I am re-posting this today…it is particularly apt this week.
I am re-posting this today…it is particularly apt this week.
I have been posting a lot of thoughts on Facebook lately, seeking to use my social media account in a more active and aware way.
I have many thoughts about the avatar for our shadow selves known as Donald Trump.
We have met the enemy, and he is US.
If you want to read there, search Facebook for Charissa White and you can send me a friend request. If you are an unknown person to me, please message me as well and identify yourself as a reader here on Grace Notes…and we can go from there.
If you do NOT identify yourself? Likely I will ignore the request, simply because I get a lot of really creepy friend requests over there from military dudes, who post pics of themselves with their guns (surrogate penises) and their shirts off flexing…what about me says that this would be a good technique to make a connection with me???
In what world does it work to “attract a girl” by this means?
It repulses me and sickens me and I immediately block such as those.
Anyway…that is why I have not been writing much here.
Fear not…my blog will be here cus I am still and always jotting down poems and will post them as appropriate, and all my poetry goes here.
I want you all to know how grateful I am that you choose to read here…it is an honor.
Smokers…is it worth it?
A while back I posted a page called “Help Charissa Transition”. I have not pushed it whatsoever, but wanted to have it there. I have been blessed by a couple of contributions, and they mean so much to me that someone believes in me that much.
But I wanted to bring it up…as I have recently passed 500 followers, and the issue of being a trans-ally is a hot one right now, what with Qs about what can be done that demonstrates being an ally.
Well…here is sumfin to think about: if each of you contributed $100.00 (which is about 10 hours of work at minimum wage), the fund would swell to $50,000.00…and just like that all the othering and obstacle of gate-keeping insurance companies is overcome and I would be able to get my Gender Confirmation surgery.
If each of you contributed 10.00…well, I could begin some of the FFS surgeries that I would greatly benefit from.
And if you gave more, the balance that I did not need for my own surgeries would be donated to a few trans-women that I am connected to.
I think things like this will be the future, ways to do and to be what is needed in spite of the way that the system seeks to other us.
Just think about it…perhaps it is foregoing Starbies for a month…or skipping dinner out 2x, or…fill in the blank.
And thanks for even thinking about it, btw…it is exciting to contemplate and dream about.
…by the movie “Donnie Darko.”
That you liked it so much mystified me, and it was the first inkling that we lived two different lives, in 2 different realities.
and this man was/is revered by so many…and yet, the emptiness, the ache…
I really admire Jay Z for this. I have a feeling about this man…I think Mama sees depths and distances in him that he himself only has hints of.
I am hopeful that he doesn’t lose himself along the way and trade his heart in for diamonds…Mama must think very highly of him, as She has placed one of Her queens in his life.
I speak blessing to him, to them…Mama please preserve and metamorphize them!!
I do not dare add any of my thoughts to this…Dani, you know why, Sis…you know why.
Sooo glad you did not experience the ultimate and have been given this opportunity to invest in this thing made new, old things having passed away.
Much, MUCH love…Charissa
I received a call four days ago. It was one of those calls; the kind that even the phone knows is bad. I was told my father couldn’t speak or move. He had been found that way. “The ambulance is on its way”, she said. “We’ll call once we have more information”.
In the car, I looked through my phone and changed my background to one of him and I. Then I went and listened to my voicemail. The most recent one was him saying “You never answer” then a click. I couldn’t move–couldn’t breathe really–and began thinking: What was it he said again? I take what money and put it where? And where are those documents? And then I call whom?
I thought of the little black dress I had bought months ago. The one I was supposed to return, but didn’t. I thought about how scared…
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Rog asks us to share this message…without further ado, and mad propz I share the magnificent and powerful words of RogKeith, and encourage you all to do the same. Lives can be saved…literally…by the way we treat others.
Do justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly,
This is for all you parents out there who are struggling to accept your child’s coming out and desire to transition. As a parent of a transgender teen (FtM), I feel that I am “qualified” to share these words and sentiments.
