Jesus the Homemaker

The Word of God tells us to “guard our hearts” and that sounds like a defensive posture, which sounds, well, defensive.  But it’s actually a preparation and strength posture.

I think of it in physical terms as the Keep of the Castle.  Guarding our hearts means keeping our hearts.  “Keep your heart with all diligence, for out of it spring the issues of life” (Proverbs 4:23).

The Keep is where the goods are, the sustenance, the abundance.  For out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks (Luke 6:45).  Ah, now we’re getting somewhere.

What is spoken will be.  Proverbs 18:21 tells us that there is the power of life and death in the tongue.  Focus on the word “power” there, and let’s ask ourselves this question:  Who has the power here – are we going to speak for Satan, words that will destroy our own lives, or are we going to speak for the Lover of our souls, the author and finisher of our faith?

James 3:2 says, “If anyone does not stumble in word, he is a perfect man, able to bridle the whole body.”  The only thing more amazing to me than how little Christians know about the tongue’s power of life and death, is how often I speak as though I am a total tongue-power ignoramus.

I know and believe the Word’s admonitions regarding the tongue.  I have read and re-read Joyce Meyer’s Me and My Big Mouth. I know that I guard my heart, indeed my entire life, when my tongue is harnessed to the Holy Spirit via prayer and diligent attention to the Word.  I know and believe and have experienced the devastation wrought when I go ahead and wound my very own soul by speaking death words.

Death words are words of darkness and doom, of doubt and dismay.  Words with the power to open my heart right up to fear.  Then comes the physical manifestation – an actual poisoning of my entire system, also known as stress.

We guard our hearts with our tongues, and we guard our tongues when we guard our hearts.  A lovely life circle.  Or, we can go our own way . . . and say whatever the HELL (that’s where it’s from) we FEEL like saying.

What would Jesus have us say?  “Poor poor pitiful me?”  “Woe is me, I’m so misunderstood and unloved?”   “Why does this always happen to me?”

The answer is “none of the above.”  He would have us say, “God is my refuge, God is my strength, a very present help in trouble.”  He Himself would say, “Get thee behind me, Satan!” and “Where’s someone I can love and bless and heal and help?  Come unto me!” (John 7:37).

“Come unto me all ye who are weak and heavy laden.”  We weaken ourselves when we SPEAK the weakness.  Weakness is only a temporary fact, but it is not the truth of the matter.  The truth of the matter is what the Word of God says about it.  He is my shelter (Psalm 61:3), my strong tower, my very present help in trouble.  Sing the song I Will Arise (listen to Phil Driscoll do it first), “I will arise and go to Jesus.  He will embrace me in His arms.  In the arms of my dear Savior, oh there are 10,000 charms.”

What again, would Jesus say?  He would speak from a guarded heart, words of life.  His heart was guarded by his focus on and love for others.  He freed Himself to the beautiful life that is a life of caring for others.

Like, um, well, a Homemaker.

So Many Opportunities for Joy, Why Let Anything Steal Them?

We went to a Christmas ballet we’ve dubbed “Ballet Bizarre”.  We looked at the checking account and decided repurposing is indeed a wonderful thing.  It will be our first Christmas with our son overseas in the Middle East.  The world is a powder keg, and our child is in the smack dab middle of it.

And so on.  There are reasons to lament during this Season.  There are reasons (but then aren’t reasons simply excuses?) to Bah Humbug it all.  But I am not one to say “Tis the season to be jolly!, or as I was singing (shouting) all morning, “Tis the season to be Jarry, fah, rah, rah, rah, rah!”, and leave it at that, fun as it may be.

I am here to dig and delve deeply into the Reason for the Season.  I am here to say the money (or lack thereof) in the checking account and the bizarrre-ness of “Art” and the locale of loved ones are simply opportunities to remember Jesus.  This is the season for the ultimate of all beauties – the Love of Christ.

And so the bizarre ballet is an opportunity to be thankful that I have yet another focus for prayer.  The repurposing is a reminder of all the treasures I own that will now grace the lives of others.  The son overseas reminds me that technology can be a wonderful thing – his Christmas package will arrive today or tomorrow most likely, and he will open it in our presence via Internet.

The powder keg world?  Still and as always, Jesus is our refuge and our strength, our high tower and deliverer. He is the same yesterday, today, and forever, Amen!

