The 13th Apostol

Of Saints and Oedipal Cats

I have the weight of the world on me at the moment. Once again a full plate and no appetite. My writing has suffered, which means I have suffered.

When I can't, due to other obligations, write to my hearts desire, my emotional state suffers greatly. Last night, after receiving two pieces of bad news in the mail, Al and I went out into the garden.

Watching this place come back into full bloom is by far one of the most spiritual experiences of my life. Remembering how dead it was when we first took occupancy in August. Burt outright from last summers scorching triple digit heat. Having been left here alone to die.

We watered and watched, said some little prayers under our breath...and lo and behold some roses bloomed, thinking all the while spring had come again. The true Spring we never experienced, the explosion of green, brilliant hues, colors only a woman could create...ah ha!

Last night, after two days of on and off torrential rains, Al and I dug our fingers down into our mother, lovingly, as if to eat a pie homemade, having cooled to the touch barely, without the use of utensils. This soil is fertile. "Perhaps" Al said to me, "Perhaps this soil is so good, a dead thing could be buried in it and come back alive"

"Perhaps. Perhaps this soil is so good a dead thing could be buried in it, and not WANT to come back to life" We have these strange conversations, unusual enough to someone looking in, that a point of concern might be taken. They would be welcome to join our "What if" game...sometimes it's even better when more than two play.

I wear his shirts, he wears my jewelry...he knows I am his mother, oedipal is out numbered.  Before I became a mother, maybe six years or so, I had a white Persian cat named Oedi, Oedi-puss. Oedi had issues, sexual issues.

Oedi would masturbate on my pillow just above my head. This bothered me. Not because he was masturbating, but because his kitty batter would get in my hair.
Then Oedi came down with a severe case of stud tail, in which all of Oedi's hair fell out of his tail, leaving behind huge black heads in place of hair. Appetizing.

Oedi went to the vet a lot. I loved Oedi, Oedi was my child. My child with a zittty tail who masturbated on my head. Oedi was a casualty of Al's vindictive Uncle Victor. A man who hates all living things, unless you are a pre-pubescent female. He gave away all my pets while I was chasing the dragon, as if having a potentially fatal disease isn't horrific enough...let's give away her pets too!

The garden reminds me, we are always coming back, regenerating, remembering, renewing our vows to grow. I always feel uncomfortable writing about Al here, in light of losing his sister, in light of our custody proceedings with The Sea Monster, in light of the fact he's a tiny angel, innocent and pure.

Writing about Al's limitations, challenges that categorized all disabled people as "Special" in the '80's...feels wrong. Sometimes the pull to share in what may be helping someone else though, feels more right.

If you have a special needs child, I know the daily struggle seems like more than you can bear at times. Heck, if you have a CHILD know it seems like more than you can bear. If you have a GOOD partner to raise these kiddos, you are blessed beyond all imagination.  If your doing it by yourself, you should be listed among the saints of Mothering. Right up there with -

Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis
Anne Morrow Lindbergh   
Mary Wollstonecraft 
Mother Theresa 

I believe we are just as valuable, yet not nearly as valued.We have to see our worth through God's eyes, knowing each time we dig in the dirt with our kids, each time we just let go of controlling every situation lest the sky fall...were maintaining adequate room for little wings to be stretched. 

Theirs and ours.

   

Grace

I just called the head of faculty at "Hogwart's College of Dentistry", (prepared to beg, ball and barf if necessary) to see if she had ANY student she could let me see...at least to fix this one miserable tooth.

Dr. P. informed me, once she gets the green light from her partners (she has a part time private practice)
...she will be finishing my teeth herself.

The only way to understand the magnitude of this news, is to read this really long, drawn out and dramatic post here, all the way through.

The Kids Not Afraid

All of a sudden, writing has become holy important again. Like before, but in a deeper, more enlightened sense of the word...writing, with angels hovering around the "W".
As if God is telling me, if God were to actually speak, that my words, my opinions have a place here. That if I will write honestly without fear of retribution, my heart can be free again.

After receiving Suzi's email last night, the first thing I thought, was to post her request on the blog, hoping some of you would place her family in your happy thoughts. You can call it prayer. I believe that any time we have another's well being in our minds eye, it is prayer.

Any time we have another's ill will in our minds eye, it is prayer. We create what we believe.  The choice for positive vs. negative sometimes is a difficult one, at least for me.

Suzi's family's case, this is a no brainer. For we can all relate to the loss of a sacred aged one, a life long love affair nearing it's end. A family's cosmetic forever altered.

The question of the hereafter arises inevitably, as with any life conclusion. This is the place where the majority of Christians receive comfort. Believing the righteous life will receive it's final reward...Eternal life.