Do you know…
Parental Support Matters? Only 15% of trans youth without parental support described their mental health as “very good” or excellent, compared to 70% of trans youth with parental support. (source)
Transgender people are more than 25 times more likely than non-transgender people to attempt suicide some time during their life? (41% vs. 1.6%) (source)
78% of transgender youth in K-12 had experienced harassment? (source)
Recently I asked my son how our support has affected him since he came out to us two years ago. Do you know what he told me? “I feel confident about who I am. I don’t feel ashamed to be me.”
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Here is an article that may be of interest to readers.
I just feel like posting this, perhaps someone out there is a sufferer.
Do Justice. Love Mercy. Walk Humbly.
Kat wants to know our feelings about Reality TV.
I confess…I abso hate it almost all the time…except for Ladies of London, omg. It totes caught me up in its horror! Its wonder! Its towering banality! Oh how I wish I could hang out with those ladies just for one day…omg.
Okay, I will admit that I also like watching the Bachelor, though I would NEVER date any of those dudes, ever. Or any of the women, for that matter!
And that brings me to the reality of reality tv…it isn’t real, or even close to it. It is heavily scripted, plays to the lowest common denominator, seeks out the worst behavior and emphasized drama at the cost of dignity…I suspect that most of the people that are so awful in that spotlight and the resulting fantasy of “celebrity culture” might actually have a shot at being decent, even normal people if they had the anonymity they should have maintained.
Fame is difficult enough to handle in the best of circumstances. But add in the element of sensationalistic drama, and it is a recipe for disaster.
*Charissa covers one eye, and clicks over to the Bachelor*
Bone broths are given special emphasis among traditional foods circles. Preindustrial societies across the globe have always placed particular and special emphasis on the preparation of the whole animal – and that includes emphasis on using bones for making broth. African tribes placed emphasis on bone broths for babies and small children. In Asia, emphasis is placed on stocks and broths made from fish and fish bones. In Europe, stocks and broths have become the foundation of cooking and are used in not only making soups and stews, but also for preparing reductions, sauces and for braising vegetables and meats.
In traditional foods circles you’ll hear a lot about broth, stock and bone broth – and they’re typically used interchangeably. Bone broth, broth and stock are built on the same basic foundation: water, meat or bones (or both), vegetables and seasonings. As it cooks, the liquid is typically skimmed (although this is not necessary since the scum that rises to the top of the stock pot – off-putting as it is – is a rich source of amino acids) and eventually the solids are removed by straining the stock with a fine-mesh sieve or reusable coffee filter.
Bone broths are extraordinarily rich in nutrients – particularly minerals and amino acids. Bone broths are a good source of amino acids – particularly arginine, glycine and proline. Glycine supports the bodies detoxification process and is used in the synthesis of hemoglobin, bile salts and other naturally-occurring chemicals within the body. Glycine also supports digestion and the secretion of gastric acids. Proline, especially when paired with vitamin C, supports good skin health. Bone broths are also rich in gelatin which improves collagen status, thus supporting skin health. Gelatin also support digestive health which is why it plays a critical role in the GAPS diet. And, lastly, if you’ve ever wondering why chicken soup is good for a cold, there’s science behind that, too. Chicken stock inhibits neutrophil migration; that is, it helps mitigate the side effects of colds, flus and upper respiratory infections. Pretty cool, huh?
Bone broths are easy to prepare at home, very inexpensive (the cost of bones is usually under $2/lb), and are very convenient and simple to make.
Ready to start making bone broth? Start with the recipes below, they all involve the long and slow cooking process that allows for the full release of nutrients – amino acids, gelatin and minerals – from the bones.
My husband and I aim to consume about one quart of bone broth per day, per person. While we start every morning with a mug of broth seasoned with salt, pepper and crushed garlic, we also use bone broth to braise meats and vegetables as well as in soups, sauces and stews.
