Reposted: Hero

Before time was, before I was, He whispered into the void.

I am coming for you.  I will save you. 

There was no Earth.  There was no light.  There was no form, no sun, no moon. 

I am coming for you.  I will save you.

The rumblings started in the midst of nothing, deep and powerful, groaning and surging.  Angels gathered, seraphim and cherubim, warriors readying for the fight.  Spirits culminating, swirling, twisting, fighting, spreading, a tornado, growing, growing, growing, overlapping one on top of another.   The beauty was blinding, terrible, glorious. 

And it was good.

I am coming for you, He echoed through the darkness.  I will save you.

And then there was light.  And it was good. 

Time began.  A nation was birthed.  A world was destroyed.  A world was reborn.  The Father wept, His heart broken over the sheep that strayed, that stayed away.  Still, He loved.  He spoke.  And then . . .

A Baby was born.  There was straw and a manger, a mother and a father. A  Father. 

I am coming for you, He cried.  I will save you.

The Baby grew.  He learned and prayed and loved.  Behind Him, warriors readied for a battle, and in readying for the battle, they fought, spirits culminating, swirling, twisting, a hurricane, overwhelming, growing.  It was glorious; it was terrible.

I am coming for you.  I will save you.

The sheep went astray.  The sheep, which He loved above all else, turned away from Him.    

The Hero rode in on a donkey.  Regal, bearing the weight of the world, He rode the donkey and was celebrated by the few.  He was majestic, yet humble.

I am coming for you, He called from his seat on the burro.  I will save you.

They beat Him.  Lashes across the back, one, two, three.  Four.  Five.  Six.   Seven.     Eight.        Nine.          Ten.            Eleven.              Twelve . . . . .

Thirty-seven. 

Thirty-eight. 

Thirty-nine. 

The crown of thorns dug into His skull, blood running down His face.  Wrist to the wood, WHAM went the hammer, once, twice, three times.  Wrist to the wood, WHAM went the hammer, once, twice, three times.  Feet to the wood, WHAM went the hammer, once, twice, three and four times.  Hoist the wood, slam into the ground, pierce The Side.  He died.  The Hero died. The temple was torn in two, from Heaven to Earth.  God cried out. The Earth shook.  The Hero delivered Himself to God’s mercy, and He died.

I am coming for you, He shouted from the grave.  I will save you.

I turn my back on Him.  I walk away from Love.  I embrace pretty things and I am empty.  I take my life and break it, shards scattered all around me, but the shards glitter and shine.  Pretty.  Empty. 

I gather the shards and offer them to The Hero who accepts them.  He puts them back together.  It is glorious; it is terrible. 

I am coming for you.  I will save you. He handed me the life. 

The enemy is coming.  He has been coming all along.  He pursues me with a relentless passion.  He knows no love, can accept no love, brings no love, but he brings the appearance of love.  He brings the appearance of beauty.  He brings the appearance of wisdom.  I follow it.  Pretty. Empty.

I am coming for you.  I will save you.  The Voice is louder.

I hear Him.  Save me from what?  From you. 

I am coming for you.  I will save you.  He thunders. 

I hear Him.  Save me from what?  From His wrath. 

How?  How will You save me?

Love.

The enemy is destroyed by a Breath.  The enemy is destroyed by a Light, glorious, terrible.  He is destroyed by the Word.   In a moment, the blink of an eye, in the whip of a hummingbird’s wing, the enemy is defeated.  Like that, it is over, that quickly.  I have been retrieved from the maw of death, plucked from its very edge.  He came for me.  He saved me.

He is my Hero.  He stands tall, His power so great, so terrible, so glorious, and it resonates throughout the Earth and none can withstand it.  There is no discrimination, only Love.  He came to save us all, each person, each heart, each soul.    

It all began before it ever began.  My Hero.  Happy Birthday.   

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Technology + Jimmie = HAHAHA, no.

The other night I used the GPS on my phone to find the restaurant that was hosting a party for me and some friends.  If you know me at all, you can just stop reading because that sentence will tell you the whole story.