Sharing Him at Christmas can be done with or without cash.  We are opening our home on Christmas Day for the first time.  We will be sharing a Christmas brunch with people the Holy Spirit has put on our hearts to invite, and there will be much merry-making, joy and celebration.  We’re including the most important of guests via the special invitation of prayer, and as always, He will be right on time.

I have decided and decreed that I will not even think, for one moment, thoughts of lack this Christmas, much less speak words of lack.  What indeed, do I lack?  I serve a Risen Savior.

As for those pesky arguments about December 25 not actually being His birthday so what?  I was born December 28 and I would have no problem with people celebrating my birthday on July 28 or whatever day suited them.  What I would have a problem with would be people being upset because they didn’t have a gift for me, or feeling pressured because the day was a reminder of what they lacked in their lives, rather than a reminder that I loved them.

So, that’s it – the key to joy in this Season, no matter what your circumstances:  We must choose to worship and serve and receive His great gift to us all.

Mr. Bennett, in Pride and Prejudice says, “No lace, Mrs. Bennett!”  I say to myself, “No Lack, Mrs. Bev!  You have Jesus and it’s time to celebrate.  Each and every moment of each and every day.”  Jesus the Savior is Born.

You ask me how I know He lives, He lives within my heart.

Anyone Can Find Crappy Christians – They Advertise Quite Effectively, But . . .

The only Christian we need to be looking at is Jesus.  I am always meeting people who justify their faithless lives with their sob stories of mistreatment by Christians.

Consider this:  Just because someone calls themselves Christian does not mean they know Christ, and that His Spirit has shed abroad the love of Christ in their heart.

And consider this:  Even born-again, Spirit-filled (yes that’s a thing, and I do mean a THING) Christians can really miss it and really be deceived and deluded (they can spout the BLASPHEMY that God does horrible things to people to “teach them a a lesson.”   See John 10:10).

And consider this:  If you let any person be your lens for looking at Christianity, you’re looking through a clouded lens.  Look at Jesus Himself.

The Christianity of the Bible is about love, hope, and victory through a living Savior, and if anyone presents it as a religious set of rules, they look suspiciously like someone who does not know Him.  Christianity is a relationship, not a religion.  It brings life not death, conviction but not condemnation, victory rather than victimhood.  Again, real Christianity brings life, because it is alive.

Jesus is alive, and He lives in the hearts of those who will invite Him in.

What a deal.  Don’t let any poor specimen of Christianity steal the deal.

Amen!

Formative Years and Transformative Years

It’s Springtime in the Rockies and I have never been more excited than I am about Spring, 2018.  It’s been clean up, declutter, and cleanse time, and I don’t just mean closets and cupboards.

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God is at work in my heart and it’s astounding and marvelous.  Just as the water turkeys, ducks and geese on the almost-thawed local lakes are going ahead with their visiting, fishing, and welcoming Spring before it’s quite upon us, I too am welcoming, ready for Spring.  I am ready for newness, growth, surprises, adventure – transformation.

At the ripe young age of almost 60 (I love being older each year!) I have learned to embrace and give thanks for those things from my formative years which have stood me in good stead.  And I am learning that each year I live is more a transformative year than was the year before.

But there is something in the air, something special about 2018.  I believe the Love (God’s Agape) more than ever before and the Love is changing my heart, cleansing and decluttering my mind, transforming me.

It is, as I told my husband, John, as though God has me out in a river on a raft without sides or oars and He is taking me I know not where.  I only know that it is somewhere good.  And the price of the raft ticket was faith working through Love.

Transformation, cleansing, peace.  The Bible says He put eternity in our hearts, and like so many of  His marvelous mysteries, I don’t fully comprehend and understand this statement, and yet, how it speaks to me.

How He speaks to me – patiently, tirelessly, lovingly.  Come along with me and be transformed.  Faithless to fearless, touchy to tender, defensive to delighted, whiny to winner, grouchy to glad.

“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.”  Thank you, Dearest Lord, for renewal, for transformation.  Amen.

P.S.  I’ll be going more deeply into transformation and ever so much more (like surviving church!) tomorrow, Friday the 23rd, at 2:00 MTN on http://www.1360am.co so please join in and call a friend.  Thanks!

Proverbs 31 Truth or Consequences?

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We’re all in this together, and no one of us is the others’ slave.  We will serve ourselves as we serve others and God via caring for our home.  Amen!