Bone broth can be stored in the refrigerator for no more than a week. You can also freeze it in ice cube trays, and transfer the frozen cubes of broth to a resealable freezer bag where they will keep for 6 months. Alternatively, consider making Homemade Bouillon.
Typically, all you need to prepare bone broth in your kitchen is a good stock pot or a 6-quart slow cooker and something for straining the broth. To prepare a very clear broth, I recommend straining with a very fine-mesh sieve or a reusable coffee filter (using both in conjunction yields the finest results).
Constance, here is the sad truth: if I was murdered for being trans, I would be blamed, othered, misgendered in my death, and then forgotten as a sad cautionary tale of someone who went cray-cray…and once again the epidemic of hateful absolutely vile demonic murder would continue unchecked by my death any more than the tsunamis are checked by lil old seawalls along the oceanfront.
It is not a joke. It is not just me being shrill.
It is pure unadulterated evil. Killing someone because they do not conform to societal norms.
The post below is my contribution to Transgender Remembrance Day…the blunt and brutal fact that I am worth about as much to towns, communities and society as the dog crap in the street that needs to be cleaned up and disposed of with laws discussed to control the dogs.
Keep on fiddling, Nero…keep on fiddling. You are sawing your own neck in two.
Excerpted from a larger article:
There’s an interesting phenomenon that I’ve witnessed over the past few years. The names of trans women of color will be in the mouths of the queer community after they’ve been murdered, but support for us while we are still alive is sporadic at best. Trans women are pushed out of queer spaces by cis people, dfab genderqueers, and trans men, just to name a few. Women’s spaces are frequently hostile to us because we aren’t “real women” but trans men almost always get a free pass. And I’ve seen more than one cis queer say that trans women are “appropriating” the gay rights movement, totally ignorant of the fact that we started the damn thing. I have seen more than one cis queer say that we have nothing in common with them, that our issues are completely unrelated. We have a hard time finding dates, finding support, finding community. And when we dare to call people out for their transmisogyny, we are labeled crazy, hysterical, divisive. I have been called Austin “queer scene’s” number one enemy. All for daring to share my thoughts on the world around me.
Trans Day of Remembrance is filled to the brim with the names of murdered Black and brown trans women, but is a single evening of remembering enough? And what does it mean that TDoR doesn’t explicitly talk about race and is often dominated by white people? Here in Austin there’s this tradition of calling the names of the dead and then having an audience member sit in a chair that represents where the dead trans woman would sit. The seats are always filled with white people and non-trans women. What do our deaths mean when our bodies, our lives, the physical space we take up, is appropriated by white folks? How can I mourn for my sisters when the space set up for that mourning is so thoroughly colonized? And how can I even see hope of living a full life when I don’t see myself reflected in what is supposed to be my community?
Don’t get me wrong, it’s important to honor those women who came before us, those women murdered by colonial patriarchy. But it seems like more often than not, the queer community at large is content with just remembering. We only hear about trans women after their deaths. And even our deaths are not our own. A week doesn’t go by without a white queer citing the deaths of trans women of color as the evidence of how oppressed they are. These stats are often used in service of their own assimilation; meanwhile, they’re happy to leave us out in the cold. We don’t even have dignity in death, nor the ability to decide what it will mean for us.
Support for trans women dwindles when we are still alive. Nowhere is this clearer than in fundraisers run by and for trans women. There have been some success stories, but they always seem to be few and far between. More often than not, a trans woman’s fundraiser will get a few signal boosts, maybe a couple of dollars and then languish. Meanwhile, trans men’s fundraisers for transition related care often get fully funded. This funding disparity is also clear institutionally, where organizations that focus on the concerns and issues of trans women of color get a miniscule amount of all the money from LGBTQ foundations. This is especially true in the South, where LGBT organizations only get 3-4% of domestic LGBT funding. Again, cis, white, rich institutions are quick to use our murders in their statistics then turn around and spend their money on organizations that look like them: cis, white, and rich. Organizations that push for assimilation.