After loading the address into my phone, I whizzed down Murfreesboro Pike at high rates of speed, certain that I knew where the location was.  I was looking for the 1000 block and had just passed the 1200 block, so I knew that I would be on time.  The next time my GPS updated, I was in the 600 block and I was instructed to make a U-turn.

I cruised up Murfreesboro Pike at high rates of speed, certain that I knew what had happened.  I had just driven too fast and not paid attention.  On the 1000 block, my GPS instructed me to make a U-turn.  “Narrowing the window,” I thought.  “Still have plenty of time.”

I sailed back down Murfreesboro Pike and when the GPS instructed me to make another U-turn just one street later, I was confused.  I had just been there and U-turned.  There was nothing in between except an abandoned car lot and since I was looking for a restaurant called “Honduras,” not a car, I felt prickly.  In the abandoned car lot, I thought I should recheck the address to make sure I had it right.  I cleared my search and re-entered my data.  I was again instructed to U-turn and motor eight miles down Murfreesboro Pike to the new destination.  Oh.  Just a glitch.  No problem.

Six times I U-turned.  SIX TIMES!  I drove all the way down Thompson Lane and all the way up Murfreesboro Pike, FOR AN HOUR, and do you know I never found that damn restaurant with that damn GPS.

I called my friends who were already at the party, all the ones who found it with no trouble at all, and said mournfully, “I’m just going home.  I have the present in the car, I’ll give it to you later, but I cannot do this.  I don’t know who thought it was a good idea to invite me to a place I’ve never been before because we all know how handy with a map I am, but forget you people.  I’m done.  This sucks.”  And then I slammed down the phone like a recalcitrant teenager and cried.

Before you judge me too harshly for my lack of navigational skills, let me tell you about my phone.  I got this stupid iPhone a couple of years ago because I kept hearing how great it was, how it would change my life, how I’d never be able to live without one again.  And to be fair, it really has changed my life.  Really.  Just not in any good ways.

When I call Madre, and I do this daily, without fail my phone will do one of several things:

  • Hang up on Madre
  • Put me on mute with no indication at all, leaving me to blather into empty space and Madre to wonder if I suddenly expired
  • Put Madre on hold with no indication at all, leaving Madre to blather into empty space and me to wonder if she suddenly expired
  • Dial Madre in on FaceTime after hanging up on her in our regular phone call
  • Put Madre on hold and dial my step-mother
  • Put Madre on hold and text Airport Parking, twice
  • Put Madre on speakerphone, so that suddenly she is yelling in my ear

I have not had a conversation with my mother in a year and a half where one of those things has not happened.  Not a single conversation.  For a while I thought it was because the phone was touching my face but I’ve since learned that my fluffy hair is enough to set it off as well.  We are at the point now where after I’ve dialed my mother back after hanging up on her for the second time, she answers by saying, “You hate your phone, you want to smash it with a hammer, I know, so back to your party . . .”

And then! Just the other day, when I was off in the bathroom fluffing my hair, one of my cats got too close to the phone and dropped some fur on it and that was enough to turn on the voice-activated system which then informed me it was “Dialing, La Paz Catering.”  What the F is La Paz Catering?

To add insult to injury, when I want my phone to be particularly touchy and capture every nuance, say, when I’m texting during a weekend with My Girls, the phone refuses to do it.

Like for example, when I’m texting Pee-tah, my phone might say: Can I have a pizza number?0

And Pee-tah might respond:  a pizza number?

And my phone might say:  I think we set tryint to order pizzazz

And then Pee-tah might say: Have you been drinking?

And then my phone might say:  Oh yes.  Verizon cards against humanity. Pee-tah my lips are numb.

Honestly, it’s disturbing how my phone just messes up all my communications . . .

Pooh recently asked me if she could have my phone.  She’s twelve now, and the last of all her friends to get a cell phone.  She’s pleaded her case thoughtfully and politely, pointing out all the ways it will be helpful and keep her in touch with her parents.  And I have thoughtfully and honestly considered her request.  Give my old phone to Pooh, the phone I consistently want to smash with a hammer, the one that has yet to keep me in touch with my parents, the one that gives me bad directions more often than it gives me good ones, and get a new non-iPhone that might let me finish a conversation with my mother in a single phone call?

