Tag Archives: Faith

The Few, the Proud, the Many?

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It’s 4:23 am, another sleepless night.  I just finished watching  “Sister Wives.” Now I don’t know a whole lot about anything, but day-um! Those ladies are leading one drama-filled life.  Watching that show made me feel a tiny bit better about my own train wreck of a life.  Ha!  Those four wives are crazier than hell to be married to that dude.   He reeks of “self-centered-to-the-extreme.”

I can barely contain jealous feelings which at times have come up for me over my man’s ex partner(s).  How would I ever survive living in some sort commune-compound with 3 other sister wives to share a husband?  Oh Hell no!!!

There was so much drama on this show it was painful to watch.   All these wives saying that they are best friends with each other and between them there are 18 children.  It was all so bizarre.

The pimp, I mean husband Kody, seems like a real a$$hat.    Three out of the four  of the wives Janelle, Robyn, and Christine are excluding the last wife Meri from their brand of fun and Reindeer games.   I felt so bad for Meri.   I found myself wanting to talk to the TV and yell,” Run Meri!”  “You’re the only one who realizes this is screwed up!”

Now I’m not sure why polygamy isn’t legal in other states? It must have to do with something in the Bible. Why is it that  certain parts of the LDS Church are cool with polygamy? Is it for the husband to maximize the potential for assets like acquisition of land? labor? If so, why would women be down to freely enter into such an arrangement? What benefits are they getting? Do those benefits outweigh the emotional BS they have to put up with like knowing their husband is in the next house making another woman squeal?  No one can tell me that these women can be okay with sharing their husband; sexually or otherwise.

I’m trying hard not to judge this lifestyle because I do not understand and/or get it. It just seems to me like legitimized infidelity to me, for the husband.

I mean, there are tons of husbands in  America who take on numerous mistresses behind their wives back because they have chosen to be unfaithful to their marital vows.  However, most of them are not flaunting it in their wives face to cause undue emotional harm. Not that it makes it okay.  It most certainly does NOT.  But ahem, I’m scratching my head about why these women want to sign up to be part of a harem? WTF?

What do you think about polygamy or open marriages?  Do you think the people who are in them are truly happy?

 

 


From the whip to the Word

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“Do not love the world or anything in the world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in them. For everything in the world—the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eyes, and the pride of life—comes not from the Father but from the world. The world and it’s desires pass away, but the man who does the will of God lives forever.”

1 John 2: 15-17 NIV

 

I’ve been watching “A&E’s “Leah Remini: Scientology and the Aftermath” for the past 3 seasons.  Although I’ve never belonged to a formal established cult per se, I understand about Stockholm syndrome, brainwashing, love-bombing, gas-lighting and other techniques that are employed by cults.  Remini frequently talks on the show about how when she was in Scientology she truly believed in it, and also thought that people on the outside weren’t as evolved.   This had much to do with being submersed in a subculture that is insular in nature, designed to promote itself and keep its members in.

When I first entered into a relationship with my ex, who I later discovered was a sociopath and sexual sadist, he convinced me to “try out” BDSM.   The way he introduced the concept was cunning.  He said that of course he would be my Dominant and the one in charge and that I would be his submissive and the one responsible for attending to his needs. That was never off-putting as I am a very caring person and it’s in my nature to want to be a care-taker.  The thing that he pitched to me is that I would have complete control over what we did.  The ever so clever ‘illusion of control’.  Nothing would happen that I didn’t want.

This, as I would later find out was a flagrant lie.   As time pressed forward he never respected my no.   I would come to find out I didn’t even have one.   He did as he pleased.   Think “50 shades of Gray” but with Ted Bundy cast in the leading  role.