Obviously financial support isn’t the be all end all action to support trans women of color, but it certainly doesn’t hurt. And the fact that it’s a struggle for trans women to acquire financial assistance is symptomatic of our society’s priorities. It points to who is valuable and who is disposable. At the bottom of this article is a list of fundraisers and organizations for trans women that I would strongly encourage you to support. If you’re not a trans woman and you’re reading this, think long and hard about the ways that you’re supporting trans women in your community. Do you see trans women in public community spaces? How are your actions pushing them out? Don’t think that just giving money nullifies your collusion in transmisogyny. Financial support is important but it is not the only step. As we honor the memory of those girls who have been murdered, ask how you’re helping the living.
In 1937 two women caused a car accident by wearing shorts in public for the first time
I read the following comment on a site where I just spotted this:
No they didn’t. The man driving his car who took his eyes off the road because he was staring at a pair of women caused a car crash. He averted his eyes from the road, he endangered other people and he crashed his own car. This is all the proof you need that we live in a society that blames women for things they ddidn’t do.
Constance…your assignment for today: think of all the ways that we blame shift in our society…because blame-shifting is such a common thing for humans to do anyway (hey, see Genesis: the woman blames the snake, and then Adam blames the woman, and then blames God too…).
But there are huge ways we do that culturally…rape is a good one to look at. Ways that people are either empowered with entitlement in shifting blame to women for being raped, or ways that women are violated even deeper in that they are made responsible for their own violation.
Race is another one…and the issue of “driving while black, walking while black, or fill in the blank while black” and how police authorities then blame-shift their own hatred, or fear, or whatever onto the ones they brutalize.
Religion is another, and it is a veritable tennis match as haters on both sides shift viscous volleys of blame back and forth from “those damned liberals” to “those ignorant fundies”.
And now that you are warmed up…how about just lil old you? How do you blame shift onto others? (Charissa will not comment regarding her own woodshedding with Mama regarding that Q)
I have thought about it for a few days…what I would say this morning, if anything. After all, there are some things that a woman just never tells.
I am different than other women, both in that I am myself and unique, and also because I am myself and transgender…in each way I am set apart, and thus have a strong sense of both my freedom to do or not as I choose, but also my “obligation” to report, to chronicle, to make my best effort to inform anyone interested in what life is like inside the oppression of the wrong gender.
The metaphor is just too perfect: We are, all of us, trapped in a wrong place, in a wrong time, with the sense that things ought to be different, and will one day be restored to “happily ever after”.
So with that said…
55 years ago today, I was gripped and smushed and pushed and eventually pulled into the rough light and harsh noise and frighteningly huge space of this world we live in. I was born July 13th, 1959.
It’s been such a long journey, and yet 55 years is literally nil when considered in the light of the days that have gone before.
But to me, it has been all I have ever known, and so I had a history of being on the outside, being outcast and no one knows, and being condemned to persisting in keeping my heart beating and my chest heaving, and my fruit sweet in the midst of a land that had no air, and weighed a million bajillion tons and was the stark backdrop for growing cactus and joshua trees.
Last year was a year of finishes, and it nearly finished me…so much ended, so many things fell apart in my world, and only a few things remained. At the time, it was unbearable. I would go to the mountains on my bike, and scream myself hoarse. It was either that or die.
Jesus told a church back in the day to wake up, and strengthen the things that remain. See, they had invested in transient things, and ignored what lasted. He exhorted them to get a grip, assess priorities and focus on eternal things.
When we don’t listen to the exhortation, He simplifies our options by removing the transient things…and this happened to me last year, a year of sorrow, loss, and ultimately deliverance.
I am glad to see it end, and so happy as well for the way that Lady Grace took me in hand the last 3 months of the year and rooted, grounded my feet and heart in a renewed understanding of my worth and value and significance to Them, to Her…She taught me to begin to love myself, and thus I can with a true heart truly love others.
