Killing a human is murder. Period.

A woman's body is HER body. Period. UNTILL she is carrying an unborn child. It is inconceivable TO ME that our country that now guarantees civil rights to all regardless of race, gender or sexual orientation applaudes and supports this woman's actions and that we think that a womans right to choose involves the murder of unborn babies. I truly do NO understand that rationale that says a baby still in utero is NOT a human being but a fetus. I do not understand... I am an adopted child who grew up to have two adopted children. THERE are always other choices that do not involve murdering unborn children. Yes every child born should be wanted and every child born should have a good quality of life but not being able to provide the "perfect" scenario for that unborn child should not be outweighed by society's selfish and self absorbed reality. It makes my heart weep to know that society casually accepts this as a womans right to choose and ignores the unborn baby's rights in the process. We have failed women and children alike with this attitude.

The law that Wendy Davis and her fellow “pro-science” acolytes so bravely stood against would have rendered it illegal to kill the child after 20 weeks gestation. And when I say kill, I mean kill. I mean break bones, rip apart limbs, crush skulls, drain fluids, still a beating heart, annihilate a brain that is capable of dreaming, and crush a nervous system. I mean: Kill. As David Freddoso put it yesterday, “Wendy Davis can now say, When the moment came to stand up for smashing the life out of a baby 6 mos into pregnancy, I was up to the task.” This is not an accomplishment of which she should be proud.

By the time that a baby has been in utero for one month, blood is pumping around the body. In the second month, facial features develop, including the growth of ears, eyes, arms, legs, toes, and fingers. At six weeks, the baby’s brain, spinal cord, and central nervous system are all pretty well formed — in outline at least. By the two-month mark, sensory organs begin to develop and bone replaces cartilage.

Three months in, arms, hands, fingers, feet, and toes are fully formed, and the baby can grab with its fists as well as open and close its mouth. Teeth are on their way, as are reproductive organs. In month four, the baby is fully formed, and eyelids, eyebrows, eyelashes, nails, and hair develop. At this point, a baby can suck his thumb, yawn, hiccup, stretch, and make faces. At 18 weeks, the baby can move around, and experience REM sleep, including dreams. At 20 weeks, some studies show, it can recognize its mother’s voice.
This is what the pro choice or in my opnion pro abortion reality destroys. Killing a human is murder. PERIOD.

Pledge of Allegiance

I pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America...

One of the first vivid memories of my father is at age four, rising when he would, slipping out of my room and waiting on the stairs of our Hibiscus pink townhouse on base at Fort Shafter in Honolulu, Oahu Hawaii. This was a morning ritual. It was always early, just before daybreak and I would sit on the fourth step from the bottom and watch the moonlight wink bright and gleaming gold through the windows across the room and the shadows of the palm trees outside the window would dance their own unique Hula on the wall above me. The soft breeze from those open windows would tickle my cheeks and the air would swirl with the scent of Hawaiian Ginger and tuberose. In my minds eye I could always see island fairies dancing on the air.

My  bare feet pressed down on the cool Koa wood step and I hugged my arms around the coffee colored pajamas with tiny ballerinas melted like Degas dancers into the soft cotton fabric. The Pledge of Allegiance was my morning mantra while waiting on him to come. Daddy would start down the stairs and every morning he would pretend to be surprised to find me there. His voice a loud whisper so as not to wake Mama or my younger sister, Kathy.

“Who is that little tow headed monkey sitting on my steps?”

 I would giggle and slip against the wall so he could sit next to me and lace on his black boots and tuck his crisp starched khaki’s into those boots. His morning smell was always fresh from the shower Dial soap and Barbersol Shaving cream, with a hint of Crest mint toothpaste.

Every morning was the same. He would ask me to recite the Pledge of Allegiance. I would smile, begin with a rush and tumble and occasional skip of a word, he would nod, softly correct me when I stumbled. At the end of my recitation, he would pat me on the head, we would stand, me waiting until he got the to door.  He would give a sharp salute, I would mimic his as best I could, the door would close and I would ease back upstairs to my bed and wait until the bugle blowing Reveille sounded loud and brassy clear on the parade grounds visible from our bedroom window. That was the signal for my day to begin.

