http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YHRxv-40WMU&feature=list_related&playnext=1&list=SP505BA1F19CCEF7C2

Check out the one with Hitler and Darth Vader! And here’s what I think is my favorite:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mhTd4_Ids80&feature=feedlik

I’m not a *huge* Lady Gaga fan, but I like what I have heard from her. And I can’t stand Sarah Palin…

Enjoy!

http://www.religioustolerance.org/richey01.htm

I really like this website. I’m so excited that they went ahead and published this essay, because I really respect their work and have seen that they are pretty picky about what they publish.  I’m not getting any money from this, but I don’t much care. Just my name here is good enough for me!

“I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive/ Carved my name into his leather seat/ Took a Louisville Slugger to both headlights/ Slashed a hole in all four tires/ Maybe next time he’ll think before he cheats!”

To anyone who hasn’t heard it, it’s basically the anthem to all jilted or ‘scorned’ women anywhere. I’ve certainly found myself in that category on a number of occasions, but I never really found myself wanting to do anything quite *that* severe to get back at any of my exes (or false girl friends, for that matter). Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had plenty of angst that just *had* to come out. In fact, some of my best poetry was inspired by such incidents and relationships, some of which is on this blog (I think…). Let’s just say that Alanis Morrisette and Mellissa Etheridge are some of my strongest artistic influences. But I’ve never really gone out of my way to hurt someone who hurt me.

Actually, scratch that. There *was* the time when I called up an ex’s mother and told her all of the awful stuff he did to me, but that wasn’t my finest half hour and I certainly had plenty of fodder. There were also many late nights with my girlfriends making fun of the guy and burning him in effigy (I’m joking; we weren’t allowed candles in the dorm ). I never did anything as severe as screwing with his car, but I *did* once have to hide mine to keep it from happening to me.

The ex I mention above, whose mom I called, was in a class by himself. When I say ‘class’, I really mean ‘circle of Hell’. This is a guy who would harass any guy who showed interest in me (when we were broken up!) and then swooped in to play the hero when the other guys left me. Anyway, he was in ROTC and had these two guys, I and F, hanging around who were a year behind him and sort of his ‘subordinates’. That’s how he made it sound, anyway-I don’t know how it works in ROTC. The day before I was going to break up with him, I remembered some of the stupid ‘pledge’ or ‘hazing’ things the guys had to do…some of which were pretty stupid. I moved my car all the way across campus because I was afraid that, once I broke up with my ex, he’d have his ‘goons’ key my car and slash my tires. In retrospect, I feel bad for thinking that. Not for thinking that about my ex, because neither I nor any of my friends had any problem believing he would be capable of something like that. No, I feel bad for thinking that about I and F…these were two decent guys who didn’t deserve to be painted as mindless drones who would even *think* of doing something like that, ‘ordered’ or not. I’m sure they turned out well. Either way, we’ve all moved on to bigger and better things. I’ve had quite a few more relationships, some of whom I still talk to sometimes. Sometimes things just don’t work out, however good the guys are. They *certainly* never inspired any nasty poetry.

Speaking of which, I wonder if Carrie would like any help writing her next hit ‘men are scum’ song? Because I’ve got sheets and sheets of the stuff. I’m not an angry person, but I really enjoyed writing about it all. At least that way, I can put the annoying angsty stuff to good use.

My friend J posted this on Facebook today, and I just felt the need to share it. It’s an interesting viewpoint on an issue that has been breaking my heart.

Presbyterian Minster Changes Mind About Gays

I for one am glad to see someone admit to being wrong on Christianity and homosexuality. It breaks my heart how hateful I’ve heard some of my ‘co-religionists’ being. Actually, I should probably say ,’former co-religionists’, because I no longer belong to a church or denomination that would condemn someone for something they can’t control. To be honest, I’m kind of embarrassed to ‘claim’ some of the people this pastor says he used to be and that he mentioned being in his church. There are even some people I used to know who I simply *can’t* claim. Here is a quote from the article that says a lot of what I feel:

The truth is, I was put out that this was an issue. Feeding the hungry, preaching the gospel, comforting the afflicted, standing up to racial intolerance — these were the struggles I signed up for, not determining the morality of what adults did in their bedrooms.

