masks fall off, and people freak—scrambling for their beloved face-covers.

It is at this point that you recognize a couple of your old friends—people quite dear to your heart. They are scattered across separate groups. You know that these people belong together. They are not meant to be as they are.

Everyone is suddenly united in one cause: catching the goat & company—and getting them under control. They must not be allowed to run about like that. It is too dangerous, too disruptive.

You decide you rather like the goat. It is a bit annoying and obnoxious to the ones who want to maintain the order and status quo, but it is cute and fuzzy and helping you see people as they truly are. It also nuzzles you affectionately and looks adoringly at your bare face.

And amidst all the “chaos,” people are starting to see each other’s again . . . despite their best efforts.

*Cue overly dramatic music*

To be continued . . .