I used the C.O.D. (Child of the Day) plan as a truth vehicle in raising our kids, and even today, as I am creating yet another variation of it, I marvel at its inherent genius.

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Born of necessity when each of the kids chimed in during breakfast prayers, the C.O.D. has become my good buddy through the years.  As we (John and I) repeatedly picked up and put our forks back down to the tune of yet another prayer request, I decided we would simply take turns praying.

“Thank you, Father for this beautiful day and for each other and for this delicious food.  Please bless it to our bodies and protect us from anything harmful in it.  In Jesus Name we pray.  Amen.”

That was the beginning.  Then came, “And please help me find my hungry lizard,” which sparked another creature-in-distress thought in another little mind.  “And pweez help Grandpa’s cow that’s sick.”  Now Grandpa thoughts.  “And please, Jesus, help Grandpa remember to bring gum next time.”  Fork up, fork down.

“And Lord, please . . . .”

“OK, that’s enough.  Let’s eat.”

I quickly wrote up a COD list:  The Child of the Day gets to ride in the front, stay up 15 minutes late in bed with Mom and Dad, pick the readaloud story at bedtime, and have other privileges as determined by Mom and Dad issue by issue, day by day.

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Benjamin would be the C.O.D on Monday, Hannah Tuesday, Rebekah Wednesday, and Seth Thursday.  Rarely has an idea garnered such immediate support and enthusiasm.  Not only were they all about the day for themselves, but they staunchly supported the rights of their siblings.  “It’s your day.  You get to choose.”

And what a blessing for me.  “Mom, can you sew my doll’s arm back on?” went from being another unneeded interruption, to something I enjoyed doing because I said, “Tomorrow is your day.  Bring her to me tomorrow and we’ll have a sewing lesson.”  Meanwhile I could round up the sewing box, determine if I had acceptably colored thread, and simply prepare myself to do that thing that wasn’t on my “want-to-do” list.

The C.O.D. concept would have been a success if it had never evolved, and if it had simply solved who was praying at mealtimes.  I was thinking recently when we had guests over and got ready to pray, how nice it was to hear the kids ask, “Whose day is it?”  The guests were blessed and it blesses me that my kids are absolutely unfazed about leading prayer in front of anyone and everyone.

“Whose day is it?”  The C.O.D. program would have been a success simply for the memory of Seth climbing into his high chair with a big grin as he asked, “Whose days is its to pway?”

Seth’s questions lately are about yet another change in the program, which is now less a program of daily privileges and more of a weekly responsibility list.  Thursday is still Seth’s day to pray, or to say, “Hey, Mom.  There’s one piece of pie left and it’s my day.  Can I have it?”  That’s an easy “yes”.  But other questions of late, such as, “Hey, Mom, I think with Hannah gone and Benjamin working for Dad and Rebekah doing Mary Kay all the time, maybe we could take another look here.”

He didn’t actually say those words, and being Seth, he never actually complained that more and more of the load was coming his way, with little appreciation or remuneration to show for it.  (Aside:  Beware of piling more on that child who doesn’t complain and who will do a good job, just because that’s the easy road.  Not good.  Not fair.  And the biggest losers are the kids who are being taught irresponsibility and laziness).

Because the Proverbs 31 Woman “watches over the ways of her household” I know changes need to be made.  I’ve made a few preliminary steps:  asking other kids to do extra, doing extra myself, getting John’s input.  But this morning as I was reading Laurie Beth Jones’ Jesus, Enrepreneur , I realized that this is a matter of, for starters, two things:  1) making a list; and 2) stewardship.

Laurie Jones says, regarding a confused young man, “Doesn’t he realize that how we handle small matters will determine how and if we handle great ones?”  Stewardship.

I realize as I’m pondering how well things C.O.D. have worked in times past, that it was at least in part because everything was clearly understood, discussed, explained, illustrated, and written out.  Time for a new and improved chore list.

Through the years we’ve gone from one day a week on dish duty, to a week on dish duty, to rotating per month, and then back to weekly stints.  The division of labor went as follows for several fairly harmonious years:  Dishes, Floors, Laundry, Miscellaneous.  Four kids, four categories, continually rotating, per a list on the fridge.