While the not so righteous? Like anything, a place must be. Oh, I'm going a direction I'm not up for at the moment. What I really wanted to say is this:
At that precise moment, when expiration of life occurs. When our bodies cease to be alive for whatever reason, no matter the cause...we are equal, as when we arrived.

Sometimes I try to imagine what it would be like, had I been raised a Christian. My mind filled with doctrine and dogma from day one...taught that we are strictly 'right', and they are strictly 'wrong'. That animals have no souls, and some such nonsense. (I'll not be a bit surprised to see heaven chock full of critters, somewhat lacking in all the folks).

Or better yet, these deep and profound believers will perhaps create a separate critter heaven they can put all the lesser of His creatures. Wouldn't want the souled and the soulless mixing or anything.

I'm glad, even relieved, I came to Christianity on my own as an adult. The other option is not at all appealing. I fiercely defend my sons right to think freely, and so far, when Al has said no thank you to returning from one of my Oh-honey-I-think-we-might-be-(fill in the blank) excursions to the local (fill in the blank) church I've not batted an eye.

The kids not afraid like his mudda.

   

 

Prayer Request From My Friend Suzi

Hey Everyone,

I just found out that my Grandmother will probably die in the next week or so. She has been suffering with Alzheimer's for some time now.

Hospice is telling the family that the dying process has begun and the family should prepare for this to happen anytime now. My mother can't get a single flight out of Florida until Tuesday so she is a nervous wreck. I'm sure it is very hard for her to be sitting here powerless while her mother is in her last days.

My request is that y'all would pray for God's presence to wash over the family. My Grandparent's have been married for nearly 70 yrs and as you can imagine this is taking it's toll on my Grandfather.

His name is Frank and my Grandmothers name is Gloria. My mothers name is Norma. I'm not really sure what specifics to ask for so just please pray what is on your heart for my family.

Thank you, Suzi

Cross and Crown Mission...Christ is There Right Now, if You Hurry You Can Catch Him

Yesterday, I walked right back into the Barrio for the first time in two-and-a-half years.
God literally turned my truck around in the middle of 10th street, leading me up to the steps of a great and powerful place.

There is magic, healing, Christianity happening in Oklahoma City, right under our noses.
I have found the place where Jesus would go if he came back today.
Some people would say these healers are crazy. Before  you do that, read their blogs ('Staff' on their home page), go down and talk with them...see the ancient walls, hallowed as any I've ever seen.

Walk past the faces, the mothers with newborns, they look you square in the eyes. The old men, waiting their turn in prayer, the teenagers wrestling on the floor of the youth center...this is holy stuff.

This is the holy stuff I've spent the last year searching for...cutting check after check to make the Non-Specific Mega Church more mega, mega-er. Sitting in on power P.R./Marketing meetings with Pastors who, if a someone was tele-ported into the scene from a land far, far away, the teleportee wouldn't have a clue these people were involved with a church, let alone Christian Pastors.

My heart has been heavy, with one disappointment after another by these trusted servants, these leaders. From bold face to blatant...all in the name of saving the lost.

So I left the Mega's, and went to a neighborhood church.
Other than having trouble staying awake, a common theme, I felt all right about it.
That is until I looked around the sanctuary and realized I was sitting in a full box of Peach crayons.

In all honesty I think Jesus would be so sad coming back, seeing what's happened.What WE have has done with His instructions...and it's no wonder were all falling on our butts.
We talk about all this love, but treat each other like holy hell, the rest of the world see this, then we wonder why they aren't responsive to our proselytizing.

I don't want to hear how your church does this and that, helps so and so, blah, blah, blah...I'm weary with excuses for the body of Christ.

I felt the Holy Spirit for the first time in, well... maybe ever yesterday. The action of love was fully present in this mission. I can't begin to express the profound impact meeting these modern saints had on me.
In saying that, in calling them modern saints, I can feel my neck heat up in fear. Fear I've crossed an invisible line of blasphemy somewhere in the sand of my imagination... the end result of this year long quest for the true Christianity: Fear.

No longer will I tithe on-line.
Is that even tithing?
Does just clicking a mouse do anything other than offend a passionate Lord?
Yes we are to give, the more we have, the more of an obligation we have to our fellow man.

Not the church.

Who are these people kidding?
They were kidding me...
When was the last time I got my hands dirty? When was the last time I honestly, faithfully, lovingly dropped to my knees in the dark of the night and wept for my life, the lives of my children?
If all I have to do to receive absolution, is go to a Virtual World as my alter ego and type in my "Sin" in a glass house, then life really is just a game isn't it?

My question is, who's throwing the virtual rocks?

I commented on a Mega Church Pastors blog one time about his front page bio, in which he regales the joys of meeting his wife for lattes as one of his favorite pastimes.
I informed him, as a single mother, I could feed my boy and I for five days straight for the price of that famous latte. Not comfortably, but we wouldn't starve. Apparently this "Mega Man" believed my comment unworthy of rebuttal.