This was, and still is, a deeply cherished memory that in retrospect represents an idealized moment in time with him. Much of who I am this day I owe to this hardworking, loyal and deeply committed man. His word was ALWAYS his bond. He lived his life in a fashion that has me asking myself on occasion what would Daddy do?  This Father's Day will be Seventeen years since he died but I miss him still. His was the GREATEST GENERATION and the world is a better place today because of men like him. That is his greatest legacy.

Why I"m no longer a Southern Baptist...

The United States Constitution makes clear that citizens of this country can believe anything they wish, whether others find those beliefs laudable or offensive. When, however, the EXPRESSION of those beliefs denies other individuals or groups their human and civil rights, a critical line has been crossed and they have entered into the realm of oppression. When they exert power and control in their attempts to define “the other,”they are then working to deprive others of their own rights to believe as they wish.

The Southern Baptist Convention has a life long history of oppression. The denomination was founded on the premise of supporting slavery. The issue of slavery became a lightening rod in the 1840s among members of the Baptist General Convention, and in May 1845, 310 delegates from the Southern states convened in Augusta, Georgia to organize a separate Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) on a pro-slavery plank. They asserted that to be a “good Christian,” one had to support the institution of slavery, and could not join the ranks of the abolitionists.

Then there is the belief in the submission of wives and women. Of course, Southern Baptists believe their amendment concerning the necessity of wifely “submission” and the wife’s duty to “respect, serve and help” her husband, is what the Holy Scriptures demand. But Southern Baptist slaveowners once believed the same thing regarding the “submission” of slaves and the slave’s duty to “respect, serve and help” their masters. In 1844, the national Baptist General Convention for Foreign Missions refused to license slave-owning missionaries. One year later, that refusal led to the split between the northern and southern Baptists. The southern Baptists were absolutely convinced that the Bible taught that God had divinely sanctioned slavery.

      More than 90 years ago, Southern Baptist leaders in the U.S. opposed the attempt by women to gain the right to vote.  Stalworth W. L. Hargis, a Southern Baptist minister of that era quoted various Bible texts and concluded, "Does this sound like God intended that man and woman should be on a parity in everything, civil, religious, social and everything else?" ("Woman Suffrage," The Baptist Record, XXIV, August 10, 1922, p.6)

      Why is it that a large group of humans who know the Bible and claim to believe it, have missed the whisper of the Holy Spirit on all of the great American social issues of the last two centuries?  Southern Baptists, more so than most any other American denomination, are a cultural tribe with such deeply ingrained cultural biases and prejudices that it is difficult for them to even recognize they have them.

This denomination is once again at the forefront of prejudice, bias, discrimination and oppression, all in the name of Jesus. The points I make about the Southern Baptist Convention speaks to issues of power and control; one they have struggled to maintain over the lifetime of the denomination. These attitudes within the denomination are more about this control and less about the love and grace of Jesus Christ. Each generation of this denomination has had particular groups subject to oppression and each generation of religious leaders has used Scripture to force their own particular prejudices and discrimination on the church members who often blindly follow their teachings without serious prayer and study as individuals.
I have family members and close personal friends who are gay, lesbian and transgendered. Science has proven that this is a biological determination made before birth and is not a choice these folks willingly make and it is clear to me that these family and friends were BORN this way the same as I was born clearly heterosexual. As a practicing Christian I believe that we ARE ALL made in Gods image, each of us and that our differences are here to teach us to LOVE as God loves us, not to condemn and persecute some based on their race, gender or sexual orientation. I think the Southern Baptist Denomination represents the Pharisees of this modern world, caught up in the legalism of the law rather than the mercy and grace that loves each of us. 

As a twice divorced woman I was first the victim of domestic abuse and serial adultery and who was told by my minister that I was not submissive enough and the problems in my marriage were MY Fault.  I was then the victim of lying, adultery and deceit by a Southern Baptist minister who was and still is a “secret” homosexual. It is I who have paid the price of ostracism and lack of validation and worth as a woman within this denomination. Both of my ‘husbands’ retain public roles within the church that has granted them “forgiveness” but shunned me.

