Hesed Love

There are peaks and valleys in everyone’s lives-moments when we throw our heads back in laughter and joy; and those where we have to dust ourselves off, check for permanent damage and regain a grip on reality.

We had a wonderful weekend. Our Christmas party for our church was held locally, so we finally made it this year. I imagined dimmed lights and a D.J. I was dressed in an original Bob Mackie jacket, fur boots and a gold trimmed dress that takes my breath away-sadly, whilst trying to zip me in the back, Dwain broke the zipper-so I went wearing said dress anyway, safety pinned in the back. Black velvet. Vintage clothing, and luckily I bought it for 50 cents. Imagine my shock when we walk into a room lit up like the sun itself. I am morbidly overdressed, and the track lights are making me anxious. I consider wearing sunglasses, but can’t embarrass my husband like that, and trust me-I’ve tried.

So long as we love we serve, so long as we are loved by others,
I would almost say that we are indispensable; and no man is useless while he has a friend. -Robert Louis Stevenson

We didn’t dance, there was no music. No disco ball.

The food was fried chicken and mashed potatoes. Corn. Warm pineapple compote.

No booze. No hard drugs.

Just us and our belove brothers and sisters in Christ. We laughed until it hurt, shed a few tears of compassion-and loved one another. I won a door prize, which shocked the shat out of me. There was no hangover the next day, no remorse, and no time to waste-we were having good friends over for dinner, I had promised spaghetti and meatballs-and we prayed before they arrived, as they are facing hardship and heartache, in their unique valley of doom. We love them so much, it hurts to see them hurt.

I broke into tears over the parmesan cheese. Somehow, the conversation had turned to the Great Awakening, politics, the hardest stuff…and after carrying the weight of the world upon my shoulders (or so it seemed) I cracked. I began blubbering about the Bush funeral. I sat with my dear friend while she watched videos, articles and memes-convinced that I would hear what I have heard from day one- Fake News!!!!

But here is the profound conclusion I came to last evening:

If another truly loves you, and respects your thought process and ability to think for yourself? Chances are that you will be heard. Heard and loved, despite your words, despite the news. She took it all in, calmed my heart, heard me out.

Psalm 136 speaks of God’s steadfast love, which endures forever. The Hebrew word for this is Hesed love. It is repeated over and over in the Old Testament, and written twenty six times in Psalm 136 alone! While no modern word can fully capture the meaning; we translate it as “loving kindness,” “mercy,” or “loyalty.”

Hesed is a loved based on covenant commitment; love that is loyal and faithful. Even when God’s people sinned, He was faithful in loving them. His love for you will remain steadfast-a reality that provides the foundation, therock on which we place our entire lives.

Oh what a foundation it is!


Spoon Man


Did you know that God has an amazing sense of humor?  Well, He does-and I share that with Him; however, the joke is almost always at my expense, and today?  Well today was no different.

It’s about one hundred degrees in the shade, and muggy as hell.  I detest this weather, however, the dog needs to be walked-and I am a glutton for punishment.  Been that way since I was a wee toddler, asking questions that had no answer, (Mary Lou did not take kindly to my constant questioning of everything) packing my Barbie suitcase in defiance-I would run to the Teany’s house-hey, they had one of those pianos that plays by itself, and their home was SO cozy-usually because my real mom was locked in the linen closet.

As a child, I was convinced that Marilyn Monroe was my real mother.  When mom got cranky?  I told myself that Marilyn would come and find me one day-and then she’d pay, oh yes, my mother would pay the price for causing me discomfort.  🙂

So, I’d run to the neighbor’s house, beg for cookies, unpack my suitcase (various crayons and doll heads, no body, just heads) and revel in my independence for the entire ten minutes it took for me to be retrieved-I cried every time Mrs. Teany called mom-I wouldn’t get my cookies, and needless to say?  Mom was not the happiest camper when finding herself interrupted by her freakishly brazen daughter.  I was four, for Pete’s sake.marilyn monroe

Back to our :  I drove down to the lake, thinking it would be cooler, and parked.  The fishing guy was there, of course, as he was every morning -grumbling about the lack of bites; ornery but sweet as they come.

I haven’t been down here in awhile.  Last time I saw a snake!!!”

And indeed I had.  The rat bastard hid under a bush, just waiting for some dumbass to come along-then he’s make his move.   That’s right-and I ran like a cartoon character, as fast as my legs would carry me.  I run from twigs that look like snakes as well, and, praise GOD, people don’t usually hear my screaming-a bit like a Tourette’s patient on crack- I have a really big mouth.