I don’t really understand why it’s an issue either. Aren’t there a lot more important things we should be thinking about as Christians trying to figure out how to best live our lives in service to Christ? I’m not saying that sexual sins shouldn’t be thought of because a lot of them should-things like adultery that can destroy marriages, pedophilia, etc. I just don’t see why this *particular* issue-the issue of which gender a person sleeps with-is really all that important, or even interesting.

I might also want to mention that the person who posted this link on Facebook isn’t really a Christian, but certainly behaves like one. I say that in terms of how he’s treated me and other people in terms of ‘loving your neighbor as yourselves’. I know quite a few people who clearly show the love of Jesus, but call it something else. I’ve also seen people who commit these ‘grievous’ sexual sins you hear people ranting about acting more like a Christian than any of the ranters ever could. On the other hand, I’ve also known quite a few people who claim that they love Jesus and are Christians, but you’d never know it from how they behave. It’s like the quote from Brennan Manning, a priest and author:

The greatest single cause of atheism in the world today is Christians who acknowledge Jesus with their lips, then walk out the door, and deny Him by their lifestyle. That is what an unbelieving world simply finds unbelievable.

I grew up in a part of the US that tends to be very conservatively Christian. When I say ‘conservative’, I’m not really talking about adhering to the ‘fundamentals’ of the Christian faith-things like the inherent sinfulness of humanity, the virgin birth, Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, high regard for Scripture, Jesus’ imminent return, etc. You’ll find these things in pretty much *any* church, although some of the most liberal ones might ‘fudge’ a bit on some things. I’m talking about basically equating Christianity with a political platform that calls people to go back to the ‘good old days’, where women stayed home and were submissive and everyone supported the Republican party. Maybe they don’t say it like that and I *am* slightly exaggerating, but that is kind of what it boils down to now. I know Wikipedia isn’t the most reliable of sources, but this article describes it pretty well:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fundamentalist_Christianity

I’m not saying there aren’t good people in these branches. There certainly are, and I’ve known many of them. But what I *don’t* understand is why some people seem to be more concerned about what someone does in their bedroom or whether or not someone supports Israel politically or whatnot than if the hungry are being fed, the naked are being clothed, and how we take care of ‘the least of these’. Honestly, I think we will all be ‘the least of these’ at some point in our lives. Even if we aren’t, we would do well to treat others the way we want to be treated. That was the main thing my parents taught me that I’ve brought with me into adulthood, and it’s something pretty much every belief system believes in some form. How sad it is that we often forget about this, myself included.

I’ve decided I want to be a mommy. I think part of it is because I see all the happiness my friends have with their kids, or maybe it’s because there are so many cute baby toys and clothes. It could also be because my nephew has a child of his own…which makes me a great-aunt before I’m even a mom…geez I feel old…:) But seriously, this is a big thing for me because I’m 34 and I’m just now realizing that my bipolar disorder doesn’t *have* to keep me from having a child or adopting one.  The biggest thing was concern that I won’t get through the pregnancy without my meds; that, or that I might pass it on. I’m not incredibly concerned with passing it on, strangely, even though my doctors say that the chances of that happening are quite high.  Between me, the fact that my sister (and possibly, one of my brothers) has it, and that my mother-in-law has it too, you can see how that would be.  I’m not as concerned about that because there are a lot more things that can be done for kids that have bipolar or other illnesses. Also, a lot of people with this sort of illness are brilliant and very creative. I don’t know what happened to me.

