Politically Religious!
It amazes me the people that call themselves Christian, and live in their righteous world of casting judgment upon others, as if they were God handing down a sentence for our sins. They look down on us, because we do not go to church on a weekly basis, put fish stickers on our cars, have our radio stations set to the local Christian channel, or throw our hands in the air and scream Amen! They also think if we do not vote for the same person at election time, that they feel is politically fit for their Christian outlook, we must be doomed for hell. While I understand that their choice of who they vote for fits their moral values, and may support their biblical position on life choices, does this mean they have made the wisest choice?
Despite the fact that I think a true Christian would not stand in judgment of others, or cast stones upon those they call sinners, and they will live by example of what love really should be, like having forgiveness, compassion, and understanding, there are those that call themselves Christian that lack all this. They fight with those they view as sinners about the person they voted for at election time, claiming that the other person’s choice was the wrong one, and that they must not hold any moral standards, but still are they right?
We all hold different outlooks on life, and each of us have made choices of how we choose to live our life. Some of us choose not to go to church for reasons only known to us, but yet we believe in God, and we most certainly believe in living with good ethics, and live with love towards our fellow man, and hold compassion for those that are lost in their life choices that lead them in wrong directions. There are those of us that know in the end that we all are only human, and that it is not our place to look down and cast a verdict on another person’s choices in life, and if others vote for someone we do not share a mutual position with does that make me or they wrong?
What it boils down to is being politically correct, not all people that call themselves Christian are hypocrites, there are those that live by example showing what the meaning Christian truly should be, and it is not a matter of who is the right or the wrong person to vote for, it is about the person that can show the true meaning of leadership and wise choices for our country. So while one man may go to church every week, and lack the love and compassion that is taught, and another man who does not go to church yet shows more love and compassion than any Christian, is he or she wrong in God’s eyes? It is about being Politically Religious, it is about understanding that we all are different, right, wrong or indifferent, and the choices we make for our own lives are in the end the choices we alone will have to live with, and what is one man’s view is not necessarily wrong, just different from our own and we must have the wisdom to respect that difference.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Little Flower!
An unkept lot with trash and weeds,
is and ugly sight to see.
We find no beauty hidden there,
there's none for you nor me.
Then suddenly a seed is dropped,
by birds from far above.
A little seed so full of hope,
and with a wondrous love.
A summer rain, the bright sunshine,
the little seed does sprout.
Against all odds it starts it's climb,
it knows it must get out.
So slowly yet surely it grows, and grows, and grows,
up from the trash and weeds, towards heaven it slowly goes.
Then suddenly it's lovely head pops up,
into our view.
That dainty, esquisite little flower,
that flower dear is you!
Sherry Molcan 1992 copywright@
is and ugly sight to see.
We find no beauty hidden there,
there's none for you nor me.
Then suddenly a seed is dropped,
by birds from far above.
A little seed so full of hope,
and with a wondrous love.
A summer rain, the bright sunshine,
the little seed does sprout.
Against all odds it starts it's climb,
it knows it must get out.
So slowly yet surely it grows, and grows, and grows,
up from the trash and weeds, towards heaven it slowly goes.
Then suddenly it's lovely head pops up,
into our view.
That dainty, esquisite little flower,
that flower dear is you!
Sherry Molcan 1992 copywright@
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Hunting Time!
It is now bird hunting time here in Maine, what a great time to walk in the colorful woods looking for birds....hey the turkeys keep coming around my yard!
in reference to: Facebook | Home (view on Google Sidewiki)Friday, October 9, 2009
Google Sidewiki entry by Sherry
Got Opinion?
in reference to:"Email"
- Welcome to Facebook! | Facebook (view on Google Sidewiki)
Information Highway!