I don’t think I would have entered into it at all, save for the fact that I was desperate to feel loved.  He was saying all the right things at just the right time.  I was in an extremely vulnerable place.  I had just come out of a very physically and emotionally abusive relationship.  My son’s father had been cheating on me which had paralleled nearly our entire relationship, I lost part of my cervix due to his cheating.  He had beaten me so badly once, my tooth had gone through my lip.  He had locked me in rooms and refused to let me out to use the bathroom. He had locked me out of the house in the winter in freezing temperatures without a coat.   He threw a razor at my head leaving me bleeding, crawling out of the house searching for help from passing cars on the street.  I ended up with staples in my head to suture the wound.

Looking back when I left my son’s father, it was as if I was swimming in shark infested waters with a fresh wound. I was a beacon for a sociopath like the sadist narc with whom I became involved. .

Somewhere during my relationship with my son’s father is when I had stopped going to church and praying.  I felt so lost.   I felt so abandoned.  When I met the narcopath I was like a deer in headlights.  He appealed to my intellect as he told me, “this may sound crazy but an alternative relationship when done right can,  because of the risky situations it entails,  actually forge a stronger and closer bond between a man and a woman than a typical “vanilla” relationship ever could.”  It sounded so good! Closer I thought? Well slap me silly then sign me up for that.  Me the girl who has been starving for love and attention her whole life.  It almost sounded like the promise of coming home.   He encouraged me to do my research online.  I did.   It seemed like it may actually work at the theoretical level.

Boy was I wrong.   I will have to repost the horror show of what happened during that relationship at another time.

Like Leah Remini while she was in Scientology, when I was living the BDSM “lifestyle” via this D/s relationship I believed that it was a more self-actualized way of being.   A small part of me actually felt superior to others.   That I had discovered that by giving into hedonism, and accepting carnal, visceral pleasures that I had reached a higher plane of understanding somehow.   That I had let go of the entrapment and bondage of guilt and shame that my Catholic upbringing had pummeled into me.

It has taken 7 years of distance from that BDSM D/s lifestyle, therapy, emptiness and utter despair to realize some things:

One, the so called bondage I thought I was leaving behind of shame and guilt,  I ended up trading for actual leather straps being chained to this sicko’s bed getting whipped, caned, spanked, or otherwise beaten so that he could get an erection.  He was sexually impotent without the use of violence as he was a sexual predator.

The truth is the guilt and shame was always there in me because the goodness of God had never left me and I felt ashamed about what I was doing as I knew God would be disappointed.  I was also disappointed in myself.   I secretly wanted a better life but never believed I deserved it.

Secondly, I was not better than vanilla and/ or God fearing people.  Quite the opposite, I was falling deeper into sin and sexual immorality but just could not see it at that time.  Many in that subculture are atheists, agnostics or living very compartmentalized lives; it is my belief they don’t see themselves as sinning.   A sort of denial I guess.

Finally,  the good news isn’t too good to be true.   Even a sinner like me can change.   That sound of the promise of coming home?  That has to do with salvation.  No one but God knows who will be saved but Scripture is pretty clear on one fact:

”Jesus answered, I am the way and the truth and the life.  No one comes to the Father except through me. “ 

John 14:6 NIV 

It has taken a long time for me to see more clearly, I am beginning to see more clearly.  I have a long long way to go.  What I find ironic is that I was partly on the right track.  I should have been on my knees, but in prayer.  I should have been being a submissive, but to the Lord Jesus Christ.  Jesus can save me from despair, He can heal me from my sorrow, He can show me an enduring love like no one here in this world can.  Reconciling and restoring the strong relationship with Christ that I once had is the best decision I have decided to make.

I’ve been looking for love in all the wrong places.   God was always there ready and willing to love me.

 

 

 


Timely words

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Jesus called the crowd to him and said,

“Listen and understand. What goes into someone’s mouth does not to defile them, but what comes out of their mouth, that is what the defiles them.”

-Matthew 15:10

Though written so long ago, this is an especially timely message.