Still, I can’t help but think about it when I’m around so many people who either have kids or constantly talk about wanting kids, like one of my friends does.  My husband is on board with either having or adopting a child in the next five or so years…which would mean I might be nearly 40 when it happened. I’ve mentioned it before here that I feel as though something must be wrong with me that I didn’t want kids, but looking back I don’t think it wasn’t that I didn’t *want* kids so much as that I felt that I *couldn’t have them* and so might as well just get used to it.  After talking with my sister and others who have similar issues to mine, I’ve realized that the health issues don’t have to hold me back if I really feel as though I can handle being a mother. After all, it’s not like *anyone* is really prepared for it before it happens. I also thought I wouldn’t be allowed to adopt, but I found out that that’s not necessarily true either.  I was worried that I might not be a good mother if I wasn’t perfect, but then I remembered that my own mother had her problems.  She didn’t like to talk about it, but she had depression issues as well. As much as I hate that she had them, I think that made her an even better help to my sister and me whenever ours started. Honestly, I can’t think of a single selfish act on her part in the 21 years I had with her.  I guess you could say that that is yet another example of God taking something bad and making something good out of it, or of things (in this case, my mom’s depression) having some sort of reason. I think I would be a good mother, although I can be selfish at times and want to be by myself. I’m not always that patient, but my sister told me that having kids can teach you these things-patience, putting others before yourself, etc.  I can see it is true in her case. I remember how we both were as teenagers, and she’s a totally different person now. Granted, most of us aren’t the same people we were as teenagers when we’re in our 30s, but a lot of people I know who had kids young say that it forced them to grow up. I can completely see how that would be.

I guess I’m just thinking out loud here, but I would like to see if others have been in a similar position. Have you ever thought you couldn’t have kids or do something else vitally important because of a condition, only to find that it wasn’t true? How did you work around it? Also, has anyone here had a child ‘later on in life’? If so, is there anything I should know? My sister had problems getting pregnant when she was 34, but her twin boys are the sweetest things and enrich her life in so many ways.

I guess this is selfish of me, but I think one motivation is that I don’t want to leave this world and have it be as though I were never here. I’d like to leave something of myself behind, even if it’s in the form of lessons taught or memories made. That certainly isn’t the only reason I’d want kids and I know it’s not really a good one, but it’s still nagging there.  I keep thinking about death, but not in the sense that I want to die.  I’m not sure why, but that’s another post.

Six years since we had the reception in a room that looked like a 50′s diner. It had working jukeboxes and everything.

Six years since our friends ‘decorated’ our car to tell everyone we were ‘Future Porn Stars’.

Six years since we drove through the car wash four times to remove all the ‘decoration’, and still didn’t get it all off. I think there was still a bit of red stuff on the wipers when I totaled that car ten months later.

Six years since my sister called up our hotel room around 9pm the wedding night just to annoy us, because she said ‘we did that to her on her wedding night’.

Six years since we had our bridesmaids’ lunch at Taco Bell.

Six years since I danced with my uncle, which was sadly the last time I danced with him before he died.

And before that was the planning…

Six years since I felt like throwing something wet and squishy at my friend P because she kept bugging me about stupid things like what color all of the food was going to be or why my stepmother was serving alcohol outside the party room. I’d previously not wanted alcohol but decided that I didn’t care.

Six years since I went into such a stress-induced fit during the planning that I went off on P. I apologized the next day.

Six years since I holed myself up in my room for a whole weekend because I was so worried about what everyone would think about all the little ‘frou-frou’ stuff I was *supposed* to do and have.

Six years since I decided that I didn’t give a shit whether the food at the reception didn’t match the room, what my bridesmaids did with their hair or whether or not Amanda’s tattoos were showing.

Six years since I decided that this day was about me and my husband and not how good of a party the director could throw, whether the tablecloths were straight or who signed the guestbook.

Six years since I said ‘I do’, and I still do. So does he.

Hopefully we’ll have six more years of this…or sixty.