Hell yes!  It will teach Pooh patience and maybe how to use a map when she realizes the GPS is crap, stuff that every 12-year-old needs to learn.  Merry Christmas, Pooh!  You got yourself a new phone!

As an epilogue, I’ll tell you that once I told my friends I was no longer going to attend the party, they called me back with some landmarks for which to look.  “We are right behind the Dollar General Market, in the hidden shopping center.  Want us to send out a search party?”

I made one last pass down Murfreesboro Pike, creeping along, wind no longer whipping my hair all around, and looked at every store front.  I finally found it, an hour and fifteen minutes after I passed it the first time.  I drove two hours that night for a party that lasted 90 minutes for which I arrived an hour late.  I had a really nice time, though.  I guess that’s all that matters.

Repost: I Nearly Forgot!

I took my nieces to a party with me recently.  It was one of those parties where everyone is supposed to bring some food and then all the men bring bags of chips but no dip and all the women bring cake and sausage balls and some crock pot stuff that has been simmering all day.  When I picked the girls up, I asked them what we should contribute and Pooh said, “Chips and dip.”

“No, that is boy food.  Pick something else.”  She’s not yet a teenager so she hasn’t attended enough parties to learn the rules.

“Cream cheese and olive on crackers?” she suggested.  I nodded, both at her embracing of the stereotype and at her delicious selection.

“Okay, Tigger, what else should we get?” I asked.

She thought about it long and hard and then came up with her best, most sophisticated snack.  “Pudding cups!”

So we had cream cheese and olive and pudding cups at our very grown up party.   It was fantastic.

I’d have written a much better post for you today but I’ve spent some time this week barfing.  Accompanying the barfing were the hot flashes that turned me the color of glue and also made me sweat in very fast and unpleasant ways.  Just yesterday, when it came on like gangbusters, I had to strip down to my matching undercrackers and lay my skin on the cool tile in the bathroom at work so as not to pass out.  I do not want to hear about the germs I picked up down there, nor do I want to hear all the ways that is unsanitary.  I was not in my right mind, y’all, and I will be forgiven for it.  Plus I was nearly nakey at work which is humiliation enough.

Instead of a new post, though, I’ll give you an old one.  Reposting from December 2012

I Nearly Forgot!

Way back in April when I found myself in a state of unemployment, I began the laborious process of cleaning out my office space.  I am a firm believer in moving right into a work environment and what I don’t store at work, I like to schlep back and forth on my person or in my car.  I have, at minimum, a purse, a lunch bag, a computer bag and a makeup bag with me every day.  You never know when you might need any of those things.  And in my car I have a bag of clean Ziploc food containers, a Bible, a book, a sweatshirt, an umbrella and some tote bags.  Those are my everyday items.

Currently my non-everyday car items include: a wooden canvas frame, a stereo which is the last remaining gift my ex-husband gave me (we divorced in 2004), school books from when I volunteered at the Adult Literacy Council (have not done that in two years), a bag of towels, a ceramic sheep, shoe cleaner, Tigger’s car seat and some twine.  (I don’t know either.) (I don’t have the toilet handle in my car anymore because we used that.  And my potty still works!)

Also, and this is where this gets important, my car still contains every item I had stored at my last job.  The day that I was delivered the news that they could not keep me (and their loss, btw) was the day I started packing.  What a process that was.  If my car items are any indication, you can only imagine what I stored in my office.  Unfortunately, there was much crying and wailing with cloudy tear-filled eyes as I packed my car so most of that stuff was unceremoniously flung into the trunk with a few curse words but no planning.  I haven’t given it much thought since then, mostly because I don’t want to.  I don’t like reliving that. 

Every now and again I’ll have a vague notion of something I am missing.  I’ll remember having a really nice tape measure or the cutest picture of Pooh, and then I’ll remember that I had it at my former office which will cause me to lose any interest in finding it because I will remember what my trunk looks like. 

