Care Bearers



woman in white shirt standing near glass window inside room
Photo by Oles kanebckuu on

Jane Bernard lies in a hospital bed hooked up to  numerous tubes and other stuff. Enter three women.

Woman 1: Hi Janie, honey. We missed you at Bible study last week.

Woman 2: Yes. When we heard what happened we just couldn’t believe it. First Bob and your precious little ones….Now this.

Woman 3: After your house burned down.

Woman 1: Yes. I just couldn’t believe it. If something happened to any of my kids I just know I couldn’t go on.

Woman 2: MRSA’s a nasty disease I hear. Glad it’s not me. Be sure to follow your doctor’s orders when you get out.

Woman 1: Poor Bob! 49 is pretty young. Children and marriage are what Biblical womanhood is all about. It’s hard reentering the dating scene when you’re well past your prime. But with God all things are possible and stuff like that….

Woman 2: And they can do wonderful things with fertility treatments now. There’s still hope you can make another baby before you’re all dried up and have failed to obey Genesis 1:28. With modern medicine and prayer there’s still hope, Jane. Online dating is great too. I seen it on a TV commercial. Something called There was this happy married couple talking about how they met there. Real soulmates. If I had to date now after 30 years of marriage, I’d use that.

Jane: Groans. Bob and the kids died last week!

Woman 3: Yes. That’s real sad.

Woman 1: No need for carrying on like that. God’s got someone new picked out just for you. You just gotta keep a positive attitude.

Jane: I pray and pray. That I will finally die of this horrible disease. Then my torment will end. But God will not even answer that prayer.

Woman 1: Oh Father God! Please forgive Janie’s sinful lack of faith. And just don’t punish her as her depression deserves Father God. It’s obvious why she’s hurting Father God. Sin does that to us. And just please help her repent of her negative attitude before it’s too late Father God.

Woman 3: Amen.

Woman 2: Now depression ain’t always a sin. Maybe Jane’s just a mental defective. That would make her insane but they have medicine for that. I seen it on a commercial.

Woman 1: Jane, are you insane?

Woman 3: Bye Jane.

Trio exits hurriedly. Jane heaves sigh of relief.

Care Bearers

This Blog Needs to Be More Like Its Name


I noticed my blog has been very negative lately. Some negativity is good because there is a lot of negative stuff in this world. Without God there is no meaning. Without His Son we’re even worse off though. Without the Cross there is no hope since a just God has no choice but to send us to Hell forever for all the nasty stuff we have done, keep doing, and–without His intervention–will continue to do since we can’t stop sinning on our own.

If I were an atheist I would be an utter Nihilist–probably suicidal as well. Yet I am full of hope. Why?

There is no political solution for us. Democrats and Republicans are corrupt because both parties are run by human beings.

There is no  economic solution for us. Communism won’t work–because it requires tireless, self sacrifice of individuals for the common good of others with no hope for personal gain. Those most in favor of this system tend to be lazy, selfish people who only look out for themselves. Capitalism has a better track record, but selfishness  and greed are rotting it from within–so even the checks and balances built into it have gone haywire with all the bribery not just of government officials but media as well.

The nuclear family is not the solution. Marriages keep falling apart, abuse frequently occurs. Among Evangelicals the husband tends to be the abuser. Among secular couples the wife frequently is. Neither is acceptable. There is a reason young folks are reluctant to marry choosing less permanent, unchaste options. There is a reason they are leaving the family friendly churches behind. Not all the cool, hip praise choruses and worship teams can draw them back.

Education is not the solution. Carl Sagan thought education was the answer for what plagues humanity since it can teach us to curb our baser instincts. Sagan left one factor out of the equation. Educational systems are run by human beings–corrupt and fallible.

Ditto for science. Scientists know more than the rest of us, but their superior knowledge helps them twist facts to inflate their own reputations or support agendas that have nothing to do with science. Scientists and educators have to be smart with advanced degrees but goodness is not a job requirement for either occupation. Goodness includes truthfulness.

Do you know where this blog got its name? From Ecclesiastes. Throughout this short book, King Solomon or the Teacher looks around at things “under the sun.” Despite his wealth, fantastic sex life, achievements–in literature, music, scientific discoveries, architecture, and creating economic prosperity for his kingdom, and great health, the Teacher still finds no satisfaction till he is old and realizes happiness does NOT come from within. Or anywhere under the sun. Only over the sun can we find joy or peace. Hope, faith, or love.

When we look up we can hope….

LORD God please save us! We cannot save ourselves.