-he can’t give me my brain back. One thing I hate to no end is that I feel like I am ‘slipping’…everyone else ‘gets’ things that I don’t, and I keep missing and forgetting things. I don’t want to immediately say it’s because of my bipolar and/or ADHD, but that’s probably the most likely scenario. My doctors have told me that it affects the way I think; I test lower on IQ tests than I did before because my brain works differently (well, assuming it works at all ). Seriously.  I’ve been told over and over again that I ‘don’t think’ or whatnot, but that’s not true at all. I *do* think, I just tend to think so fast that nothing really ‘sticks’. My last few employers-you know, the two jobs I was fired from in two weeks-can attest to that. It’s just so frustrating, because I feel like everyone else is smarter than me and understands everything much better…maybe this is true, but maybe I’m just *different*, not any less or any more. I don’t know.

-he can’t help me lose weight. Well, maybe he can in terms of eating more vegetables and less fatty stuff, but he can’t exercise for me or stop me from liking things like soda and cookies.  I feel like I’ve nagged him enough about that in terms of getting him to buy veggies and fruit for produce, although truth be told I really don’t push anywhere near as much as I could.  Still, I know that money has been really tight for us and that he feels like the stuff we can afford is often the stuff that’s really the worst for us.  He doesn’t say it like that, but that tends to be what it comes out to. That’s not completely true, and at least we’ve been getting more canned veggies. It’s just up to me to actually *eat* them, or to choose them over other stuff when I have a choice.

-he can’t help me get motivated to do, well, anything. I have so many projects I’ve started that I haven’t finished and don’t really know if I will. A children’s book, a novel of sorts, a few other writing projects…at least I’ve had some stories published, although they haven’t sold yet and *ahem* aren’t the type of stories you let your dad read.  I have a couple of tabs open in my browser right now for things I keep meaning to read, but somehow never really get around to it because I’m so easily distracted.  Maybe at some point I’ll stop playing Facebook games long enough to read the stuff I’m supposed to read on Beliefnet for my job, and then read and write on the forum I actually get paid for, and then….oops, got distracted again.

-he can’t get me to stand up for myself the way I need to.

-he can’t ward off my depression or make other people do stuff with us. They have their own lives and I totally appreciate that, but sometimes I just get bored with the same old thing. Boredom often leads to depression with me, and money is a huge part of why we don’t get out as much as before. At least we’ve been able to do more since we got our mortgage refinanced and I’ve been doing more stuff at church. Which leads me to my next point:

-we already do what we can for money and saving, although it’s really, really hard to save anything because of how much debt we’ve had because of my accident and illnesses. He can’t make me feel less uncomfortable when the subject of money is brought up among others, even if it’s not mentioned by name.  At least it’s not mentioned often, since most people we know are in similar financial positions.  It’s when I hear people who are (in my opinion) better off than we are complain about not being able to afford the next tech toy that I want to throw something.  He can’t change the past, which is ultimately what it would take for our money issues to be solved.

That’s just it. He can’t change the past. I know he would if he could, though.  The only thing that can be done is to get to be more comfortable and content with the way things are and to try and improve things from there, but that’s something I have to do for myself. I have to ask God to help me with that every day, if I remember. That’s really sad, ‘if I remember’, but the point is that he can’t do it for me because it’s not *for* him to do. It’s for me, with God’s help.

*sigh*

Maybe I should just stick with new jeans and some bras to replace the ones I can’t wear anymore. That would require a lot less explanation.

On one online message board, a lady was upset about something she’s dealing with in her life. I said that I would give her a hug but, since she’s in New Zealand and I’m in Atlanta, it would have to be a ‘virtual’ hug. Then I thought, exactly how far away from her am I? So I plugged it into the True Knowledge add-on to my Safari browser, and it came up with this site:

www.timeanddate.com/

Basically you can tell things like what time it is in another part of the world, how far apart two places are, what day it will be at a certain point in the future, etc. It turns out that I am approximately 8101 miles away from my friend in New Zealand. That’s a pretty long distance for a hug! Then I just started getting stupid and plugged in a bunch of other places. It turns out that I am about 7857 miles away from Guam, where I was born. I don’t remember it since we left when I was a baby, but such is life for a Navy brat. I’m also 4218 miles from London, 4383 miles from Paris and 5342 miles from Ouagadougou. Don’t feel bad, I can’t pronounce it either.