      Southern Baptists, a denomination that split with its Baptist cousins to the north over the right of ministers to own slaves (and presently the nation's largest Protestant Christian denomination) "apologized" in June 1995 for their pro-slavery, pro-racist, pro-segregationist past. Measured from the date Southern Baptists began waving their Christian banner for slavery (1845) to the date they apologized (1995), it took them longer to apologize than it took the white South African government to apologize for their segregation policy known as "apartheid;" it took them longer to apologize than it took the Japanese Emperor to apologize to the Asian nations who suffered at the hands of Japan during World War II; it took them longer to apologize than it took the U.S. government to apologize to the 120,000 Japanese-Americans sent to prison camps during World War II; it took them longer to apologize than it took the U.S. government to apologize to the native Hawaiians whose government was forcibly overthrown in 1893; it took them longer to apologize than it took an Israeli president to shake hands with the head of the Palestinian Liberation Organization. Besides which, the Berlin Wall rose and fell and so did communism in Russia, before Southern Baptists finally apologized--an apology uttered one hundred and fifty years, six hundred thousand corpses, and countless lynchings, whippings and beatings, too late.

      I wonder then if in a 150 years or so if the denomination is still viable that the Southern Baptist Convention will apologize to lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people, to Jewish people, to women, and to all the other individuals and groups they have offended?
With religious rights come responsibilities, and with actions come reactions. Whenever clergy pronounce and preach their conservative dogma on sexuality and gender expression, on women, on Jews, and on others, they must take responsibility for the bullying, harassment, violence against and suicides of these individuals and groups.

Memory from the Heart

From the Heart

        For most of my life I have struggled to find my “niche” The place where I belong. I have always looked at the world with a different view than most of the people around me. I  have always felt my perspective on life causes folks to look at me and think what other world did she come from, or how could she think that way. I’m still not sure what I want to be when I grow up.

      But I’ve always known I was meant to be a mother. From my earliest days I gravitated towards babies and as I grew I wanted to be with the younger children.  As an awkward, nerdy, outspoken teen who was often picked on by others, the little ones accepted me wholeheartedly and with unbiased love. I knew I was going to be a mother one day. I just didn’t realize the path my life would take in order to have those children. 

I was an adopted child, but I assumed I would become a parent by the traditional route. I would marry and my husband and I would make our babies. But no matter how hard and often we tried to make them they never came. Then came the day when the doctor looked me in the eyes and kindly said; 

“there will be no babies.” 

No babies? That couldn’t be so , I was born to have babies.  I knew that from the deepest part of me. I wanted to be a mother. I was the one others asked to baby sit, I was the favorite aunt and I was famous for saying “when I have children I WILL NEVER allow or ONLY allow.” I was called to be a mother. 
       I cried for days when the doctor told me that one. I screamed and yelled at God and was furious that he had allowed me to want something that could never be. My husband was disappointed but said he was fine if we never had children. But not me. My heart ached and yearned and needed to be filled with a mothers love.

I’m a goal oriented person and projects make me happy. If I commit to something I only know how to do it full throttle and head on and will not take no for an answer. Ever. So I went home and after a week or few of crying, eating too much chocolate ice cream and more than a bit of praying I came to the conclusion that I could and would become that mother I needed and wanted and yearned to be. 
      This was in the time before Google or internet occupied most of our daily life but I was already a frequent visitor to my local Carnegie Library and they knew me by name there. I took myself to town on a mission and found the section on Adoption in the Library. I read and plotted and schemed on how to do this right. I made reams of notes on what to do, how to do and how much it would cost.  I found a particular agency that seemed to be an almost perfect match for my husband and me based on our particular religious leanings and then I went home and announced that we would be parents. We would just adopt. 

Perhaps it was not quite that simple, but I was an adopted child and my husband knew that adopted children were “normal.”  It took a lot of persuasion and a bit of time, (I'm pretty sure my unwavering determination and obnoxiously perky attitude of YES we can do this just wore him down) but he was finally convinced that it would be the way for us to have a family.

       It was not a simple path; folks looking to adopt have to do things that birth parents never have to consider. We have to PROVE to the state and the adoption agency and the birth parents that we are suitable human beings and that we would be suitable parents. That involved in-depth financial disclosure, medical exams, police background checks and long detailed home visits with a social worker who wanted to know the inner workings of our minds. But after months of these things we were approved. 