I have always associated the number 5 with Grace, for a variety of reasons.
So 55…this is gonna be the year of double grace…Grace upon grace! Charissa (which means grace) Grace.
Moses said to the Lord, in that famous encounter that began with the Lord testing Moses’ heart with the declaration that He was sick and tired of the stubborn nature of the people of Israel.
CLUE: He really wasn’t, but Moses was!! I have found that the Lord often times presents Themselves to me as if THEY are like the attitudes of my heart, in order to mirror to me who I am in that moment.
So here was Moses, pretending on the outside (even to himself) that he was not tired of them, fed up with the dullness and stubbornness, and so the Lord tells Moses that He is done with them, but that He will take Moses himself and raise him up into his own nation of great and awesome people, just like their Progenitor was! (Sarcasm intended btw…this is the same guy that tried to become the great deliverer if Israel by killing an Egyptian slave guard, and then ran into the desert to hide for 40 years!).
But…thank God that Moses had hung out with Them enough to know that when this sort of word came, it was a really good idea to listen with the heart of hearts and not the heart of desire…and so as he thought it over, it became manifestly obvious that it was better to have God Themself over merely Their blessing and protection.
So Moses says this: “Now therefore, I pray, if I have found grace in Your sight, show me now Your way, that I may know You and that I may find grace in Your sight.”
Did you catch that? Moses asks for grace to get grace!
Do you need grace in your life…undeserved favor unending, and the power to do whatever God requires? That is the biblical meaning of grace, by the way…it isn’t some cheap get outta jail free card fire insurance…
The lesson is that it starts with Them, it is by Their power and ability, and it ends in Them, while They in love loop us in to the joy and blessing of Their perfect fellowship.
They include us in Their family.
So…55 years…and new beginnings for Charissa Grace…me, this cursed child of loneliness who has been redeemed from the pit of emptiness, from death. I am walking in faith this year is going to be a year of grace upon grace. The wonderful undeserved unmerited Shalom They have extended over me, to me, in me, thru me, and the power to walk and be fruitful in the land of my afflictions.
I have gone forth sowing in tears. I shall return, harvesting in joy.
And this is the year it truly begins for me…and that is indeed a faith statement!!! It scares me, the gravity of 54 years pulls hard back to the pits of loneliness and despair, but the power of Their love and affection is a strong magnetic irresistible draw.
I cannot resist it.
I do not want to resist it.
So I surrender, and say Happy (yes…for the first time, Happy) Birthday (for I was in so many ways born last year too) Charissa
as I read your posts everyday, I miss the opportunity to comment on your thoughts, and to read and think about the comments of others.
I hope you were not trolled, or attacked…Lord knows that when we attempt to share our understandings of what it means to have a daily relationship with Him (as your post on Friends speaks of! 🙂 ), that is is definitely at times like waving a red cape in front of a bull. Sadly, it is all too common that we bite and devour one another instead of The Word.
On the other hand, if you just got tired of moderating comments…now that can be tedious…although to be frank, comments on my blog are relatively few. But I see the comment stream for the amazing Dani when she has the energy to go all “Rumpelstiltskin” and spin gold from the straw that life has given her…and omfg that must take HOURS!! Cus she gives a reply back to everyone…just like you did.
Anyway, KB…know that I am still reading, and still having thoughts blossom within thanks to your nuggets!
Love and Prayers,
My friend Kat does it again…please stop in and check out her post…oh, and give her a hug from Sista ‘Rissa! 🙂
I know I missed a week or two. It’s hard to find relevant items to share when you are hurtling 80+ mile per hour down a highway with the sound of the Cars movie in the background because the headphones’ batteries are dead and a 4 year old asking, “Did you see that part? Did you see it?” But I’m back.
The link I am sharing is one that my son, Kris, shared with me. It gives readers the chance to see what some of the things are that transgender people face in the course of a day. The interesting thing is that this gives the reader just a nibble of the actual reality. It is interactive so the reader has the choice of clicking which direction the day goes. It’s very simple but I think it makes the point.