He told us he had terminal cancer. Brain cancer, and was trying to get the money to pay for one of his anti-seizure medications. God knows I know how expensive meds can be, and how unpleasant life can be without them. And let’s not even mention that cancer made my once-vibrant and active mother practically waste away. I’m sorry I had to put it like that, Mama, but cancer just has to be one of the worst things ever created. That wasn’t what bothered me the most, though. What bothered me the most was that he told us he was a Vietnam veteran and had finally gotten an award letter for money and benefits from the VA (Veterans’ Administration). That war ended on April 30th, 1975. This is October 25, 2010. Thirty-five years, and they were just now getting to him. This disgusts me, but unfortunately does not surprise me. I’m not sure if the cancer was a result of something from the war or if it came on its own later, but it pisses me off royally that someone who took the time and effort to serve our country has to beg on the street for money for his medications. Granted, he was going to get a decent sum as the ‘back pay’ for the time it took them to get their stuff together, but that’s not really the point. The point is that here was yet another person who did their part in serving their country (and the draft was around in Vietnam, so it might not have been by choice), and what did he have to show for it? What was his thanks? A lot of red tape, and that’s better than a lot of other people get. At least he had a home; so many others don’t. It was just so beautiful to me to see his positive demeanor. I think he mentioned being blessed and trying to trust in God about five times in that short, maybe 10-minute conversation. I’ve completely lost faith over much smaller things. Whether he actually wrote it or not, he shared with us a beautiful poem about a rose-about how God takes such good care of small things like that, so how much more must He love us? That’s reminds me of one of my favorite parts of the Bible-Matthew 6:25-34. -

25 “Therefore I say to you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink; nor about your body, what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? 26 Look at the birds of the air, for they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns; yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they? 27 Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature?
28 “So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin; 29 and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. 30 Now if God so clothes the grass of the field, which today is, and tomorrow is thrown into the oven, will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith?
31 “Therefore do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ 32 For after all these things the Gentiles seek. For your heavenly Father knows that you need all these things. 33 But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added to you. 34 Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.

I say that this is one of my favorite parts of the Bible, but it’s one that I constantly seem to forget about when dealing with everyday things. Granted, I have had a lot of trouble with money and other things lately, but nothing even close to what so many other people have. Meeting this man tonight was a good reminder of that, of how I should be thankful for what I have and trust in God to take care of me.  That is one of the hardest things for me to do, to stop worrying and trust. I don’t know why.

Now, I know you’re probably thinking, how do you know he was telling the truth? I don’t, But I’ve heard enough similar stories to know that it’s very possible for someone to fall through the cracks like this. On the other side of the coin, my uncle gets very nice care from the VA in his area for his cancer. He has late-stage lymphoma and has been able to get a good bit of help from the VA in terms of medicine. He, however, is one of the lucky ones. Blessed ones, rather. He was in the Navy for 33 years-a person is considered ‘career’ and eligible for a pension and all that after 20 years. My father gets a pension, and he was in for 21 years. I certainly don’t begrudge my father and uncle their benefits; God knows they need and deserve it. I just wish that the man I met on the street this evening had that fortune. Granted, the man I talked to probably wasn’t in for that long; It takes a special breed of person to do that kind of job for such a long time, especially after having been to war.  God knows, I couldn’t do it. Even so, surely a country that claims to be the richest and most powerful in the world would be able to at least take care of people who had to go to war and come back the worse for it. Again, I’m not sure that this man’s cancer was caused by something in the war, but so many other people have lifelong disabilities as a result of military service.  It’s not only the physical disabilities I’m thinking of, although those are no small potatoes.  However, mental disorders like Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) that often occurs in veterans is nothing to sneeze at.  In a sense, that could be more debilitating than some of the physical problems, because there isn’t really a one-size-fits-all treatment for it. I am all for the military, but I am also all for people who give up as much as they do being at least given what they need to live and have their illnesses cared for.  I know cancer treatment is extraordinarily expensive, but I would hope that people with less serious medical problems than terminal cancer would have what they need to live and work in ‘the civilian life’.  A lot of them do, but a lot more of them don’t. I think that is disgustingly maddening and sad at the same time.  With all the money this country has spent on wars that are based on lies and getting involved where perhaps they shouldn’t, you’d think they’d be able to afford this man’s anti-seizure medication.