John has always been on board, especially if he sees something that will interfere with my peace, i.e. dirty dishes in the sink right before I’m about to start cooking.  “Who’s on dishes?” he’ll call on a Monday, when everything switches.  If there’s any confusion, we simply look at the list.  “Let’s see.  Benjamin was on dishes last week, so it’s Hannah.”

But then Benjamin went away to college and we consolidated things.  Then Hannah went away to Fort Collins and we came to two categories:  1) /Laundry and Floors; and 2) Dishes and Miscellaneous.

“Dishes” (or Kitchen) has always meant you do the dishes as soon as the meal is over, with each diner bringing their dishes to the sink.  Also included is occasional fridge cleaning, and a weekly checklist (which has somehow been misplaced) including clearing and wiping down all counters, the fridge, cabinet doors, baseboards and walls, and putting every single thing in its place, on the last day of the week (to be modified per interfering events).

“Miscellaneous” includes taking out the trash, building fires and bringing in firewood, running errands, dusting, cleaning bathrooms, straightening, and whatever else needs doing.

“Floors” means sweeping, mopping, vacuuming, and once per week cleaning all baseboards.

It’s all pretty straightforward, and except for laundry, everyone seems to clearly understand.  Well, there is that one little thing which in the minds of all parties except myself, seems quite difficult.  And that one thing is this so very often repeated instruction:  Don’t take the trash out before you put a new trash sack in the can.  This is particularly important when I am cooking and you’re off to get on your coat and boots and traipse to the dumpster and leave me trashcan-less for a good ten minutes.  It’s the little things, it surely is.  But I don’t and won’t give up on this one.  Don’t leave me trashcan-less!

Back to laundry.  It’s my favorite job.  I won’t call it a chore because I simply love throwing nasty whites into a lovely machine, filling it with wonder ingredients, pushing buttons, and then walking away while its wonders are performed.  Now it’s time to throw bright and lovely-smelling whites into the dryer with a lavender sachet, and again, to walk away!

And then for the putting away.  I only do my and John’s laundry, and when I hear the beep I make every effort, especially now that it’s chilly weather, to get in there and snuggle my face into the towels and get them folded and put away while they’re still warm.  I would happily do all the laundry, time permitting, but time does not permit, and it’s important that everyone contributes.  People need to know they’re needed (those helping) and people need to know they’re appreciated (those being helped).

Kids, such as Seth, who are getting plenty of chances to help, need to know they’re appreciated, both by parents who see and take action, and by siblings who step up to the plate.

This is all truth.  If I don’t teach the truth- it’s important to know how to do basic life tasks; it’s important to do your part and then some; it’s important to live in a nice, clean, orderly home – then I’m teaching lies, and I’m leaving them to a life of unpleasant consequences.

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I have to get off here and make a new C.O.D. list.  Benjamin (Lt. Parker) is here for a very short while, as he changes from the Montana National Guard to the Kansas Guard and then deployment in March.  So, for that time, I must make changes.

Maybe I’ll combine Dishes with more cooking (I don’t need any cooking lessons and they do!); put Miscellaneous with Floors, and let Laundry stand alone.  We’ll have a family meeting tonight to discuss all these things.  I’ll make the most coveted and begged-for of cookies:  chocolate peanut butter no-bakes (make with heavy whipping cream and half-n-half and salt as well as vanilla and almond flavorings).  I’ll encourage input after I set out some reminder truths:  We’re all in this together, and no one of us is the others’ slave.  We will serve ourselves as we serve others and God via caring for our home.  Amen!

 

Lifting Burdens via Intercessory Prayer

 

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I was asked to pray for someone last night and I just couldn’t do it, not with any faith and fervor.  I awoke at 2:00 a.m. burdened for this person, but not in a good way.  It might be more accurate to say I was aggravated with them.

As I prayed about it I realized that intercessory prayer is not to be undertaken before there is personal heart maintenance.  Otherwise, the intercessor simply takes on the burden of the other person, rather than assisting them in giving that burden to Jesus, who can not only take it, but do away with it!

So, practically what does that mean?  It means seeing what the Word says about love, and about every single person.  It means asking God for His take, how He sees it, what He wants done in this person’s life.

Then come the revelations, the prayers of faith that build more faith, and the return to where we start:  apart from Him, I can do (pray) nothing, and with Him all things (prayers) are possible.

He’s the only Way to go.