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However, Christmas.  It rolled around like it seems to do every year.  I am decidedly not in the Christmas spirit this year.  I do not have a tree decorated.  I do not have snowflakes hung.  I do not have my Christmas baking items out.  I do have some snowmen salt and pepper shakers on the table, though, because they were in a closet and I ran across them one day.  Until Sunday, I had baked no cookies or treats and I only did it on Sunday because I had to for a party.  I am a Grinch.

Two weeks ago I thought I would bite the bullet and dig in the trunk of my car for something.  I have no idea what because as I was digging for it I caught a glimpse of pink glitter. 

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Oh!  Oh I was so excited!  Glitzen!  I dug him out and he is now standing proudly at my desk, bringing Christmas cheer. 

Like last year, my new co-workers are appalled.  My new boss, who needs a name, was discussing Very Important Work Items with me and as we were conversing she kept flicking her eyes from me to my reindeer.  It don’t know how she didn’t give herself vertigo, it was so fast and furious.  Finally she whispered, “What is it?”

I tied a jaunty bow around his neck this year.  His horns are a little worse for wear, being smushed under all that stuff I threw into my trunk in my hissy fit rage.  But he is here, warming hearts and bringing some much needed color.  If I am going to be a Grinch, I will at least do it in style.

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 Merry Christmas, y’all! 

December 2014 – Glitzen is in my new office now.  Here’s his spot . . .

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Dating at 42

June – Conversation with a snappy dresser

Dandy:             Would you like to go to dinner and movie?

Jimmie:           Sure, I’d love that.

Dandy:             Great.  Meet me there. Do I need to bring money for you?

Dandy:             Oh, and wait.  You’ll kiss me, won’t you? I don’t go out with girls who don’t kiss on the first date.

July – Series of conversations with a lovely, tall man

Tall Man:         Jimmie, I am so glad that Freddie introduced us.  You are amazing.  I’ve never met anyone like you.  <grinning and blushing the whole time>

Jimmie:           I . . . thank you.  I’m glad she introduced us, too.  <also grinning and blushing the whole time>

Tall Man:         Gosh, I like you.  This is crazy.  It’s wonderful.

Jimmie:           Hee!

Tall Man:         Also, I’m 90% sure I just want to be friends.

Jimmie:           Huh.  In that case, I’m 100% sure I don’t want to be friends.  I already have a lot of friends.

October – Texts with a man with whom I had one perfectly innocent date months ago

Delusional Pervert:     Hey . . . .

Jimmie:                       Hey

Delusional Pervert:     I miss you

Jimmie:                        . . . . okay . . .

Delusional Pervert:     Are you busy tonight?

Jimmie:                       Not particularly.  What were you thinking?

Delusional Pervert:     I could come over . . . .

Jimmie:                       Uh, no.

Delusional Pervert:     But, XOXO

Jimmie:                       You know what, no.

Delusional Pervert:     🙂

Jimmie:                       What is my name?

Delusional Pervert:     Sweetie, XOXO

Jimmie:                       I’m serious.  You’ve been texting me randomly for months, clearly my number is in your phone, and you haven’t once said my name.  What is it?

<Five minute pause>

Delusional Pervert:     I don’t remember . . .

Delusional Pervert:     Look, we can be FWB.  I just really want sex.  XOXO

Jimmie:                       You’ve got to be kidding me.  I’m not your girl.  Get lost.

Delusional Pervert:     (and this part just slays me) Okay

November – Emails with another lovely, tall man

Man:                Email, email, email, question?, email, hahahaha!

Jimmie:           Chat, chat, chat, question?, question?, Chat, email, smiley face

Man:                Oh, email!  Email! Haha, love it, email!

Jimmie:           Blather, blather, blather, talk, email, blather, haha!

<This continues for some days.>

Man:                Email!

Jimmie:           Email!  Also, I know you’ve seen my blog and all my pictures but here’s one we just took today at the beach.

<radio silence> <dead air> <fade away blow off>

Show me the sexy in this.  There is no sexy in this!  There’s no sexy in me at all, is there?

Other dating posts here, here, and here.