Transgender people face so many obstacles in…
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Very telling…anyone willing to take the challenge to raise our children with expectations of worth and value instead of domination and control?
One night President Obama and his wife Michelle decided to do something out of routine and go for a casual dinner at a restaurant that wasn’t too luxurious. When they were seated, the owner of the restaurant asked the President’s Secret Service if he could please speak to the First Lady in private. They obliged and Michelle had a conversation with the owner. Following this conversation President Obama asked Michelle, “Why was he so interested in talking to you?” She mentioned that in her teenage years, he had been madly in love with her. President Obama then said, “So if you had married him, you would now be the owner of this lovely restaurant,” to which Michelle responded, “No. If I had married him, he would now be the President.”
Confession Time: I Have Never Taken A Selfie!
I know, I know…heresy in today’s world. Further confession: I had myself convinced they were (multiple choice): dumb, narcissistic, waste of time, beneath my dignified self (HAH!), etc etc and all of the above!
Weeeeellllll….then along came this lil article…combined with conversation with Heather…and my book by Stasi Eldridge…and I saw that I was a self misogynist!
Didn’t see that coming! Lady Grace is tricky, sneaky! Omfg She set me up big time, because the truth is this…
…I hated myself…
Constance, you have no idea the work and years and tears and pain and sorrow it took to get the “ed” onto the end of the word “hate!”
No, it’s true. From the time I was very young I have never ever liked my picture being taken…ever! And I could not bear to look at them afterwards, and I absolutely loathed my reflection in the mirror. Neatness and good grooming is a very integral part of who I am, and I love to primp and get my hair just so (my baby used to tease me about this!)…but it was just a grim hang on for dear life every single time.
Since finally coming to see and know myself the way They made me and have always known me to be, I can look in the mirror now, and smile genuinely and like who I see. But a selfie??? C’mon, NO. WAY.
Well…the major point of the article is that there are misogynistic powers driving the hatred of the selfie, and that selfies can help overcome that. Oh she says it WAAAAYYY better than I just did, so please, go read her and get the goods from the goddess! 🙂
And when you look in the mirror, do what I do…say “Hi you…I like you and I love you, by the Grace of God!”
Hi Loyal Readers…thank you for your kind attentions and encouraging notes. You really cannot imagine how deeply they encourage me!
BUT: to the ones who start to follow, and it turns out your blog is just a come-on for some business, or some “can’t miss” make money scheme?
PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE!!!
On the off chance that you have read, or maybe will read, I am not winnowing, but I can guarantee you that I will never EVER get drawn in by the promises and lures…
…well, except in one case: Send me $100,000 up front, and then I am all in!
Oh, damn…well in that case, don’t go away mad…just go away!
PLEASE!!! Go check out this project. It is heartbreaking, and inspiring all at once, seeing the devastation wreaked by selfish hate and lust…but even greater the indomitable spirit and raw determination to live and thrive that these amazing women have.
And then…think about all the ways that our current paradigm empowers and fosters rape culture.
Then weep and mourn, repent, and vow to live better.
My counselour is a living miracle.
I have met many who have the moniker…counselour…therapist…and they are practitioners of a learned skill set, and as such facilitate a lot of things, and often even break through the miasma, the myopia, the confusion and clouds of dark unknowing.
But many of these people have pre-existing agendas, unconscious cookie-cutters of inner assumption, and they end up herding people into places and forms that do not result in wholeness.
Some, hide behind the title, wolves lurking in wait for the vulnerable, the victim, desiring to bite and rend and devour to feed their own perverse appetites for destruction.
And of course, the journeymen, working everyday in the field, maintaining and being faithful.
