Tides of Change

Change is an inevitable fact of life and always brings with it a revised normal. Sometimes it slides in, unobserved, and other times it hits us like a bolt of lightning. Then, there is a combo effect that happens in real time, but in slow motion, like a tsunami as we watch in disbelief as the coming wave forms in the distance and we stubbornly cling to denial, hoping that what we are witnessing is not going to wash over us. 

My new normal, for the past year, is to go out into the fray only once a week. Some of this is the natural loss of stamina from age but mostly it's about hating to have to go along to get along. I make a list and plan my mission with the precision of an explorer heading into uncharted territory.

On a recent acquisition list was a couple items from Hobby Lobby so that was my first stop. Here in Georgia there was never a government mandated mask policy but left up to individual businesses. Which, of course, being mostly corporate franchises, all require masks so I have had a mask in my purse for over a year now. It's looking a bit ragged and not especially hygienic. For me it is symbolic of performance art anyway. For several months I have noticed folks walking around with their noses exposed. If I am on an aisle by myself, I pull mine down completely. I like/need oxygen more than being a performer in political theater. 

It seems as though this is going away, however, as the mandate now shifts from mask to vaccine, I recognize this big illusion/lie that we are now forced to live under as the guise of 'safety' and 'caring about others'. It is the ultimate, though super subtle, replacement of following the true God with the god of Self-Righteousness. We don't have to trust the real God anymore if we pledge our allegiance to the god of all things safe. Life imitating art - feeling more like the Matrix everyday. 

Even scarier, though, is that it also resembles what I see as slow slide conditioning for the next step.  

Full disclosure, though I could declare protection by the HIPAA Laws, I don't need the vaccine because I had Covid and have the most real, science-based, best possible, natural immunity now, the kind vaccines are supposed to mimic.  So I will not lie and say I had the vaccine to go with the flow.

Does it not seem odd that this time last year the focus was on how many had Covid and the resulting antibodies but now these numbers are not included in the proposed passport? The medical gurus were asking that Covid survivors donate their antibody laden blood to be used to save others. Interesting that those who are vaccinated now cannot donate blood though. For the record, I will say no to the passport even if it means I can no longer buy or sell without it, a possibility in the works by those who claim to care so much for our well being. 

Reminder: No one knows the hour or the day but the Father but it's not like we weren't warned to pay attention to the signs. 

On my recent out-and-about day, I allowed myself to wander a bit in Hobby Lobby. I marveled at all the merchandise available, home decor, hobby and craft materials that felt like echos of another time, back when we myopically took old normal for granted. I paused at a display of 4th of July decorations. It was like looking at memorabilia of a deceased loved one - representing remnants of memories instead of symbols of a reason to celebrate the home of the brave and land of the free. 

Suddenly I found myself fighting back a rising grief that we are watching, as it unfolds, at what was once a God blessed country, now slipping over the edge to irreversible destruction. And, somehow, it seems as though things have speeded up too. Which is also a sign, btw. I can't help but visualize hoards of demons having been held back, now unleashed to overcome basic common sense. 

Nothing makes any sense anymore.

Everything is surreal and dystopian. It's a bad dream I can't seem to wake up from. In spite of all the history of this country as we have endured and recovered from countless trials and challenges for 245 years, I do not see the current situation returning to the way it was. It occurred to me that maybe the way it was might have been just illusion as well - a hologram hiding a very dark reality that is now revealing itself.  

Whether we are rescued this time or not, it seems a new, not so good, normal gathers on the horizon like a never seen before wave of destruction. 

However, that said, I am pragmatic and intuitive, which has to do with my INTJ personality type, though I find it difficult to even hope that we are going to ever be as we were pre-Covid. Yet I refuse to get dysfunctional over it. What good would that do? Time to stop being in denial, though. The only hope I see depends on ramped up faith. If God be for us, who can be against us? While that does sound comforting the part unspoken is that we have to step up and declare, out loud, that we are for Him. We take the 1 step to Him, He takes the 999 to us. 

Warning: there is no gray area or safe ground on the edge of the abyss. It's stand, or fall over. You can't change your mind on the way down.

I am,

For Him,

Meema

The Great Bologna Experiment

 

Being a homeschooler has had some unexpected advantages during this last upside down year, the biggest positive was that my student's schedule and way of learning didn't change at all. As the rest of the world was coping with zooming and distance learning, we just kept right on with our goals for 10th grade. We sure covered quite a lot of territory this year. 

I asked him at the beginning of the year what his goals were. He replied that he wanted to deep dive into practical life skills. I smacked my lips and we were off learning the ins and outs of economics. 

I have to say I learned quite a bit this year myself.

Other than math, social science, history and economics I had my own goal of working on his composition skills. He is not a writer. Nor wishes to be. One of his first assignments was to write an essay which I posted HERE. 

His last assignment for this year was an essay. Funny how things often have deeper meanings than what we were expecting. While I do not like to be blindsided, I do love serendipitous happy results that cause me to say -"Did not see that coming!"

So, without further ado - Keaton's final essay for school year 2020/21

For Him,

Meema

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The Great Bologna Experiment  

by Keaton Pascoe

"Aw, baloney!"  is an old analogy that means, in modern language, "What a lie!" 

In this digital world run by computers, one's and zeroes, CGI and Photoshop, not only is it easier to lie, it is sort of expected. We accept that commercials and ads are not exactly telling the truth. Does that mean we don't really know the difference between what is true and what is a lie anymore? Does it mean we actually prefer what is not true over what is?