Okay…I always have to pee on our hikes.  I have no problem with modesty (who hasn’t seen a naked hiny?????) but try to plan my spot strategically, avoiding any embarrassment, for the poor fool who finds me squatting.  I came to the perfect tree that would bear my weight, and got down to business.  The only problem?

The fucking mosquitoes saw that gimongous bullseye and went for it-right in between my ass cheeks, they held a bar mitzvah and talked amongst themselves.  Only I didn’t notice until I had resumed hiking.  I tried, like hell, to itch my buttocks-but my shorts were too tight.  That didn’t stop me from repeatedly pinching the area, looking for relief from the painful itch.  I tried to move faster, but it was an entire process folks.

And then it hit me.  This is a job for….SPOON MAN.  Why those words?  I have not one clue, but I can tell you that the picture in my head of some dude dressed up as a spoon, running through the trails of Middlecreek, well, that cracked my ass up-literally.

The laughter took my mind off of the direness; the problem at hand.  I had mace in my front pocket and my phone in my back, leaving not one iota of space in my jean shorts to, well, relieve myself, if you will.

By the time we returned?  The itching had ceased.

But Spoon Man?  He tickles my funny bone, this imagined super hero.

And for that I am incredibly grateful.



So I Creep…


After an exhausting day, we walked into a messy home.  If there is one thing my OCD will not tolerate, it is dirt or mess of any kind.  Since I have been “retired,” my house is cleaner than it has ever been, yet all I see is dirt…crazy phenomena.

We went out into the garden, and that wasn’t happening.  Emotionally drained after a confrontation with Satan’s mistress earlier in the day, I just couldn’t do it-which upset me because it’s a beautiful day, cold and sunny.

My neighbor, let’s just call him Mr. Shithead, decided to lay out some manure (unholy, disgusting and rank) directly beside my home.  Thank you, sir, for infesting my home with what looks like the Amityville horror show.   I went a round with him a few years ago, as the law states the manure must be plowed under within 24 hours-it had been four days.  My mother in law was fighting a losing battle with hundreds of flies in her home, and she asked me to go talk to him (sure, I’m a good mafioso!!)  I was on the verge of a psychiatric facility stay myself, as my husband had, this is hard to say, had hung fly strips!!  In this entire universe, is there anything grosser than a fly strip?  I have had them stuck in my hair, (yes, as a matter of fact I did vomit) stuck to my fingers and remain fiercely opposed to their existence.  Really?


This a horrible picture of me, and I have to say- I’m thirty pounds lighter, but it gets the job done.  No, we are in agreement, there is NOTHING grosser.

So sidetracked, I am.  Long story short, I crawled into the house a withered nub of nothing.  I did what cleaning I could (which means everything that needed to be done) and found myself impatient with EVERYTHING.  I couldn’t calm down.  It is not my time of the month.  It is not full moon.  It can only be one of two things-I am getting sick (God forbid!!!) or I am having a CPTSD flare.  During those flares, there is one and only one thing on planet earth that will help, and that is cannabis, the stronger the better, please 🙂

I did not smoke weed until a few years ago; didn’t partake in High School; munchies?  Not this anorexic, thank you very much.  I had tried it, with my younger by five years sister (yep, I took the heat when mom found like five pounds of grass in my sister’s room) and had fun, but it was by no means a habit.

When I had my motorcycle accident, my sister in law would sleep over one night a week.  We were very close, and she brought me a joint each time.  I was on so many strong opioids, but pot was the only thing that really helped.

I don’t abuse it, and it works miracles with my condition, especially anxiety.  HOWEVER, there are times when I may hit the ganga a little too hard.  Days like today?  Do you even have to ask?  So, on a mission to relax, I took a hit or ten too many.  Yada, yada, yada?  For the first time ever, I was freaked out of my mind.  Paranoid has nothing on the juju I experienced.  I can’t believe I am admitting this, but I walk by my mirror in the dining room.  I catch my reflection.  MY GOD IN HEAVEN, I AM SO PALE, HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE?  Then it hit me, what if I was dead?  What if I was going through the Mandela Affect?  What is the Mandela Affect?  I succumbed to the borderline hysteria.

An hour later?  I had convinced myself that I was living in reality, pale, yes.

But I was alive baby.  I was alive.