As I drove to and from Boston today, it had amazed me how many people put bumper stickers on their cars. I started to read some of them, to pass the time on the four hour drive down to Boston and I read everything from a person’s meat choice, pet selection, lifestyle preference, and religion and politics assortment. There was even one bumper sticker on the back of an old, seen better days Volvo that gave a relationship status or outcome, whichever way you chose to look at it, that read: “I got a divorce and all I got was this lousy bumper sticker.” As I was passing the car, I just had to look at the poor guy or girl that got stuck with just that stupid bumper sticker and obviously a bad attorney. It was a man, coffee in one hand, cigarette in his mouth, unshaven and a shirt that looked like he had slept in it the night before, and a look on his face of complete uncertainty, as if he was lost in the city in which he was driving through. I thought perhaps maybe the divorce was recent, and it was actually a look of “I just got screwed by the ex-wife and my lawyer.” Either way, I felt extremely bad for him and thought that maybe he was really a nice guy down deep, but definitely not anyone I would personally want to date, it’s obvious he still had issues.
So, I continued on my drive reading the wide range of information that people put out there about themselves like a blog on the highway, shouting out their wide range of choices, opinions, selections, and yes, their relationship statuses for everyone that cared to read them. I figured you could learn a lot by looking around you while driving on the highway and you can make a lot of assumptions, especially if the car does not belong to that person driving it. After all, that guy with the divorce sticker could have been driving the car he just bought from the person who did get the divorce, for his child going off to college and he just had not gotten home after a long shift at work yet. Whichever way you view the person’s you come across, it still is an open classroom to all of us on the information highway of life.
So, I continued on my drive reading the wide range of information that people put out there about themselves like a blog on the highway, shouting out their wide range of choices, opinions, selections, and yes, their relationship statuses for everyone that cared to read them. I figured you could learn a lot by looking around you while driving on the highway and you can make a lot of assumptions, especially if the car does not belong to that person driving it. After all, that guy with the divorce sticker could have been driving the car he just bought from the person who did get the divorce, for his child going off to college and he just had not gotten home after a long shift at work yet. Whichever way you view the person’s you come across, it still is an open classroom to all of us on the information highway of life.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Drink Yourself Pretty!
It was a hard day at work, OK, so it was the worse day at work that I had experienced in the longest time! I was tired, dirty from trying to dig down around the foundation, and I was at my wits end with the delivery company’s lack of response to my endless phone calls to their office, in search of the cable wire that should have been delivered that morning. We all left work that afternoon, and headed to the local cantina we frequently went to at the end of our week. It was the middle of the week, but we were all frustrated from our hectic day, and I did not care if I still had on my work clothes, and had dirt from the top of my head, down to my boots. My husband sat up next to me with the rest of the crew, and Papa, who owned the cantina, poured me a drink in which I quickly tossed back, swallowing dirt in between swallows. Papa went in to the back room and brought out this dusty bottle he held hostage on some back shelf for the past decade, and told me as he was pouring me a glass full, that this magic liquid would make me feel better. I picked up the glass and in one gulp inhaled the entire glass of this magic liquid. Fire shot up from my stomach, through my wind pipes, and out my nose and ears like a dragon in some fairytale. Papa smiled at me, and my husband and the rest of the crew just laughed as my hearing was slowly returning to me. I felt this warm glow rush through me, and I wasn’t sure if it was the fire or if I was really starting to feel better, all I knew is I wanted to try it again, and Papa gladly refilled my glass. Each time I drank a glass of this magic liquid, my troubles from the day started to fade, and I forgot that I had dirt caked in my hair or that mud was smeared across my face like a kid at a playground. The laughter from the crew made me laugh too, and my husband just patted me on the back and kissed my cheek.
As my husband was driving home from the cantina, all I remembered was the rush of trees passing our SUV outside my window, and then I was puking in this dark hole, which turned out to be my husband lap. My husband got me out of the SUV and steered me toward the bedroom, and let me flop down on the bed. I started to giggle at him, remembering something funny someone had said at the cantina earlier that night. He just smiled at me, patted me on the head and told me he would be right back. I was a vixen to my husband, I could see it in his eyes, so as he was gone I decided to plop myself up on the pillows, unbutton my shirt some, and sit in my most sexy pose I could muster, then I passed out.