This Blog Needs to Be More Like Its Name

I Didn’t Know This Was a Satire


I came across this site the other day.

I can’t provide direct access to the article. It was “God Hates Asexuals.” The alleged preacher rants that even if you are impotent or sterile from sickness or an accident or can’t find a marriage partner, you’ll go to Hell for refusing to fulfill the Biblical mandate in Genesis 1:28.

I though, “Gee this guy is cruel! Whatever causes folks to not desire sex why do these ‘Christians’ have it in for them? Impotency, sickness, and childhood traumas are unfortunate, but they are not sins.”

I googled to see if they were affiliated with the Westboro Baptists. Nope. It’s a satire site.

I honestly couldn’t tell. It looked like one of Al Mohler’s or Russel Moore’s over-the-top rants. Being chaste and obeying God ain’t enough for these guys. You’ve got to have a smokin’ hot wife, lots of green for the offering plate, a MacMansion on earth (over the hilltop doesn’t count now) and at least 3 kids as proof of your salvation. If you’re a woman you’d better BE a smokin’ hot wife.

As a single woman I have agonized and desperately dated with every major online app–not because of sex (though that would be nice) or an empty house but it’s 100% essential for love and acceptance at any church I can think of. When I failed to land a godly Christian husband I questioned my salvation.

Yes Jesus loves me. But His body rejects me. It must have lupus, since it keeps turning on its own organs. Not even for sins, but stupid stuff. Disabilities, ugliness, poverty, and lack of the required spouse and kids Janette Oke promised all good Christian girls if we saved it for marriage, trusted God, and ate our veggies.

I wish I could leave. Sick of how they treat me! (Unknowingly I guess. Their put downs are supposedly funny and their  insensitive platitudes are supposed to cheer me up.) For Christ’s sake I suck it up, hold my nose, and endure church.

Then go home and weep.

I Didn’t Know This Was a Satire

Sick of Hearing About Your Great Aunt Hagatha



A pet peeve of mine has always been idiots at church who “console” me with disgusting tales of some octogenarian, doddering, spinster great aunt who married “for the very first time!” at 82.

A comment that always comes to my mind is, “Why?”

Another question is, “What kind of man would want a disgusting old hag for his wife?” Women are a lot prettier at 22 than 82, in case you hadn’t noticed. Why would some guy marry a decrepit old crone when she couldn’t get anyone when her charms were at their peak?

My guess is the guy is probably in horrible health and impotent. Love plays no role at all. He gets a “nurse with a purse” and Ugly Aunt Haggatha gets the status of a wedding band so the old spite-cats at church will quit mocking her.

There are three reasons to marry. They are as follows:

  1. It’s better to marry than to burn. If Aunt Haggatha has been able to endure the burning for 70 years, is she going to succumb to unchastity at death’s door? Not likely.
  2. Procreation. How many children will Uncle Dudley (Dud for short) and Aunt Haggatha have at age 91 and 82?
  3. Utilitarian yet spiritual marriages. Missionary partners or other evangelism teams. At 82 and 91 Aunt Haggatha and Uncle Dud aren’t likely to do missions work or much of anything. But die.

A lot of widowed or divorced preachers remarry late in life simply because they aren’t ready to retire. (Churches never hire single men–the Apostle Paul isn’t good enough for their conformist mentality.) The widowers’ hearts will always belong completely to their dead wives. Nevertheless a warm body in bed, massages for their rapidly deteriorating bodies, good food, and a gracious hostess make a marriage of convenience ideal.

That still does not explain why Aunt Haggatha agreed to marry Uncle Dud. My guess is to shut up the catty, smug matrons who have been putting her down wedding after wedding. Mother’s Day after Mother’s Day. Valentine’s Day after Valentine’s Day.

But guess what? They still will be spiteful and cruel to Aunt Haggatha. She can never “catch up.” They will always have their 50th anniversaries and decades of memories in the arms of Mr. Right, their children, grandchildren, etc. The cheerleaders who married between 18 and 22 will never accept a withered skeleton (who is finally “lucky” enough to land a marriage of convenience to a widower incapable of loving her.)

The matrons will always despise her; she still won’t fit in. The sex will be non-existent or torturous. Late in life loss of virginity is never a good thing.

How is six months of an outward form of marriage with a senile old geezer she can never love or even like supposed to compensate for over 60 years of crushing loneliness? Answer: it can’t.

At 44 my heart is dead and I no longer desire men. Too old for kids. If I met a nice guy tomorrow it would be too late. And frankly, God’s not cruel enough to play that kind of joke on me. Too old for love.