We were told with our particular agency that it would take 9-18 months or so, we thought we had more than enough time. Six weeks after that approval we had a vacation scheduled,but my uh-oh feeling kept telling me not to go. We went on the vacation anyway, thinking we would begin to plan the nursery in the months after. Three days after arriving home from that vacation the phone rang on a Wednesday afternoon at 5:40 pm. I remember looking at the clock on the stove. It was on of those early clocks with the drop down numbers on little tiny cards and I heard it make that ka-plunk sound as I answered the phone. It was the adoption agency calling and they had a newborn boy for us if we wanted him. IF WE WANTED him????  Of course I said yes, my husband wasn’t home, but I knew we were getting this little one. The Agency director said we could pick him up the next day. 

That memories of that night remain a blur, I’m not sure of all we did do, There was no local Wal-Mart that remained open 24/7. There was an Eckerd’s Drug Store in a neighboring town that we stopped at after driving to pick up my parents and mother-in-law who were at a conference nearer to us than their home. We got a pack of disposable diapers, a couple of bottles and figured we would get the rest the next day after getting the baby. We did have a car seat, I remember that much. 
     It took a few weeks and the help of family and friends to make a room for that baby boy, but he had our hearts from our first glimpse of him and when he was place in my arms I knew it would take death to part us.

That was twenty five years ago. Last weekend I saw that tiny seven pound baby who is now 6’3” marry his beautiful lovely bride and now my children are three. The years between have been filled with the arrival of his sister four years after him, a dreadful, painful and heart-wrenching divorce seven years later that still leaves me with feelings of failure and unresolved heartache. 
      But I have cherished, loved and adored these children of mine. My heart is full and overflowing with that mothers love. My life is full in ways that are completely indescribable to those who are not parents.  

I have failed, I have fallen, I have made many mistakes in my life but I am a good, loving mother and I know I was called to do this. I believe my children know I love them unconditionally.  I would fight with the fierceness of a tiger and walk through the fires of hell for them.  I love them with all that I am and because of them I am a much better person that I could have ever become without them. My life is blessed beyond measure and my cup truly runneth over.

Journey

Journey

The moon is smiling at me tonight.

A gigantic glowing golden orb; hanging heavy and low in the sky.

He sighs and breathes that summer has slipped away.

Celebrating the autumnal equinox with grandeur and majesty.

We have almost forgotten how time was measured for a millennium,

by the phases of the moon as it travels the sky.

But my heart remembers and whispers to me,

life is just a journey carried on the tail of the moon.

A Man of His Word..

Today is Veterans Day. A day we publically recognize and honor those who have sacrificed much to protect the freedoms we enjoy. It's a day that always brings memories of my father.  To honor him and the life he lived  I offer this little essay on how he affected my life. 

He was born in 1923. To a family rich in history, tradition and honor but poorer than most. By the end of the roaring 20’s his life had become a struggle for survival.  He was extraordinarily bright but as the only son in a family of 7 he left school at 14 in 1937 and joined the Civilian Conservation Corps. He was sent to the lumber camps in Washington state and his income supported his family back in South Carolina.  He stayed there for 3 years working 6 days per week.

 At 17 he joined the Army and was sent back to South Carolina for basic training; seeing his mother, father and sisters for the first time in 3 years.  It was 1940.  After basic training he was sent to Europe and then in 1944 to the Philippines.  he was almost 23 before he saw home again.  He returned a highly decorated war hero.  He married his beautiful red haired green eyed angel in 1951 and  7 years later they adopted me. Three years after that my sister.  He was a man of extraordinary strength, honor and intelligence..  

He spent 28 dedicated years serving his country in the U.S. Army. His world was black and white.  Right and wrong. Day and night. His internal moral compass and life experience determined his life course.  He worked hard and long to make sure his family would never experience the difficulties he had faced. He instilled that sense of responsibility in me. His blunt and sometimes painfully honest manner has become mine.  He NEVER turned away anyone he thought might be hungry, whether that hunger was for food or an encouraging word. He faithfully helped all who came his way.  He was a product of his generation.  The GREATEST generation.  

He loved his God, wife, family and country in that order.  He didn’t tell me what to do so much as LIVE his life for me to view.   