The next morning I heard this noise which seemed so distant, but as I raised my aching head I could see my husband standing by the bed fully dresses and a coffee in his hand. I immediately jumped realizing that I had passed out, and now the sun was up, confused I asked my husband what time it was and he informed me it was past the normal time I would have gotten up at to get ready for work. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked him. “Honey, you are not going to work today,” he replied. I sat there looking down for the first time at my clothes which I still had on from the day before, dirt all over them and now some kind of foreign object lay sprayed down the front of me. I put my hand up to my hair and it felt sticky and wildly all over the place as if the wind had blown it around me. My husband informed me that after I passed out in the bed when he left, I proceeded to puke two more times there where I lay propped against the pillows waiting for him to return the night before. He had left to clean the SUV, and when he returned he could not move me from my drunken stupor where I lay. So, he cleaned around me the best he could, and left me there to lay in my own mess and went and slept on the couch. I could feel my stomach rumbling again as I sit there looking around at the mess I made, and felt ashamed that I had made such a mess and forced my husband to sleep on the couch.
I didn’t understand, the night before I felt so good from that magic liquid Papa was feeding me on my empty stomach. I was laughing with everyone, and I felt so pretty in my husband’s eyes as he stood there smiling down on me, yet at that very moment with the stale smell of sour liquid rising up in my nose I didn’t feel so pretty. I had managed to take my dirty hard worked self from its pitiful state, to a state of sheer beauty in just a few drinks the night before, and now I sat there with my pounding head feeling like someone had beat me with an ugly stick. I had managed to drink myself pretty, but the ugly truth of it was, that pretty lay only in my own imagination enhanced from the magic liquid, and the reality of how I looked at that very moment was not so pretty!
As my husband was driving home from the cantina, all I remembered was the rush of trees passing our SUV outside my window, and then I was puking in this dark hole, which turned out to be my husband lap. My husband got me out of the SUV and steered me toward the bedroom, and let me flop down on the bed. I started to giggle at him, remembering something funny someone had said at the cantina earlier that night. He just smiled at me, patted me on the head and told me he would be right back. I was a vixen to my husband, I could see it in his eyes, so as he was gone I decided to plop myself up on the pillows, unbutton my shirt some, and sit in my most sexy pose I could muster, then I passed out.
The next morning I heard this noise which seemed so distant, but as I raised my aching head I could see my husband standing by the bed fully dresses and a coffee in his hand. I immediately jumped realizing that I had passed out, and now the sun was up, confused I asked my husband what time it was and he informed me it was past the normal time I would have gotten up at to get ready for work. “Why didn’t you wake me?” I asked him. “Honey, you are not going to work today,” he replied. I sat there looking down for the first time at my clothes which I still had on from the day before, dirt all over them and now some kind of foreign object lay sprayed down the front of me. I put my hand up to my hair and it felt sticky and wildly all over the place as if the wind had blown it around me. My husband informed me that after I passed out in the bed when he left, I proceeded to puke two more times there where I lay propped against the pillows waiting for him to return the night before. He had left to clean the SUV, and when he returned he could not move me from my drunken stupor where I lay. So, he cleaned around me the best he could, and left me there to lay in my own mess and went and slept on the couch. I could feel my stomach rumbling again as I sit there looking around at the mess I made, and felt ashamed that I had made such a mess and forced my husband to sleep on the couch.
I didn’t understand, the night before I felt so good from that magic liquid Papa was feeding me on my empty stomach. I was laughing with everyone, and I felt so pretty in my husband’s eyes as he stood there smiling down on me, yet at that very moment with the stale smell of sour liquid rising up in my nose I didn’t feel so pretty. I had managed to take my dirty hard worked self from its pitiful state, to a state of sheer beauty in just a few drinks the night before, and now I sat there with my pounding head feeling like someone had beat me with an ugly stick. I had managed to drink myself pretty, but the ugly truth of it was, that pretty lay only in my own imagination enhanced from the magic liquid, and the reality of how I looked at that very moment was not so pretty!
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