I’ve been thinking a lot about death. No, not that I want to die. I’ve had that before to an extent, but I’m doing pretty well now. No, I’ve been thinking about the more ‘philosophical’ questions concerning death.

For instance, I keep unintentionally reminding myself of the sign for the ‘palliative care’ unit of the hospital my mother-in-law was in when she had her stroke this past winter. You know what that is, right? Palliative care is when they can’t do anything else for you and know you are going to die, so they make you comfortable. It sounds so simple when written out like that, doesn’t it? In reality, it’s anything but. I don’t know if you’ve ever been around a dying person…I have, and it’s not exactly something you can see being summed up by a few letters or words. My church also had a seminar about ‘end of life decisions’. No, I didn’t go. I already had a pretty good idea of what they were going to say. It just seemed so…cut and dried when written out like that.

DNR-Do Not Resuscitate. That was the advance directive my mom signed that was put on the refrigerator when the people from the hospice came to get her. In North Carolina, any form like that has to be put up in plain sight in the house any time you have an ambulance or similar come to get a dying person. They would probably keep something like that in her charts as well, but there you have it. It basically meant she didn’t want to be hooked up to any machines or be kept alive by any extraordinary measures. She said that that wouldn’t really be living, and I completely agree. That’s not a life. She didn’t seem to have lost any of who she was up until she died, but how could someone really have their personality and basically everything else that makes them them if a machine is doing what their brain should be doing for them?

Here’s another thing I keep thinking of. When I walked by that sign in the hospital so many times, I kept thinking about how it would feel if you knew you were going to die. Specifically, what would be going through my mind in my last moments, or when the doctors ‘broke the bad news’. Things like, ‘what, this is it? I have so much else I want to do! It can’t just be over, can it?’ How could a person’s life be written up in a medical chart as though it were nothing? Would the world even remember I was here? I wonder if these are some of the thoughts that went through my mother’s mind before she died. There’s no doubt at all that she made a difference, at least to me.

I’m scared to death that I will die, that I will leave this world and it will be as though I was never here. I don’t have any kids, and very well may never have any. My husband is older than I am, and so are all of my siblings. Who would be left to remember me when I died, if all of them were gone and I still didn’t have any kids?

Maybe my nephew Austin would…he’s 21 and really more like my little brother than my nephew. I’m only 12 years older, and he lived with us up until he was about six or so. We used to talk a lot and be somewhat close, but not so much now. Like I’ve said in other posts, I don’t get to see my family that often and he lives up in Virginia Beach. My sister has two stepkids, but they didn’t grow up around me. She also has 4-year-old twins, but they probably don’t recognize me much. They’re still pretty little, but the sweetest little boys you’ve ever met. Sev’s sister has a child, Russell, who will be seven next month…maybe he’ll remember me. He likes to do art projects and stuff with me. I have friends and their families…several of my friends from high school and college’s families ‘claim’ me as one of their own. LOL Panda’s dad actually jokes with me, wanting me to call him ‘Daddy’! So maybe their kids will remember me. But even if they did, would I have made a difference in the world in general? I’m sure there are some people I’m forgetting to mention, and maybe it’s not something I should be thinking about. But here I am. Maybe these questions are kind of conceited of me to ask, but there you have it.