Me, the “Ignorant Bigot Hater” whose Christianity is “a Joke”

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Dear Reader,

I awoke at 4:30 a.m. with a familiar rant running through my head, one that’s been there since recently delivered unjust allegations.  As I came awake, my mind took me scene to scene through what I might call, “A History of Lesbian Aggravations and Insults in My Life.”  So, here goes.

One of the many benefits of getting a few years under the belt is the slow down in being hit on.  By other women, that is.  Men are much too gentlemanly, in general, to caress the calves of women in the gym whose names they don’t even know.  They generally hesitate to, in the guise of a nurse trying to help a new mother breast feed her baby, get way too involved in “helping” her baby latch on.  I have never had a man sit down, uninvited, in my living room and try to convince me my “lifestyle” is inferior to his, nor corner and come on to me in a swimming pool as did the wife of a former boss (while he sat poolside, obviously mortified).  None of my male college professors ever gave me an “F”  on a paper simply because I wouldn’t come around to his way of thinking.  A man has never tried to turn fellow employees against me because I am so obviously heterosexual and in love with my husband.  No man has ever followed me around like a hungry dog after saying to others, “I can turn anyone gay.”  In short, I am not “ignorant” (as I was recently called) of the aggressive, pushy, IGNORANT ways of many lesbian women.

Nor do I “hate” them.  It was a lesbian woman who sat at my table .lamenting the women at her office who never shut up, who never stop griping, about their husbands and kids.  She wept as she said, “I’d give anything to have a husband and kids to gripe about.”  It’s been years, but still I pray for her to have those heart’s desires.  It was a “bisexual” woman being persecuted (a mild way of putting it) by a group of lesbians, who actually fell into my arms as she reached my front door and safety.  Sobbing, she begged to come in.

It was a lesbian woman who (temporarily) came between a best friend and me, and it is a lesbian who is aggressively and unceasingly striving to destroy her own sister’s marriage to the point the husband is crying out for help.  How, in fact, does one fight such a vitriolic force?  In the spirit realm, that’s where.

I’ve had much more pleasant dealings with gay men than with lesbians.  In fact, I was once madly in love with a gay man.  He has since come out of that lifestyle, in spite of all the propaganda that says it’s not possible, and has a beautiful and adoring family.

Not so another gay man, one I dearly loved my entire adult life.  He recently took his life.  In all the rantings about homeosexuality, certain things never seem to see the light of day, such as the suicide rates of homosexuals.  Really?  You really think this is because of persecution from “ignorant bigots” like me?

I don’t persecute my gay friends.  I listen to them.  Without exception they were raped as children or young men.  Without exception they want to be free.  I did not say that this is true of the entire homosexual community.  It is, however, true of my friends.

Noticing the interest of one such friend (I’ll call him George) in a lovely young woman, I teased him.  “George is going straight,” I said.

He turned mournful eyes to me.  “I can’t go straight.”

“Why not?”

“Who would go out with me?”  (This was in the 80’s and at the height of AIDS awareness).

“Would you?” he persevered.

No, because I am not interested in AIDS, thank you.

I stood, mute, having no idea what to say.

“See,” he said sadly.

I was caught unaware and unable to answer what I would now:  “First of all, George, Jesus would go out with you.  He LONGS to go out with you, to bring you out, to heal you and help you and love you.”  And when George tried to shoot that down (he was molested by a priest and didn’t think too highly of God) I would show him beautiful scriptures about what was accomplished on the Cross and show him how it’s the enemy of our souls who brings shame and guilt and despair.  “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus” would be right in there with God’s love, love, love.  I would take him to the book of John, chapters 14 through 17, and read them aloud with him.

And, I would explain how the enemy works.  John 10:10 tells us the thief comes to steal and to kill and to destroy, but that I (Jesus is speaking here) have come that you might have abundant life. And I would prove with scripture and my own checkered past and subsequent deliverance and healing (if I had to go there) how God calls sin those things which expose us to the enemy.  Beginning with (you thought I was going to say homosexuality) unforgiveness.

