Cease from Anger.
That’s what my daughters suggested I do when one of them had the idea that we exchange New Year’s resolution recommendations for each other. Brad thought that was a bad idea, but we did it anyway.
They think I’ve been overly distressed. A little angry. Afraid I’m going to “stroke out.”
Well I probably am, have been, will continue to be, will try and work on it, and probably will.
But I’m betting that anyone that realizes what’s going on in our country is probably feeling pretty angry right now too. If not, ignorance is bliss, or they have a government job.
I’ve experienced a lot of emotions during my life: sadness, jealousy, embarrassment, fear, and anger to some degree.
Anger doesn’t just occur. It stems from something. I believe in my case it’s fear and frustration.
I grew up during the Cold War. Nothing was more feared than the A bomb during the 50’s and nothing scared me more than the “test” performed daily on our black and white T.V. suggesting that “in case this was an actual emergency” we would follow the instructions. Heaven only knew what that “actual emergency” was. I was pretty sure it had something to do with a mushroom cloud, crouching in a corner with our heads between our legs and a fall out shelter.
During the 70’s the Vietnam War also put the fear in me. I was a newlywed. About a month into our marriage Brad received his draft card; lucky number 11 and “bam” he was drafted. We awoke early on a cool September morning. I kissed him goodbye, and he left to board the draft bus for a two hour drive into OKC for a physical, thinking he would never return. God blessed him with an accident that cut his finger off when he was a year old (I’m sure his mother and dad didn’t think that was a blessing at that time, but they did when he returned home that evening on the bus. He had been “rejected” as he couldn’t use his trigger finger..
During those years fear was overwhelming. But not frustration. We knew who our enemy was. It was other countries; Japan, Germany, Vietnam. Not my own. Today that war is here in the U.S.A. being waged on Americans by Americans.
We’ve never maneuvered this territory before. We’ve never felt this kind of fear and frustration. Our enemy has always been on the outside. Today that enemy is sitting in the White House, in Congress, in our nation’s Agriculture Department etc. We’re losing sight of who our friends are. Who can we trust?
I believe as an American if you’re not displaying some anger and frustration about what’s going on, you’re probably not aware of what’s happening to our country; the Socialist Tsunami, Islamic sympathizers-Christian bashers gaining control of our school’s curriculum, senseless legislation being ushered in by radical environmentalists and animal activists who know nothing about running a business, but who have been given the reins to run ours.
You bet I’m angry. The past year I’ve watched the dismantling of my nation. I was really counting on my grandchildren being able to grow up in the same nation I grew up in (fear and all). Right now I’m afraid that’s not going to happen.
The Lord said to turn the other cheek if someone strikes you. On the other hand he must have gotten pretty angry when he turned over the tables of those selling items in the church. He also suggested that when you do become angry, not to sin. I’m trying to figure this all out.
I’m aware of my anger and frustration. But I’ve read that there is good anger and bad anger. Anger that fires you up to get things done. I’d like to think that’s the kind I’ve got. In the meantime, I just turned on Joyce Meyer. It may be a coincidence, but I hardly think so. I think I’ll be ordering her new book, “Frustration and How To Deal With It.” Seems like I’m not alone.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
This is my backyard. This is our office. It's located in my backyard. So are the loading chutes, sheds, barns, silos and molasses tanks (tanks full of molasses that cattle find extremely tasty and nutritious.) Loading cattle here has been a common sight for as long as I can remember.
Tonight we loaded bulls. It started to snow when they were loading. I hope the driver and the bulls get to their destination safely.
The bulls have been in my backyard for several weeks. Getting fat. Getting ready to go north. Getting ready to...uh... go to slaughter, or should I say "harvest." Not too long ago that word reminded me of wheat. Kind of like the word "gay" used to make me think of someone happy.
Anyway, today our "politically correct" friends recommend we don't refer to the word that actually describes what has taken place since Adam and Eve. The word that describes what has taken place for centuries to insure human survival. No, today we must treat the word like candied fruit. Sugar coating reality. We might offend tender ears if light is shed on the gruesome origin of food, clothing and consumables.
However you want to say it, it still results with meat on my table, leather for my shoes, buttons on my coat, crayolas for my grandkids, deodorant for my underarms, perfume for my pulse points and footballs. It means I can carry a purse, wear gloves, eat ice cream, and enjoy butter on my bread.
I've watched this cycle of life and death from the time I was old enough to walk. I love cattle. I love animals. I was sad when those bulls loaded on that truck tonight. For the past few weeks I'd been watching them and listening to them. They fought each other. Bellered. Bawled. And dug up dirt here in my backyard.
Tonight their fate was sealed when they boarded the truck. It's part of life.
But it's not keeping me from praying for their safe arrival.
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