 

 


The God Sessions

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When I was a little girl, I used to say my prayers every night before I went to bed.  I was raised Catholic and so I started my prayers by making the sign of the cross, “ In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.“

I would then recite the Lord’s Prayer also known as an “Our Father” then move to a “Hail Mary.”  It was more to help me understand each word as well as to remember the prayers.  When through with those,  I would start asking God to bless my mom and dad,  brothers and sisters, and grandparents.  Then I would start going up our street mentally and ask for blessings for all my friends and their moms and dads, their brothers and sisters  (all by names) until I went down the whole block.  Then I got to my teachers at school, pets that lived in our neighborhood, special intentions for anyone I knew that was ill.  I included the children that were starving in Africa. Every night when Mom had to scrape our dinner plate into the trash she reminded us how there were kids starving in Africa and how they gladly would eat all this food that she was scraping off.  Then I always asked God to please help the person who needed it the most.    I wanted God to help that person first as I knew someone always has it worse than another.

During the day I had an abundant prayer life as well but it was a bit more quirky.  It was magical-thinking meets superstition meets magic 8-ball.

I would stand in my driveway by myself with my basketball and talk to God. In these God sessions I’d ask him important stuff as well as the very mundane.  No question was too big or too small.   Like,”are my parents going to let me sleep over Cindy’s house?” Then I’d hurl the basketball up into the net.  Mind you my little body and hands were so small I had to throw underhand.  If the ball went in the answer was yes.  If it missed that meant God was saying no.

If I was really disappointed with God’s answer, as the case sometimes was, I would say, ”let’s do this three times and 2 our of three times will decide.”  After doing  best out of three,  I would finally have acceptance at that point.

The thing was, I truly believed that God was speaking to my 8-year-old self through that basketball net. It wasn’t hocus pocus. Only now in retrospect do I feel a bit silly.  But only for a moment.  The larger part of me feels wistful and wishes I could go back in time and recapture that time again.   My faith was strong then.  I had such a deep connection to God.

I’ve had prayer life and deep faith for most of my life.  Now,  I feel so lost and don’t know how to get that back.  I’m scared.  What if I can’t? Maybe its the evil one whispering that to me?  But if I can get my prayer life back, how do I?  how?

 

 

 


spērō

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Hope is the only thing stronger than fear.


Compass Rose

It’s still the same I suppose. Every spring as Easter approaches. I drive past the various Churches, with their steeples acting like beacons, sending their Celestial signal up towards the heavens. I pass there aching to go inside.

The ache rises in my chest as I pass, and then my heart sinks as I sit glued in my seat. My blood runs cold as I nervously think that ‘maybe I am unforgivable’.  How dirty I feel. Less than. Not quite good enough to stand next to any of the people donning their Sunday best.

I ache for closeness with Him like I once had. The only One who ever deserved my whole heart, who ever deserved my obedience and love.   He was the only One who would never betray me.

I can’t remember when I had stopped talking to Him.   Some call it praying.  But it was more than that to me.  It wasn’t rattling off a bunch of rote prayers, though that was how I had begun.  We were close back then.  It was like a friend that was sitting at the foot of my bed, just as real as you are reading this now.  I’d talk about everything.  Then listen.   Oh yes, He would answer.   He spoke through my intuition, I believe.  Sometimes I would ask for a sign.  Sometimes He would give me one:  a gentle cool breeze on a hot night or a small butterfly dancing at my window just as I would ask.

I had stopped going to church.  No one particular reason really and not in anger either.  Then a few years later I had stopped praying.   Other things had seemed to take precedence.  It was like one day He was just gone.  You see, it wasn’t an event, rather it was more of a process. Like most good things in life that slip away.

When I tried praying again?  it felt empty and perfunctory like I was running through mathematical computations.  Something was severed.   And I knew it hadn’t been severed by Him.   That pain of knowing what I lost has been unbearable.  The emptiness, nothing thus far can fill.

A thousand miles I have strayed off that chosen path on which I should have tread, maybe more.  It is easy to get lost out there in the darkness. Still easier to stay lost.

I don’t know how I will get back to Him.   I’m so far off course and a compass rose made only of hope in my grip.   I hope that He finds it in His heart, to forgive me.   Hope that this prodigal daughter can come home.   Hope that lost Faith will be found.

 

 


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