But the counselour I have been so incredibly fortunate to have come into my life…well, she is another story entirely. She belongs to the company of spirit warrior-healer who is counsel, who is help! It is not what she does…in fact it is mystifying to me how when I leave our time together I am so alive, so revitalized and almost trilling with vibrating and pulsing life! I cannot remember anything earth-shaking she said, there were no pronouncements on high of the deep mysteries of my fucked-up-ness…no magician’s tricks to make me feel better to get through more days…
…no, I find myself a bit different, qualitatively! My essence is better, rendered, stripped away and yet dressed up…really words fail me to describe the presence in that place of long robbery and absence.
This woman is Help, is Laughter, is Sparkle in Death’s face and Light on lost and lonely roads, and I will be forever grateful.
I wish you all could know her. Please keep her in your thoughts and prayers, and know that the poem below, Heather is dedicated to her.
Thanks Heather…your loving friend and ever grateful sister,
Maligned and mistrusted,
assumed and embraced
Accused of prevarication,
of spineless stand
and no principles,
kaleidoscope of get along.
The soft medicine between
the hard icy edges
of sky and earthThe velvet comfort of snuggly
drizzledrops in early spring
that fall gently and call out life.
Grey is a mirror to you.
The litany inside during conflict always says to us: THEY need to apologize, THEY need to make the first move!
I am MORE than willing to enter in and work things out…AFTER they make the first overture.
But I ask myself, and you…why NOT me making the first move? Is there a good reason, if there will be resolve, to dig in and make the other person move first?
What does it matter who was first last time…or the time before…if the move itself makes it possible for true resolve and reconciliation?
Yeah…why NOT me?
Yeah, yeah…I know I will hear about it later. Accusations of striking out thru my blog, or trying to wound, or whatever speculation will happen…well sod that! This is my blog, made for me, and I can say what I choose or want to say without reference to anyone else. Because the real issue is ultimately not anyone else…it is me.
Why am I not loveable, or why can I not receive love? 2 different Qs? Maybe. Or maybe the same one.
I think God loves me as a member of the human race and as such I am under the umbrella of His benevolence. But would He die for me if I was the only one? Theology always says yes, and from a theological perspective I will not deny that it is a logical principle. But from a practical experience POV…right now I do not think He would. I think He is much more likely to be glad to be shut of me and off with me and my troubling self.
After all…I am told how thoroughly and completely I am covered in love, and how the real issue is that I just don’t accept it…thus the blame/fault is mine, and thus God would not even bother because He would already know that I would not be worth it. Truth be told, I truly and deeply think that the best alternative for the entirety of my life is that I had the courage and trust to just take my own life and quit hogging resources that could go to others who would be more fruitful. Unfortunately, I do not have the courage to take my own life. I am craven enough to fear that doing so would damn me forever, and right now at least I have to be included by belonging to the whosoever will, so God has to let me come in based on His overall commitment to humanity.
If He had the option? I feel like He would cast me aside as a weak and worthless POS…I feel like He is irritated by my protests and annoyed by my questions about things. As I write this even, I feel guilty and like a failure because so much of this last year was hard, was destructive and took a huge toll inside me, what with the betrayals at work and the upheavals in my personal life…and that a pleasing child of His would just strut around in faith and talk about knowing that just because life is hard that doesn’t mean that He didn’t love them.
How does one know God loves them? How does one know another person loves them? Words can be said. Ah…words. My bane and my glory. But lots of words were spoken to me last year that were lies…lots of words were spoken about me last year that were believed lies. So just because someone says something that makes it true?
Actions definitely become the flesh of words that words wear and find their truest most resonant expression. So…I experience words said to me, and my heart has sooo many questions…what is meant, what is being implied, what is held back…and yet when I ask about them, ultimately I get you frustrated, ultimately you lose patience with me, ultimately you are insulted because I am not just taking what you give me and being made whole…you blame yourself for that, when no matter how many times I have tried to tell you the fault lies in the receiver!!! ME! IT IS MY FAULT!!!!
