Unifying The Broken

     Isn’t it amazing how often we can cast judgments at folks and expect them to deal with it, yet bring out the pitch forks and riot in the streets when judgment is cast at us. It’s not enough that we feel entitled to our civil rights, but in doing so, some feel the need to violate the civil rights of others in order take a stance in their own beliefs. Hypocrisy at its finest, if you ask me. How did such a powerful country who prided itself on the motto, “Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness” become such a conditional and double-standard nation? Why are your rights more important than mine, and why should I conform to your liking? Why are the words I speak considered poisonous and dishonest and the words  you speak considered growth and change? Is it because, I have a different view from where I stand? Is it because I follow a God you don’t understand? Or is it, you just merely dislike me for having a voice that does not harmonize with yours.

     See from where I stand, a place where I believe God has purposefully place me, I am able to understand and have compassion for the people who want to persecute me for my beliefs and the way I chose to live my life. Covered in the blood of the lamb, I chose to live a more simple and less dramatic lifestyle. I chose to love, instead of hate, regardless of one’s situation, orientation, physical appearance or belief in another God. If there is one thing, my God has made clear to me, it is love is unconditional, love will bare peace and understanding, and love will heal the weak at heart. I tend to see the change you “silently” protest in the streets for in the form of scars and footsteps of blood. I see the broken longing for restoration and a cross ready for administering its healing. I see the hurt and the confused walking amongst eachother on a lonely and desolate road of denial, longing for a clear direction and a place of refuge. I see innocent and precious lives being selfishly deleted, as if they were some kind human errors or a glitch in this circle of life. The cries of the huringt have become too unbearable to listen to. When is enough, enough? When is killing people both physically and morally going to be enough? How can we work together to bring change? It is my understanding we are all born with love in both our hearts and souls, but throughout our lives some of us are taught love is obsolete, through the actions of our parents, mentors, and sometimes the clergy. Therefore replacing it with disbelief and hate.

     How can I, a Christian woman lock arms with a non-believer and make a change to bring love to the misfortunate? Is it even possible? Can two people with separated and very different beliefs work together to feed the hungry, carry the weak, mend the broken, and console the grieving, while doing so in complete peace and unity. Absolutely. We are the change this country needs. In fact we are the change this country deserves. The Constitution was not written, “We the Whites of the United States of America, We The African-Americans of The United States of America, We the Believers of God of the United States of America, or We The Homosexuals of the United States of America”, but it boldly states, “WE THE  PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.” We are expected to work as a unit, side by side to improve each other for good things. We are to inspire with words of encouragement, regardless of sex, race, or religion. We must put all  perfidy against each other aside and begin serving one another for the greater good.   

     I can almost hear your thoughts as you continue on with this article, “You self righteous Bible thump-er. Who are you to say unity and love will bring peace to the oppressed."  My reply to you would be, “It wasn’t me who said it. It was Jesus who showed it.” Although many will try me just like many have tried Jesus, you should know I am not a hand to be gambled with. The love that I have for my God will never fold,  it will not bend or bow. I cannot give up on what was selflessly given to me. I can feel the stones of judgment crumble under my feet as I stand tall, not with self-pride, but with absolute certainty that my soul is protected and nothing can touch what is His. I’m protected from the loathsome deceivers of flesh that try to entrap me in any dark shadows that I may run into on my walk. Your words and your actions against me are just small speed bumps on my path to glory. I have a voice and as a follower of Christ my voice can ring bells in the highest of temples. I will be heard, maybe not understood, but certainly heard.

A Girl, A Mountie and A Can of Mace.

     Several years ago, we took a trip with my husband’s family to Portsmouth, New Hampshire to celebrate his grandfather’s birthday. On the way we decided to visit Niagara Falls from the Canadian side and see God's creation in all of its beauty.
     Visiting the Canadian side obviously meant that we would have to cross the border. No big deal, right? It's not like we were smuggling illegal drugs or weapons--so we thought. Having arrived at the border and agreeing to the Canadian,10-minute survey on why we wanted to visit and how long we were staying, we were asked if we had any drugs or weapons, and if so, we needed to surrender them. The polite border man named off a lengthy list of illegal items and one of them happened to be mace.
     My husband, Jeff, said he had a pocket knife. The Mountie didn't understand the reason for caring one. Jeff explained that many American men carry one for utility uses. I confessed that I did not have any weapons on me. We were then let through. Ahh, finally, we enter into the land of real maple syrup, round bacon, ginger ale, and Jim Carrey.

      We decided to park at the border post to wait for Jeff's mother while she surrendered her mace. I dug into my handbag and pulled out what I thought was the handle of a brush; it turned out to be a can of mace I thought I had left at home. I had just unknowing lied to Canadian officials, telling them I didn't have anything on the list. Now, having been read the penalties for bringing contraband over the border, I let out a very loud "OH SHIT" and covered my face with my hands in a panic. Jeff looked over and saw the very large can of mace in my lap and said, "Are you kidding me?” I looked a Jeff and said,"What do I do, Jeff? Should I just toss it in the trash? I don't wanna go to a Canada jail!" Having explained to my husband about the mishap and how I honestly thought I left it at home, he went into the post to explain to the officials and see what they could do for me. After waiting and freaking out an excruciating three minutes, I see my husband being escorted out of the post by  Mountie. My husband, with his right hand on his forehead, gives me the I-tried-to-get-you-out-of-jail look.

   
  As I watch every step the Mountie took as he walked closer to our van, I had two options in mind on how I could get out of this situation. I could flee like a coward; make it ten steps and risk getting clobbered by a very tall and bulky Mountie, or I could play dead. Neither option was suitable to how fast the man in red was walking toward me. As he rounded the van and tapped on my window, I swallowed what seemed to be a very large frog. I rolled down my window, and the man in red spoke the words I never wanted to hear," Ma’m, you're going to need to step out of the vehicle and come with me." My heart stopped, my jaw dropped, and my husband says, "Looks like you're going to jail, babe." I screamed, "WHAT! Are you for real?” Just then the ever so nice Mountie bent down, peered through the window, looked at Jeff and said, "You're really having fun with this one, Aye." Jeff replied, "Yes--yes I am." I then knew it was a setup and the nice man was just there to walk me in and talk me through the process of surrendering my mace.

     The man in red introduced me to another official who drew up paper work, took my picture, and then had me sign my name, stating that I understand the laws and penalties for bringing illegal weapons into the country; and that I hereby surrender my mace and will never see it again. After completing the standard write up, the man behind the desk released me with a warning slip, a wink, and ever-so relieving smile. He then told me to enjoy my time in the beautiful Canada.
     As I walked back to the van, my husband and his father shared a good laugh at my expense. I warned my husband that no one has ever survived going over Niagara Falls, so he better be careful where he stands, someone might accidentally bump him over the railing.