Sick of Hearing About Your Great Aunt Hagatha

A Love Song to Hillsong


I wish to show my gratitude for what the Hillsong conglomerate has done for contemporary worship. The deep, meaningful lyrics combined with distinctive music  in all the songs they grind out as a labor–purely of love not lucre–inspired me to write this.


Love Ya Hillsong


Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.
Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.
Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.
Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.
Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.
Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.
Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.
Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.

A lengthy period for the super awesome guitar solo. If your ears aren’t already bleeding this will take  care of that.

Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.
Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.
Love ya Hillsong. You write music good.

Perhaps you don’t like this song. Tough. I didn’t write it for your enjoyment but to honor Hillsong.

I’m sure any lyricist or composer working in Hillsong assembly line must be highly honored if they read these words. Since this kind of song is what they consider good enough for Jesus….





A Love Song to Hillsong

Pills for Love


“Steve” attended a church where my dad preached when I was in my early teens. His appearance was unusual. Dark bushy hair and full, wild beard in the eighties  when that wasn’t the fashion. His grooming was not great, and he was pale with wild eyes. His voice sounded high, nasal and slightly whiny most of the time.

Every now and then he  became hopeful to the point of becoming extremely excited and irrational. During these times he became convinced God had divinely appointed him to become President of the USA–but if he failed the whole world would go to Hell. And he–Steve–would be to blame.

Steve had been diagnosed with bipolar. Out of concern for Steve’s welfare Dad contacted his psychiatrist. (With Steve’s permission.”) According to the soul-doctor, all Steve had to do was take his pills exactly as prescribed. If he did that, stuff like being unemployed, deserted by his wife, and shunned by humanity would quit bothering him. And, more importantly, he would quit bothering us.

Dad was perhaps the only person there who saw Steve as a suffering human being. Everyone else treated him like something they scraped off their shoe bottom.

Psychiatry may have not helped Steve feel better, but it helped the rest of us immensely. It’s okay to treat “crazies” like pieces of garbage as long as we keep yelling at them to shut up and take their pills. If they bug us too much, get them locked up.

They have mental illnesses instead of feelings or thoughts after all. Why do they go to church when they really don’t have souls–just defective brains and mental illnesses? The yuppies at my church did a great job freezing Steve out I can tell you.

Though the pills addled his thinking–they really are about rendering patients docile rather than restoring cognitive abilities–Steve could still tell everyone wanted him gone. Soon enough he left.

Jesus came to our door looking for love and friendship. We told him to take his medicines and leave us alone. “If you want to talk to someone, talk to a professional. We aren’t ‘equipped’ to deal with people like you.”

“If you did it not for the least of these, you did it not for Me.”

Weep for shame American Christians!


Pills for Love

The Gift


The angel hovered over the women’s dorm of the Christian University. He materialized in the recreation room where nearly all the girls had gathered that Friday night to indulge in hot fudge sundaes and binge watch Hallmark movies. His shining whiteness made it obvious he wasn’t a boy overstaying his curfew. No one called the RD.

The angel gave the usual, “Fear not.” It was always necessary. He held aloft a little white box neatly tied with a blue ribbon and bow. “I have a gift for one of you.”

Their awe turned to dread at these words. Pulling back as one, they shrank from the Gift with loathing. Being forewarned in chapel, none of them wanted this dubious mark of favor.

“Is Sue Schroeder here?” asked the angel.

A collective sigh of relief swept over all girls who were not Sue. When she did not come forward to receive it, two girls dragged her out of the corner where she vainly tried to hide.

Pale as a corpse beneath the remains of carefully applied makeup Sue came forward trembling. “Here favored one. A gift from the Most High God.”

Sue took the box gingerly as though it were an anthrax package.

Could it be that Horror that no sane girl wanted? Sue tore the ribbon off and opened the box. The white box was empty.

Sue gnashed her teeth and tore her hair. Shaking her fist at the ceiling she shrieked, “Why do You hate me, God?” With a violent shriek this daughter of Jephthah collapsed unconscious upon the floor.

The others recoiled in horror leaving Sue to recover on her own. They feared lest her blessing rub off on them. A brief foretaste of the Hell on Earth before her.

“Glad I got my ring by spring,” one smug blonde whispered.

Luckless Sue had been given the Gift of Celibacy.


In honor of Dr. Al Mohler and his insightful views of this marvelous gift. He never has stated how the privileged few are supposed to know they have received it, so I cooked up this scenario.

The Gift