I also wonder, how would someone know when it was time? Or would they? The show Scrubs is hardly a deep and profound series, but one episode sticks in my mind. It’s the one where JD and Turk were planning to go on one of their ‘steak nights’. Some time before their shift was over, they found out that one of their patients wouldn’t make it through the night. He either didn’t have any family or his family happened not to have made it there in time, but whichever way, JD and Turk decided to stay with him rather than go out. They were talking with the patient-who was still perfectly lucid and knew he didn’t have much time left. He might of coughed or something, but I don’t think he had any physical breakdowns or anything. All he said was, “I’m ready to go to sleep now”. Except he wasn’t going to wake up. He knew this. He knew that closing his eyes then meant closing his eyes forever. I just can’t help but wonder, how did he know it was time to go? Or did he? When he got to the other side, would he remember that JD and Turk had stayed with him, or what they talked about? Would he have known when-I think it was a nephew or a son, not sure which-got there, even though he’d already died?

I like to think he would. It would seem to me that you can still talk to dead people and they will hear you on the other side, but they might not actually respond. I remember my friend Binky’s uncle died and she said that she hated that she didn’t get there in time because she didn’t get to tell him she loved him. I told her what I said above, that I believe that he knows how she felt, that now he’s able to know and see more than he ever did on this earth.

I’m not just pulling this out of my ass, by the way; I’m taking it from Paul’s statements in 1 Corinthians, chapter 13, verse 12-
“For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then I shall know even as also I am known.” (King James Version)

I know Paul might have been talking about something else, and there are other parts of the Bible that imply that the soul of a person who dies is effectively asleep until The Rapture comes, but this sort of spoke to me. Binky said that it made her feel so much better when I said that, even though I thought I didn’t know what to say. I know my viewpoint about people who have died still being able to hear or whatever isn’t the most conventional in the world but I just can’t bring myself to believe that there’s nothing else, or at least not for a long time.

I’m also not at all afraid of ghosts. Yes, I believe they are real, but not necessarily the horror-movie types we’ve grown up hearing about. If you think about it, you’d kind of have to believe in ghosts if you are a Christian-or at least, in one Ghost. I’ve seen my mom physically and in dreams many time since she died about twelve years ago, and I believe I’ve heard and spoken to my friend Michael after he killed himself three years ago. One night I heard his voice asking me to tell his wife that ‘this isn’t her fault’. I just ignored it or thought I was losing my mind…it was in that place where you’re not quite asleep but not quite awake either. I put it out of my mind…until two weeks later, when I heard him again, asking me why I hadn’t delivered his message. I told my husband about this, and some of my friends, and the explanation I heard most often had to do with me being a spiritual person and ‘open to this sort of thing’…once I figured out it was Michael’s voice, for some reason I wasn’t scared anymore. Seeing my mom the first time sent me into a panic attack, but seeing her in dreams now is strangely comforting. My sister says she’s seen Mama too.

After my accident, my cousin David told me that I told everyone that I had actually died and seen my mom…I told them that she said, ‘its not your time yet, get back down there’, and so I did. I don’t remember this, but then I don’t remember hardly anything from that time. Even if my sister and husband don’t remember that, it still makes me feel connected to my mom in a way I can’t seem to adequately describe.

I’ll stop rambling and boring you now, but these are some of the thoughts that have been going through my head lately. Sometimes my mind goes crazy just when I’m trying to sleep, and wanders in weird directions. Judging from a conversation I had with a friend at church a couple of weeks ago, however, it seems I’m not the only one who has these thoughts in the middle of the night. It was just so odd but comforting at the same time that she and I had been having pretty much the same questions and thoughts running through our minds…it was good to be able to talk to someone about this without them thinking that I might be suicidal again like I was about three years ago.

Sweet dreams, everyone! Sorry this is so long, but considering the subject matter, I hope you’ll forgive me.