Washington and Progressive Law

Dear Friends and Family, I was going to lob some arrows at my own home state of Washington before the latest Connecticut tragedy of today. The twisty trunks of dogwoods and straight up stands of oak reflect my troubled thoughts. Just why do we reason that straight should come of crooked? We lean on our own understanding and decide what is fair and just, and then get surprised that the results turn tragic and twisted. Robbed. I am a certain case in point. Left to Washington and gay progressive thought I would likely be gay today, or at least as confused as I ever was. Please let me explain. For years and years very uncomfortable in my own skin, I could not understand girls and the girly thing of wanting to look pretty. Or I was incapable of it. It was the age of women's lib for goodness sake, and I wasn't sure being pretty was even a valid or valuable attribute. Besides, as Laura Ingalls once observed about herself, I was built like a tree trunk. I was a tomboy and maybe didn't even want to be stuck as a girl at all. My good friend Laura, who has remained single these 30 years and is always being suspected as gay just for that fact, came to me in high school with the "latest research" that said "probably" a good 50% of us are born all wrong and are really the opposite sex based on interviewing people concerning various things on a one-to-ten scale, one being "feeling more male" and ten being "feeling more female." As for clothing I would have said I felt all male. And according to my own children, if I were to say that in a crowd today along with being uncomfortable in my own skin, I would be told I am most likely gay and should try that lifestyle. But I thank God for bringing me to the reality of who He made me. It took me going to a healing ministry in Ukraine for the final conviction that there are tree trunks that can be happy girl trunks, and that I had suffered what many girls suffer, that of wanting to be a boy for their fathers. My dad had wished for a boy named Benjamin before my sister Kelly came along, I remember as a six-year-old. Not until after the Ukraine event did I learn that there had been a boy lost to a miscarriage before Kelly. Lo, Christianity can actually speak truth that heals, as it also did for friend Sheleigh who followed the gay lifestyle until the day she became a Christian and heard distinctly, Holy Spirit-wise "you are not a lesbian." For all the good intended, I believe the latest addition of gay marriage laws in Washington have just added to the twisted reasoning that went into relaxing divorce laws ad multiplum. It is legalized injustice, as people are robbed of the truth of who they really are; we give license to go any which way because we are not convinced of any right way. We legitimize confusion and then cry at the confusion we reap. Jesus said he came to set us free, but we have again called for our Barabbas, the robber. Yours and His from Tennessee, Whitherspoon

Brazil

No, we're not off to Brazil. Nice thought though. Just that the other day we brought home some mixed nuts to crack. Five year old Miriam came to me with one. "What's THIS?" "That's a Brazil nut. My favorite," I answered. "Oh! Why is it called a Brazil nut?" "I don't know. Maybe because it comes from Brazil," my well reasoned response. Miriam was happy enough with that, and returned to the crowd loudly cracking nuts in the other room. She went at it with gusto, probably convinced there was a good nut inside if it was my favorite. But after waiting a period, instead of hearing how she liked it there came a loud, "WELL HOW DO THE PEOPLE IN BRAZIL CRACK THESE THINGS?!!" She was back by my side with nut. It got cracked, but flunked the taste test. Miriam does not like Brazil nuts. She'd leave them to the Brazilian boars.

lima beans and collard greens

In this hour of the sung-unsung, oversung and singsong hero, one has gotten completely overlooked. Whoever cracked the culinary codes for the lima bean and collard green deserves a monument,song or sign. Only twice growing up did I give even a chance to the lima bean. First sidelong chance was bad. Gritty, dry, stuck to the roof of my mouth bad. Even buttered. Second chance was there was to be no third. And we never even encountered a collard green even far as Utah that I can recall even to this day. So leathery, we'd probably try to make boots out of it. But someone down here has gotten gravy out of limas, and crisp tenderness out of collards. Tasty Collards. Downright Heroic. And I say that if Wyoming can post a gargantuan bust of Lincoln on top of the pass outside of Laramie a full million miles from anything else Lincoln then surely the South can do better for their own. Wyoming doesn't even post for Denver. No mention. You must guess how far it is. But there sits Lincoln. "We freed the slaves!" Was Wyoming even a state then back then?? Everyone wants credit. Even all the people that don't inhabit Wyoming. Granted there is no face to this Chef of All Limas Chef. No Aunt Jemima equivalent. But here's an idea. If not a monument, then a sign. The West smirks at signs of "Jesus Saves" and "Got Jesus?" Doesn't matter where they are. But let them drive by a sign that says, "If God so loved the Lima Bean and Collard Green, just what do you think He ain't got crackin' about you?", you might just get them mad enough to quit their sassin' and pay some mind. Or a song. "I been redeemed, like the collard green...." verse 2...."I been redeemed, like the lima bean...." Good night. Enjoying our stay here. Food's great.

humble pie, southern style

My identity has taken a decided hit. I just hadn't calculated Tennessee at all. Suddenly my every northern-grown fiber resists. Nice place to visit, but live here??? I once chaperoned a group of teens to a weekend conference where one of the cooler gals decided to be my pal. One day while hanging out with her I blurted out, "hey, let's swap shoes!" Her eyes got big, she looked at me earnestly wondering if I was serious, made a quick recovery, and being cool and all, said,"hey yeah! Ok!" So right there we swapped shoes. I'm not sure who was more sorry, whether I for suggesting it or she for taking the bait, but we both had immediate regrets. I lumbered off in one direction in my new hightop redball jets, at least a size too big, while she tripped along in my delicate pointy slip-on patent leathers, dancing along and obviously feeling silly and likely cramped. I could do nothing but feel like a clownish clodhopper. In an instant we had both become highly insecure individuals having taken on footwear way outside our own ranges of Normal and Respectable. Footwear. If footwear can do this to a person, think what taking on a southern state can do to a northener! Landy came to me two hours later having braved out all she could handle. Dangling my patent leathers on the end of her fingers she didn't even ask, but demanded. "I want my shoes back." Amazingly, Landy says that that experience changed her life. She could no longer claim the humility she thought pervaded her entire being. Well I am not surprised that I'm not exactly humble, but I do hope that eating my humble southern pie might have its own lifechanging reward hidden somewhere within. If I'm honest and humble I will admit it's pretty sweet, and the crust ain't bad. Hey, y'all, keep in touch now, hear?