“George,” I would say, “You have a soul tie to that priest, and to the nasty accusations of the enemy, by the SIN of unforgiveness.  Like it or not, forgiveness is key.  Who must he first forgive?  Again, I think you didn’t guess it.  It’s not the priest.  It’s his parents who didn’t protect him, and who haven’t forgiven him (or so he thinks).  And it’s himself.  I wish I had shared the trick I use against Satan when I feel shame and guilt:  In the midst of my sin I say aloud, “I am the righteousness of God in Christ Jesus.”  I would explain how this appropriates what Jesus did on the Cross covering all, even MY horrid sins, unto me, thereby strengthening myself against that sin.  I wouldn’t give up until George understood that guilt and condemnation are from Hell and they keep us there.  “George,” I would say, “The Word says Satan is the accuser, the deceiver, the Father of Lies.”  God says you are loved and you are forgiven.  Get loose of your pride that makes you think your sins are special.  Stop insulting the Blood of Jesus with your refusal of it!”

But I wasn’t that good a friend to George.  Nor was I to other gay men in later years.  When Chuck told me about his mother’s unending and all-consuming money ambitions, which included taking in foster boys who were unsupervised as she pursued other career goals (he was repeatedly raped by older, stronger boys) I never said what he gave me opportunity after opportunity to say.  I never said, “I love you and Jesus loves you.  And you MUST forgive, even as Christ forgave and continues to forgive you.  Forgive your parents, your abuser, YOURSELF.  Remember, Chuck, the Bible says when we confess our sins God puts them as far from us as the east is from the west.  Did you hear me, Chuck?  The Word of our Maker says He will remember our sins no more.  Chuck, that hopelessness you’re feeling is from your enemy.”  But again, I said nothing at all.

And so Chuck, like so many other victims (by the way, Chuck’s mom was a Christian) gets his “encouragement” from people who “support” his “lifestyle choice”.  I recently started reading a book by a man who had some good things to say, until he got to the part about all the calls he gets from suicidal homosexuals.  He blames society, especially Christians, for the misery of these men, telling everyone who calls and who reads his book that there’s nothing wrong with homosexuality, and that they should accept who they are.

Let’s get one thing straight.  In our Maker’s eyes (and He should know) we are not defined by our hang-ups, our addictions, our sexual habits.  Promiscuous women are not sluts, people who drink too much are not alcoholics, those who struggle with substance abuse are not drug addicts, people who can’t seem to stop throwing their money away at casinos are not gamblers, and people who engage in homosexual behaviors are not gays and lesbians.  Yes, that’s what we call them, what we label them, how we define who they are.

This is unkind, to put it mildly.  Notice how the enemy works here.  People who beat cancer are told it’s “in remission.”  People who stop drinking are told, “Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic.”  Women who struggle with promiscuity say, “I just have to stay away from men and dating because I have this problem.”  I agree that staying away from dating might be a start, especially if that time is spent pursuing the love of Jesus, but it’s not fully accepting the freedom bought on the Cross.  “Free indeed,” is how it’s described.

The truth is that we were all fearfully and wonderfully made in the image of God.  Because I told a fib when I was five, does that mean I am a LIAR, and never to be otherwise?  No, as the Word of God says, all things are possible for those who are in Christ Jesus.  If your past is keeping you down (usually from unforgiveness) dare to listen to the loving words of an “ignorant, bigot, hater” like me, one whose Christianity is “a joke.”

I am not ignorant, either of sin’s pain, the enemy’s devices, or the Hell on earth of bondage to sexual sin.  I am not a hater, except of Satan and his lies.  If “bigot” means someone whose mind can’t be changed, perhaps I am that.  My mind cannot be changed in that I love sinners with the very love of Christ (beginning with myself).  I, like the Apostle Paul, was and often still am, a chief of sinners.  And I, like Paul, PRAISE GOD FOREVER, have been delivered from real bondage through the love of Christ.  Not religion.  Just Jesus.

As for my Christianity being a joke – people who have been delivered from underneath the pit of Hell do not joke about Jesus.

Thanks for listening.

Love,

Bev

P.S.  For real insight into this subject from someone who was a lesbian for 14 years and is told and re-told the lie (from “professionals”), “Once a lesbian, always a lesbian,” consider the books and website of Janet Boynes.  And for help with forgiveness check out Dr. Caroline Leaf’s Who Switched Off My Brain?

P.P.S.  If you don’t want insight and help, but can’t wait to hurl insults at me, beware.  I and my family pray for everyone who persecutes me, and let me tell you, once we start praying for you, you’ll get mighty itchy trying to stay in bondage.  Amen and Hallelujah for your freedom!