Sunday, February 27, 2005

dancing sheep?

originally posted on February 25, 2005

we were writing back and forth about rescuing 'lost lambs' in ways that reflected our 'giftings...

i hear what you are saying... especially the 'gifted' part.

what is a gift? are relationships gifts from God? if so, then the lost lambs are right there in your area of gifting. rather than seeing gifts in the general and traditionally interpreted biblical sense, how does this play out for you personally?

my fear is that we miss our specific role in the reaching of the lost because we categorize our lives into boxes: (work, friends, family, work-friends, work-family, church, church-friends, church-family, church-work, church-work-friends etc.) and lose track of our relational role in the whole thing. who do you have more of a chance to share Christ with, to demonstrate the patience and grace and love apportioned to you with, etc etc- a stranger that you meet when you are playing music somewhere or somebody that knows you because they've played hockey with you or worked alongside of you for ten years or whatever?

a band i play with is very definately a missionfield- i get excited about doing stuff with those guys because playing is fun. however, for my person, the ministry is with the guys in the band- i have greatest impact on them because we have relationships that are established already- not with the crowd (big or small!) assembled. anytime i sing i am leading worship because that's a sanctified role i play for God's glory, and i don't really think that the words have as much to do with pleasing God as the heart anyway. although we don't frame it that way, singing "i fight authority-authority always wins" becomes a testimonial praise song on a number of levels because of who i am, but when we're singing 'one thing' (finger eleven) and that tear makes a break for it down my face, it's not the crowd that notices or knows what it's all about- it's the boys in the band.

music is a great vehicle for praise. i'm just not sure of how effective an evangelism tool it is, because it is so emotional and emotions are so volatile. the lost lambs can dance, but do they dance home?

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Blogger marcythewhore said...

Friday, March 04, 2005
Terry Schiavo and the Pope Get A Free Massage and a Diaper Change………
Marcythewhore says: A while back I wrote that Terry Schiavo and the Pope could come into one of my massage parlors for a free Happy Ending. But let’s be real, when one is comatose, one is only having nightmares. Happy Endings don’t count in the real world. A nurse wrote to me describing what it is like to care for a comatose patient. Read it and weep. Read especially the part where the only person who changes the comatose person’s diapers was the nurse, not the so-called grieving family.

Yes, if Terry Schiavo’s so-called grieving parents want to bring her into my massage parlor, I’ll see to it that her diapers are changed. Cause a Happy Ending is no longer on Terry Schiavo’s list of things to do in this life….er….if you can call it a life anymore.

Same goes for the Pope. Time to step down your Pontiff. Reality is reality……….marcythewhore

An email from a nurse:

In every instance, but one, the family was so convinced that their loved one was responding to them.
Sort of like those situations where a nonspeaking child gives it's mother (or father) long messages of truth and understanding. Funny, but I thought it wasn't saying anything, not even making a sound. I stay away from such people. And there are a lot of them.
Like the 19 year old who survived a cardiac arrest, but lived in a vegetative state for the next 5 years. I took care of this lad most of that time. I saw the changes in his family. What happened could be the start of a very long story. Well... It WAS a very long story. Too long, if you ask me.
Yes, he had seizures. Oh they were doozies. Nothing subtle at all. No he didn't breath on his own, nor did he feed himself. He didn't do anything.
Oh... begging pardon.... He stared. All day. And when he didn't stare, he blinked. A lot.
He shit. He pissed. He sweat. All of those things I was there for. Not Mom, Dad, or little Bro.
He was a human-sized doll baby, and I fed him, bathed him, dressed him.
You know... If I didn't do that, who would? Mommy? Daddy? Bruddy? Oh heavens no!
And when he coded for about the 11th time, and the mother screamed, ranted, threatened direst threats if he didn't survive, it was finally over.
I'm sure no lawyer in this land could not say that everything had not been done. By that time, no one cared, except that it was finally over.
Over, that is until the next one like him.
Of which, I might add, Terry Schiavo and her family are very much alike.
Does Terry Dream? I would venture to say that TS hasn't got two neurons to talk to one another in over a decade.
Poor Terry.
posted by marcythewhore at 8:25 AM


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