My life with him was never easy,  we often butted heads and then reached an uneasy truce.  I was never sure of his approval but he cared for me.  And I know my sense of duty, honor and responsibility are because he lived them before me all of his life.

He was my father and I loved him.

Master Sergeant Clifton Capers Bull

1923-1996

MY Holiday Tale....

    This is a true story, I am an inveterate people watcher and some might say I am a magnet for all people and things strange and bizarre.  I will not argue one way or the other; I only know I often find humor in the strangest places.

Everyone has a “holiday” tale, although perhaps not like this one.  It’s unique, much like me I think.  It's the time of year when we begin to get warm fuzzy thoughts about what the holidays will be like...

     Wal- Mart, Waynesboro GA , the “Bird Dog Capital of the World.” It is what the water tower says as you drive into the village and there is a silhouette of a bird dog on the tower! It is the only Wal-Mart I have ever been in that has an entire section of its greeting card department devoted to You might be a Redneck if… It was about 8 pm, my daughter and I were perusing the aisles of the Wal-Mart while waiting on the arrival of my son to come and spend the Thanksgiving holiday with his mother. 

     Suddenly in my peripheral vision comes a sight… WE have all seen folks like her. (well hopefully some of us have been fortunate enough to miss this sort of encounter) She was morbidly obese. Now at this point I must comment on weight.  I am no puny little thing myself and I usually refrain from commenting on people’s size, but her overwhelming bounty is vital to the  picture.  I know women who are very full figured or plus sized, they are beautiful, always dressed stylishly, look and smell good, but this woman was not one of them.  She was seated on a scooter; one of those the store provides for its handicapped patrons.  She was wearing those very ugly gray cotton knit pants that are not attractive on anyone.  Hers were at least 3 sizes too small.  Every bump, bulge and bit of cellulite displayed in magnificence. A Lime green t-shirt, it too at least 3 sizes too small; almost covered her immensely protruding belly that looked much like a beached whale…  Her hair, can I just say it was a red color that has never been found in nature, Bold, startling in its vivid hue and in dips and whirls all over her head.  No apparent style in mind.  Her manner and appearance were guaranteed to bring the eye and hold it. 

Suddenly her voice. Loud shrill and with that distinctive, although I hesitate to say “southern” drawl. I have a drawl, mine is soft and pleasant on the ears; most southerners have a drawl that is similar, hers was Not!!!!
      “Ahmm ova heahe!!  No, not theah, tuhn leafttt, not riahht.”
 Are you getting the picture? Coming towards her is a friend. Their conversation begins when they are at least 50 yards from each other.  It was like old home week, they were whooping and hollering, shouting at each other about children, husbands, ex husbands and a “Girlfriend”  Hmm, very fascinating to watch.  I am sure that at this point my daughter and I both had that deer caught in the headlight look. That same look you get when you come upon a wreck or some other gruesome sight; you want to look away, you really do but YOU JUST CAN”T.  This was the case with us.

The conversation continued something like this.  
     “Whaat Ya’ll doing for Turkey Daay?” 
She asked her friend.
 Said the friend walking towards her.

     “Well, ya know my health ain’t been the best this yeahr!’ 
 The scooter redhead  replied in detail....
     Unn huh!  Mine neither.  Me and Roy both been down in our backs, he aint’ worked in the past couple weeks. Th’ doctor told me I needs to get up and do more, but I just ain’ able, You know I cooks for the entiiire family ever year but this year I just ain’’ able.  So you know what I did, I done called and placed my order for Thanksgiving dinner, yep, I did, I called ARBY”S.  Roy ’s picking it up tomorrow. “

At this point, I am visibly shaking with emotion, so is my daughter, we lunge down the next aisle, Finally the hysterical laughter escapes, we are both crying from the seemingly endless giggles, guffaws and snorts that just roll out.

Thanksgiving Dinner!  AT Arbys!  Who knew they did Thanksgiving dinner?   Do you want curly fries with that?  Or Arby’s special “horsey” radish sauce????

  You might be a redneck if…  You order your thanksgiving meal from the local Arby’s fast food restaurant.

  As I often say -"Southern truth is ALWAYS stranger than fiction!"