So, Constantine,
Engrossing...
It has come to my attention that you read this blog religiously, and apparently you anxiously await every post, which surprises me a bit given your crazy-busy schedule of “criss-crossing the country” preaching revivals and conferences where you preach against abominations like being a busy-body to groups of really nice people, in addition to all those meetings you’re having during which you demand my husband’s ordination certificate be revoked.
I’m impressed that you find the time to keep up with this little insignificant blog, and I’ll admit, I’m sort of curious as to why you bother.
Perhaps you’re running low on sermon illustrations. Maybe you’re just bored. Maybe you need some new witty one-liners, and since you used to use my husband and I as one of your main go-to sources, maybe you thought you’d just come here and continue passing off my thoughts as your own.
Maybe you’ve finally realized the story about the hag-organist is tedious. Maybe you’ve run out of ways to insult Catholics, Calvinists, Democrats, Ellen Degeneres, and shameless pants-wearing jezebels. Who knows, you may just be trolling for new poetry. Maybe you’re just sick of gospel quartets, and your hoping I’ll post that good Tanya Tucker song again.
Of course, you could be looking for juicy gossip about my “spiritual implosion”, especially since you’re now worried I am “not saved.” (I appreciate your concern for my eternal soul, and sure do thank you for your prayers; I’ve heard you tout your E.F. Hutton-esque praying powers from the pulpit several times: “I prayed for them after the service, and the next day, they were at the altar gittin-right-with-Gawd…” When you speak, God listens. God sure does move mightily, but, apparently not without express permission and specific directions from you.) Hmm…maybe your curious as to why God’s not paying attention to you on this one… Maybe you’re slipping…
Maybe you think I’ve got a demon. (You wouldn’t be the first.)
"Brutha, kin I git a flame-thrower?"
Or, maybe you’re morbidly curious how my (deeply personal, intensely prayerful, thoroughly studied, and very, very difficult) rejection of fundamentalism and my inability to have any part in it whatsoever is affecting my husband, my children, and I, all of whom you obviously hate, and so perhaps adding insult to injury is some sort of fun little science experiment you’re conducting on the reverse effects of Ephesians 4:32 (“And be ye kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving one another, even as God for Christ’s sake hath forgiven you.”), and Galatians 6:1 (“Brethren, if a brother be overtaken in a fault, ye which are spiritual restore such an one in the spirit of meekness; considering thyself, lest thou also be tempted.”), all in Jesus’ name, of course. I’ll give you this: it is sort of an interesting thing to observe when the “fault” is the wife who can’t…well, who can’t be any part of such a cruel belief system. Congratulations: you’re being used mightily of the Lord, and you’re proving to me I did the right thing. I must tell you, though, that this is a fruitless endeavor, and it could very well backfire on you. There’s nothing left to take from us, nothing for you to gain, and the data you gather reflects much more on you than us.
It could be you’re under the impression my husband writes this stuff. (I assure you, every jot and tittle posted here is solely my own, unless otherwise stated. In fact, truth be told, you’re here more than he is.) Maybe you’re surprised, because I’m just a woman (and a hag to boot), a woman without a degree no less, and you’re shocked a woman is capable of writing anything that isn’t centered around child-rearing, house-keeping, shopping, or the occasional craft project. (Not that you’d know good writing: all you seem to be capable of is tweeting, and, I imagine unless you’re cutting and pasting, those are probably misspelled.) You know, now that I think about it, you might think about sending back your degrees. I know I would: I would just attach a note saying I was not a satisfied customer. Then again, you may not want to waste your time going to all that trouble when you could be reading my latest posts: nobody cares about schools that hand out honorary bachelors degrees and list “doctor’s degree” as one of the levels of education one can achieve on their obviously-doctored official transcripts. Those degrees aren’t worth the paper they’re printed on. (For proof of this, see the current enrollment numbers.) Ask me how I know this. I dare you.
Maybe you’re hoping to see a picture of my husband, whose ordination you preached, and whom you referred to on countless occasions publicly and privately as your “brother-from-another-mother”, and one of your “closest friends in the ministry”, since you took down all the pictures of him on your website. As one who appreciates good photography, the photo-shopping him out of the picture in that red hot-rod was really, I must say, very poorly done. The newly-doctored photo does vividly display your spiritual maturity, however, which is, really, quite astonishing. Perhaps you just miss him-he’s probably one of the only protege’s you had that dropped everything whenever you rang, never begged for preaching slots and honorary doctorates, or shoved their latest awful alliterated outline under your snot-locker.
"Ya gotta keep *them* separated."
I never actually realized the obvious caveat in that phrase, “closest friend in the ministry” until now. I can’t believe I missed it, since fundamentalism’s credo is “separation above all else.” Maybe you’re of the opinion that Proverbs 17:17 (“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”) could have a typo. I guess people who, through no fault of their own, have to leave the ministry aren’t getting anymore fist bumps and old rejected ties from you.
Whatever the reason, you’re welcome here. Enjoy the blog. I hope it’s a blessing to you. I hope it makes you think, and occasionally makes you laugh. Feel free to share it with your friends, heck-you could just re-tweet it.