Am I the only one wondering what's wrong here, when the Pastor of a major Urban city's Mega Church, where the homeless could be a city themselves...shows his self absorption so mightily?

Yesterday afternoon saved my behind spiritually, made me, will make you, recall the true meaning of our lives as a Christians...it's not to worship God by tithing online...it's love our neighbor PERIOD.

Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with tithing online or buying $6.00 coffee drinks (if they're in your budget). The problem arises when we believe our lives are somehow more blessed and faithfilled, than those who's budget omits lattes' in lieu of the following:

one loaf of bread,
one dozen eggs,
one 1/2 gallon of milk

A Peaceful Heart...Hellooo?

I pulled the post about Cross and Crown Mission, because it was barbed with anger.
The message got muddled by my character defects, so I'll breathe, pray, edit, then repost...it's a better story when told with peace of mind.

It may be awhile...

Surrendering

As the sun is setting on my sweet piece of Suburbia tonight, there's a place not so far from me, a place I used to live where someone will die tonight for the wrong primary color.
When we moved out of the Ghetto, we moved into the Barrio. Al and I left two-and-a-half years ago, on a hot September night with my pick up over flowing with junk. My junk.
Remnants of a life under fire.

That last load I pulled out of the shared single drive, the one running choppy, like a bad vein to the dilapidated one car detached garage...I looked over at Al in the seat next to me and said very distinctly "We are never coming back."

I could see big eyes illuminated by the late 80's orange LED dash lights. Al was scared. Scared of moving, scared of not moving.

There were ghosts here that couldn't be exorcised, ones with coffee filters over flowing with fat, snowflakes of dope, barbed rigs loose in the silverware drawer, squad cars blocking the driveway - carrying out a Pick Up Order.

I was a square peg now, sober and clean, but surrounded by round holes disguised as crack heads and meth monsters. Ice had taken the block. No one was left.

God cleared a mighty path for Al and I, planting us RIGHT WHERE HE WANTED

Conversation During Post Rush at 39th Street Station

Postal Person - Good Morning...hey, what happened to your forehead?
Apostol - I fell off the toilet.
Postal Person - What?
Apostol - I fell off the toilet.
Postal Person - You fell off the toilet...what do you mean?
Apostol - I MEAN I fell, OFF the toilet.
Postal Person - How?
Apostol - What do you mean HOW?
Postal Person - Were you standin-
Apostol - --no, no, I was sitting on it.
Postal Person - Hmf.
Apostol - What do you mean "Hmf"?
Postal Person - Honey, I've heard a lot of excuses in my day, but that one beats 'em all.
Apostol - You think someone did this to me?
Postal Person - Honey there's places you can go, safe places that don't cost nuthin'.
Apostol - Lady if I was going to lie about how this happened, do you honestly think I'd choose falling off the toilet in the middle of the night as my excuse?
Postal Person - Yeah, now that you mention it, falling off the toilets humiliating enough.

Al and Snack

God believes Al and I are ready for a dog, because we now have one.
This must mean my income is going to increase, because last month we ate ramen noodles for two weeks straight.
He also blessed me with two file cabinets. Dude, I've been praying for file cabinets for almost two years. This must mean we are going to be staying put awhile.

With all the anxiety over this house, I need a little hope right now.
File cabinets equate to hope of staying in the same place for a while? In my world they do.
Everything in my life is on the edge, the living situation only part of it. Too intense to discuss, and my nutty changing of my 'about page'...it's all about not knowing who I am, or how to express myself anymore.
Being stuck between two worlds.
I am a Christian, because it feels so good, so right. I have no desire whatsoever to go back to the woman I was before.
In proclaiming my Christianity in this blog, I may lose readers (all 3 of them), but I am called to do so.
I like the way I used to write B.C. (Before Christianity), miss the cutting up, the smart wit, the cracking myself up...except it wasn't real.
Now I'm just afraid. Heck of a swap.
I don't like stupid people, and I see myself becoming one of those stupid people, those boring Christians. If you knew my personality, you'd soon realize what a tragic loss to humanity this will be.

Something tells me though, the very best is yet to come. That I will put away the grief and loss, the anger and fear, and replace it all with a faith so bold, so majestic...none of my enemies will refuse at least a glimpse of me through the charred rubble of a life lived in vain.

Or, maybe not.
I'm still so scared of people.

Springtime in Oklahoma

Ornamental Plum

How I Know My Child is an Alcoholic

Al - Mom!
Mama Rose - Yeah?
Al - The kid-who-only-comes-every-two-weeks is at the door, can I go out and play?
Mama Rose - Oh, Caden? Well sure, where's his Dad?
Al - He's out here.
Not-a-Dad - Hi! (through the office window)
Mama Rose - Hey.
(The three walk past the office window. Al is skipping)
The-Kid-Who-Only-Comes-Every-Two-Weeks - Want some of my candy?
Al - No, I'm allergic.
Not-a-Dad - To candy?
Al -Yeah, once when I was ...

