Once Upon a Time

Journal page number…

Just my opinion…

So much noise

So much activism

So much pointing of fingers

So little love

At the end of this chapter

How will the story read

I believe that nobody will win

And there will be no happy ending

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If an act is done out of love, but requires an act of hate or violence to accomplish it, how does that work out?

I believe we call it war.

And we are fighting ourselves.

All Shouting at Once

This journal page was done yesterday.

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And then today, I witnessed yet another disturbing incident on facebook.

A friend posted an opinion on another friend’s post.

A differing opinion.

And she was attacked.

Hateful vitriol.

There is no other word for it.

And she wasn’t wrong.  Her comment had merit.

It just wasn’t the “popular” thing to say.

It brought light to the fact that the issue is not black and white.

There is no easy answer.

And I have to wonder…

Where is conversation?

Where is discussion?

Where is respect?

And in this instance, where is the Christianity?

Have your opinion.  Have a strong opinion.  Believe you are right…

March, gather, protest, follow your heart and work for change.

But never forget that the person you are sharing words with

OR

throwing words at…

Has an opinion.

And is a living, breathing, feeling human being…

With their own story and beliefs.

What about being quiet for a moment and listening…

Where is the love that you profess to have for humanity when you can’t treat a differing opinion with respect and dignity?

And all that I can think and believe is that when hate is the response to a differing opinion there is no winner.

We all lose.

Love loses.

Peace.

 

I Hate My Life

Yesterday, I was within one load of having the laundry caught up.  We aren’t going to count the uncollected laundry still on the floor in certain family members’ bedrooms.

It was a happy moment.

Then Matilda, the basset hound, started calling from the back door to be let in.

I went and let her in.

This is the part of the story where I mention that I’m allergic to mold and we’ve had twenty-something straight days of rain and I’m congested and can’t smell anything.

So, Matilda comes plodding in and wanders off.  I go back to whatever I was doing.

Next thing, I hear my oldest daughter retching and screaming Matilda’s name (and maybe some profanity).  And then retching some more.

I go running to her room and Matilda is skulking out.

It turns out that the dog has gotten under the ramp that leads from our deck to the back yard.  She has evidently rolled in something really gross.  Stagnant water, mud and opossum den gross.  She smells like something from the middle of a garbage dump gross.

This is all second-hand.  Remember, I can’t smell anything.

Into the tub Matilda goes.  She doesn’t care for baths.  Bassets are hard to bath.  They have dense, oily fur with a fine hair undercoat.  Thirty minutes later, my daughter pronounces her odor-free.

All of my daughter’s bedding now needs to be washed.

I hear myself say, “I hate my life”.

I’ve been working on not saying that.  I don’t really hate my life.  I don’t care for parts of it.  Some parts are better than others.  I mentally re-word what I just said.

“I am not happy that I have two more loads of laundry to do.”

“I am not pleased with your behavior, Matilda”.  (She’s asleep on the deck in the sun and doesn’t really care.)

“I am not happy that I have to go change clothes and have even more laundry now.”

The voices in my head are a work in progress.

Oh, and when I went to get in bed last night, I find that the dog has managed to roll her grossness on four pillows, the sheets AND the comforter on my bed before going to my daughters room.

Laundry load four and five.

Sometimes, I hate my life.