You get mad…and then out comes the tongue lashing, and silent treatment, and the willingness to value anger more than me, and how the anger and punches and cutting words and absent warmth bleed me out and lay me low, and tear me down. Then it is go time: do I cross the breach, and make apologies, and say that I deserved the (verbal) beating and had it coming to me, and please let’s not be separated? When I do that, you relent, so the issue of the separation is resolved. But the deficit within is greater…and the message even clearer than it was. Do this thing, say this other thing and be received. But woe to you if you don’t, woe to you if you question me, woe to you if you probe or if you do anything in character for who you are. Just take what I dish out or suffer my wrath.
Oh yeah, for real, then comes the counter claim that I do it too, and am just as guilty…what is the appeal of this method? How is that a comforting or empowering defense? I am deeply aware of my failure, my shame, my unworthiness, and pointing to someone else literally has nothing to do with me and how much I fall short and how utterly inadequate and worthless I am. It is such a cop out that I really do not even know what to say to it. This morning, I stayed in bed for over 2 hrs trying to conversate with you…trying to grapple with your words, your explanations and your irritated dissatisfaction with me. Deep inside, I was afraid that you would eventually get fed up with me and punch me in the face.
I am not allowed by you to have issues or questions…I am allowed to either take what you say and just call that macaroni, and keep quiet with my fear, anxiety, desire, feedback over what you said and what it meant to me that was so different than what you say you meant. If I am quiet, how does that even come out? Or, I can talk about the kinds of doubts and apprehensions that rise up because I don’t know exactly what you are saying and what you are not saying…and get attacked verbally for my troubles.
I feel guilty for even being alive. I do indeed think you would be far happier if I was not around to weigh you down and make you upset. I know you will take what I am writing and turn it around on me…throw it back in my face, with the implicit assertion that if I am not perfect in every way then I have no right to say anything to you about how you come across or don’t come across. It is magic: if someone else is imperfect, then by definition you are exonerated and absolved of any responsibility to be honorable, speak kindness, be gentle
Yeah, and don’t worry about people reading this…not one person has replied, or encouraged, or even commented on my last post…because frankly, who cares, right? Stupid tranny bitch is hormonal and everyone around doesn’t want to hear her…see her…or be bothered by her. The voices I hear tell me to just shut up and go die, and everyone the better off…I am just too big of a coward to do that.
So I am here…a source of annoyance and trouble to you, a shameful and irritating burden to God, and daily failure at work and in life because I foolishly allowed myself to hope that maybe I could fit better in this skin.
I encourage you all to read this. It is beautifully and powerfully written.
Another rebog worthy posting
Imagine you have a Rolex watch. Nice fancy Rolex, you bought it because you like the way it looks and you wanted to treat yourself. And then you get beaten and mugged and your Rolex is stolen. So you go to the police. Only, instead of investigating the crime, the police want to know why you were wearing a Rolex instead of a regular watch. Have you ever given a Rolex to anyone else? Is it possible you wanted to be mugged? Why didn’t you wear long sleeves to cover up the Rolex if you didn’t want to be mugged?
And then after that, everywhere you go, there are constant jokes about stealing your Rolex. People you don’t even know whistle at your Rolex and make jokes about cutting your hand off to get it. The media doesn’t help either; it portrays people who wear Rolexes as flamboyant assholes who secretly just want someone to come along and take that Rolex off their hands. When damn, all you wanted was to wear a nice watch without getting harassed for it. When you complain that you are starting to feel unsafe, people laugh you off and say that you are too uptight. Never mind you got violently attacked for the crime of wearing a friggin time piece.
Imagining all that? It sucks, doesn’t it.
Now imagine you could never take the Rolex off.”
|—||The Wretched of the Earth: On Rape Culture (via felicefawn)|
“When Santa’s helpers take pics of themselves is it called an Elfie?”
|—||Richelle E. Goodrich|
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Jesus said, "Walk with me and work with me - watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace." Matthew 11:29 (The Message Bible) . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . A Space for Renewal Program Information and Pastor Robyn Hartwig's Sabbatical Reflections
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