Apostol Moves Into This Millenium

Dang.
Sony Ericsson W810i

The Future of The Trinity

There is a strong sense that images like this one by artist Sophia Christine, will become the order in the next few hundred years.

It will intrigue some, anger many, resolve for the few...while my knowledge of biblical history is growing, it's still limited, but my inner knowing, the Christ voice, Holy Spirit, Divine self, all lead in one direction.

The missing feminine from the plan of salvation was not an over sight on the part of God. My current Teacher, a woman who knows the bible intimately, is walking me through, step by step.

Already I see man's error, man's edit, and I'm sorrowed beyond my own belief. This is one of my rationales for avoiding scripture for so long...fear of seeing the oppression with my own eyes.

The God I serve oppresses no one.
However the men who serve the God I serve, oppress the many.

It's no accident the books that have come by my way in donation. Some I fearfully list, then box...knowing if I were to read them I'd be lured back to the truth.

My efforts at Christianity must succeed, no distractions allowed. Longing achingly for normalcy, repentance and forgiveness at any cost...even if it requires denial of truth.

Re-read that sentence again...sound familiar?

Ravaged...

Do ya see, (gulp) how this child's body language says it all? Note her facial expression...the way she pulls away ever so slightly, as if to say "Woman! Begone your hideousness from me now!"

Tragically it's an apparently genetic condition, viscous in nature, unforgiving in it's crippling attacks on the mouths of it's helpless victims.
(I'm actually having to force Al to stay seated...he, by instinct wants to shield himself from the camera, from the Elephantmanism he knows will come as a result.

The horror...Oh, the horror...

TRUTH: The Toothed Get Hired Before The Untoothed

THREE YEARS AGO WHEN I STARTED AT HOGWATR'S (IT'S LIKE I'M WRITING NEWS COPY HERE OR SOMETHING)

Three years ago when I started at Hogwart's College of Dentistry...that's correct, three years ago. I was told I needed three canals (dental speak for root canals) and I had SEVERAL caries, so fillings would be necessary prior to any aesthetic work, and or crowns...bridges, etc...no big deal.

It has been an excruciating three years, full of sometimes three session weeks, at  four hours a pop, and always leaving in pain, with residual emotional disturbances post appointment as a direct result of unskilled nitrous administration. (that's why they call it 'school' you brat)

I Bid You...Welcome (Hogwarts College of Dentistry Strikes Again)

Sweet Mother of Bela Lugosi, someone get "Extreme Makeover" on the phone! 

Worship

It's Sunday morning.

I will always worship on Sunday mornings, somewhere, somehow. It's ingrained in my DNA and I'm at a lack to express sufficient evidence as to why.

I was not raised attending church.

Both my parents had suffered greatly growing up in strict, borderline abusive religious bodies disguised at churches of God. My mother and the Greek Orthodox church, my Father and the Southern Baptist church.

Forgive me if you are either, but please keep in mind this was during the Great Depression, when it was routinely administered as proof, the end of times was knocking on the front door.

Imagine being a child during the dust bowl in Oklahoma living through the Depression. Imagine watching your world turn literally to dust before your eyes, the crops fail, neighbors starve to death...good Christian neighbors.

Imagine being told, not just by your Preacher/Minister/Reverend/Bishop/etc., but by your own parents and Grandparents, the reason for this devastation was God's wrath. Your five-years-old, then six, seven, eight, nine, ten, then...

The end never comes. You grow up knowing they are liars, but too afraid of the wrath you lived through to say so. They both left their respective churches when they married , leaving the church, but not the values behind.

The problem per se, arose when times became troubled. When Mom was diagnosed with Alzheimer's and we/I needed support.  There was none.

Imagine (it's over active this morning ) taking care of your Mother, who doesn't know from one day to the next who you are, for ten years just you and your Father. She is regressing, and you are praying.

Praying to a God you've only heard about on television, or read about in books...the ones you use to escape from this world where your Mother is now your angry, sad child. Praying every day for this God to make your Mother better again, willing to do anything you tell Him, just to have your Mom back.

You are so afraid your doing the prayers wrong, because she's not getting better. Variations in wording, times of day, positions in which you sit, stand or kneel. Your life is consumed with caring for this woman-child who gave you life, momentary escape into books, and the never ending obsession with God and prayer.

You are eleven, then twelve, then thirteen, then twenty-one, then...

after taking wine at 8:00 a.m.,
she shoots herself in the head.

It's Sunday morning.

Zygote Graffix Headquarters - Oklahoma City, Ok

Satan The Cat from Hell in Heat