It is no secret that there are many websites that anyone can go to and pay for someone to write an essay. It's not like this is on the dark web either so teachers have to know that many of the assignments their students, both high school and college, turn in were not written by them. Is this a lie or just an accepted means to an end? What is the end goal now? Is it learning or looking as though it's learning? The system says that students need to get good grades and move on because the grade stays with them long after what they were supposed to learn goes away.

Just because a student isn't good at writing, doesn't mean he doesn't have to do the assignment, though, even if he knows he will not get a good grade because writing isn't his best thing. So, here in the lying age, the easy solution is to pay for someone who is supposed to be experienced and has the right creds to write it for you.

My last assignment for this school year was to write an essay. I admit I don't like to write. I am a thinker and a hands on learner, I ask a lot of questions looking for knowledge about things I am good at but writing is not my thing. 

My teacher decided we should do an experiment. We went online and found a site that offers essay writing for money. We typed in the information about the kind of essay we were looking for and several profiles popped up asking to be my writer. We picked one, clicked on the pay button and gave him this info:

600 word essay on how easy it is to manipulate people with misinformation using bologna as the analogy. Needs to be satire or funny. Unbiased, not woke. Working title "Aw Baloney!" Due in one week.

He replied that he was on it.

The next day, we got a message that he had uploaded the essay. To say it was about as good as I could have written in 5th grade would be pretty kind.

Just think, this person, hired by an online company that has a five star rating, who probably has a college degree, who might have spent no more than an hour researching the history of bologna and then copy/pasting the info into a Word doc, missed the object of "satire" or "funny" completely. He got his money and he probably needed it so that's okay. What he will never know is that he was not the writer but the example for my real essay.

This final essay is not about the history of bologna. It's also not about how good I can write an essay. It's about how big lying is now. If I have learned anything this year, I realize that being good with words is not as important as being honest and being able to see what is real. 

To what is not real I say, "Aw Baloney!"

A Mother's Plea

 Joshua 24:15 And if it seem evil unto you to serve the Lord, choose you this day whom ye will serve; whether the gods which your fathers served that were on the other side of the flood, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land ye dwell: but as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord. 

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Late one recent Saturday afternoon, Hubs and I sat out on the upper back deck of our old houseboat (aptly named Great Escapes) watching life float by, so gently, as though there was nothing to worry about. Neither in the natural aquatic world of  fish, ducks and geese freely navigating as they please, or that of Homo Sapiens who like to float on water too but need manmade contraptions to make it happen. 

We are docked across the marina basin from a boat launch ramp so we get to watch an infinite variety of humanity temporarily identifying as water fowl motoring off to seek the stress free pleasures of water life.

Immersed in the moment, though it was a perfect, mild, spring day, plenty to be grateful for, I felt a sudden sinking in my soul. An ache. A deep sadness that, as The Teacher of Lamentations mourned, all is vanity. We paddle so hard to get to where we can exhale and relax, only to find we never arrive to a place of true rest in the real world. 

I've come to believe this is because we have been carefully manipulated to trust 'Illusion World' as genuine and accepted as the ultimate reason for living. Decades of advertising and constant immersion in fictional stories in movies and television,  agenda based propaganda pushed at us 24/7, has made us expect that the goal of living is to be happy, (and lately super self-righteous as well) that there should always be good closure and thus that is what we are supposed to be reaching for, i.e., life must be a happy, seemingly virtuous journey to our perfect ending. Unfortunately this, then, disables our common sense quotient and keeps us ever questing after the wrong life goals and expectations and thus reaping the inevitable disappointments.

The unpolished truth is that life is messy, at best, a constant flow of challenges to be met. Our dinghies often spring leaks and take on water that threatens to sink us. Interesting that having to tread water all the time does strengthen us for even greater challenges.

Ultimately we live until we die, mostly imperfectly, but hopefully well enough to leave good echoes behind and then transition to a better place because we accepted that we do have the option, via free will, to choose, not just how uprightly we live but where we end up. 

In her final weeks, my older sister, Jo, and I used to delve into some heavy conversations. She was born to fret so when she started up stressing that she hoped her kids, grands and great grands, would be okay after she was gone, I always, ever so gently, reminded her that we cannot shuffle off this mortal coil leaving behind all things tidy, though I do get that we really wish we had that power. 

On the brink of turning 74, I admit that I am wearing thin and some of that is me aging out. But that's just physical. Interesting though, as my worldly side wanes, my spiritual side gets stronger every day. As things move along into what appears to be more and more Biblical prediction being fulfilled in real time, I am preparing to put on the full armor of God and stand. Against all odds. The only caveat is being discerning enough to see who or what the opposition is. 

Regardless, maybe I can't leave things tidy but I can elect to go out honorably. Thus, I have chosen whom I will worship and serve and it isn't the god of this world or anything in it. The god of SELF and Good for Goodness Sake is a lying charlatan, a cheap imitation, and can never replace the true God of all Creation. (Full disclosure - I never really fit here anyway so it's not that big a sacrifice for me. I am the classic example of being one who can live here without being from here.) 

But for those who are clinging to the delusional hope that one day this world is finally going to be Utopia, and love, love, love, will one day prevail, that eventually humanity will at last rise up, all will be righted, all things safe will be instituted, all dangers eliminated... and we will be able to sail off into a good and perfect life, I am compelled to be the bearer of a transcendent truth. 

The day does come when those who refuse to see are blinded lest they see. It won't be the first time. The question outstanding is: will it be the last time?

For me, leaving things tidy would mean having my loved ones understand this plea - In case it is the last call, don't be one of those who refuses to see. 

Romans 12:2 And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.

For Him,

Meema