3 reasons I believe in God- Tamilu

Yesterday I posted a statement on my FB page “A man with an argument can never trump a man with an experience.” and I posted that because I was reminded about the intricacies of faith. Faith sometimes means believing in something that does not make logical sense according to the scholars of the day.

I have a meager education. I went to college, but spent more time in the student center playing euchre and drinking .25 cent beers than attending class. A lot of people could out maneuver me in an argument. A lot of people could come at me with intellectual debates about God and ask me questions I couldn’t answer. But nothing can sway my belief in God because of I’ve had experiences that prove otherwise.

1. I grew up with a Dad who was an alcoholic. My entire life until I was 15, my Dad drank. He went to work every day, and then stopped at the bar on the way home and drank until he either passed out, or had to be escorted home by his friend the chief of police. My mom was a devout Christian. We prayed for my Dad on my knees by my bedside nightly. He got angry about our prayers and told my Mom to “keep her prayers off of him.” he was distant and crabby and kids in my neighborhood weren’t allowed to play at my house because a mean drunk lived there. One Easter, Mom and I got up to go to church and my dad was sitting in the living room in his suit. My mom said her initial thought was “Where is Jack going to go drinking on Easter Sunday morning?” She assumed he was dressed to go to the bar. She asked where he was going and he said “To church with you.” I can’t say why. I don’t know why after us praying for a decade he randomly decided to go to church. But, he did. And when they asked who wanted to give their life to Jesus, my Dad leapt out of his seat and wept his way down the aisle. He became a new man that day. He never took another drink. He never went to AA or rehab, he said God delivered him from the desire to drink. He stopped smoking and swearing, too. He started...talking to me. He never graduated from high school and didn’t read well. He took night classes, learned to read and went to Bible college. He became a pastor and worked as a chaplain in a Children’s psychiatric hospital ministering to kids that had substance abuse issues. The list of charities he worked with and for are countless. When he died 6 years ago, people I never knew wrote Mom and I letters “Your Dad saved my life.” - the same dad I grew up with that was a scary drunk that the neighbors feared. The people who knew my Dad before he got saved could not believe he had become a pastor. The people that knew my dad after he got saved saw him as a hero and a saint and could not believe he used to be a drunk. He didn’t even look the same. If I showed you a pre-God photo and a post-God photo of my Dad, you would think it was two different men. This was not an act of willpower on my Dad’s part. It was divine intervention.

There is a story in the Bible in John chapter 9. A man who was blind from birth was healed by Jesus. People challenged him and argued with him about laws Jesus broke, etc – the guy said (paraphrased)

“I don’t know if Jesus is a sinner, all I know is I was blind and now I can see.”

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1. When people try to convince me there is no God, I say:

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"My dad was a drunk and then he wasn’t."

2. There is a guy I work with named Richard. Richard has a beautiful singing voice and sings at weddings and at various events. But we’ve been sad, because Richard has a brain tumor and has been suffering seizures and was in very bad shape. Last month, Richard sang at an event I was at – one of the pastors at the event said “As some of you know, Richard is battling cancer and he has a brain tumor and he was up all night puking but he still came and sang for us today.” Everyone clapped. Someone yelled “Can we pray for him?” Sure – the guy said. So, the 100+ people in the room walked up and laid their hands on him and prayed. We got the word last week that when he went to his medical check up – the doctors were shocked to discover his golf ball size tumor is gone. Vanished.

Richard had a tumor and now he doesn’t.

3. My friend Ken was a drummer in a local band. My friends and I were little teenaged groupies and went to see them play everyplace they went. He was totally healthy and strong, but one day – he starting getting weird tingling in his limbs. He was diagnosed with MS (or some other muscle disease I can’t recall for sure). I watched him go from whole healthy hot young drummer to crippled. He was in a wheelchair and was expected to be completely immobile within the year. He still had use of his arms at that point and was playing at our church one night. He had gotten so bad the other band members had to pick him up and set him behind his drums. We had a guest speaker that night who saw this and he said “Can I pray for this young man?” and he did – he put his hands on Ken and asked God for a miracle. I felt the power of God move through the room and through my body. My hands are shaking and my eyes are tearing up while I write this. 10 seconds later, Ken got up and walked away from the drums, completely healed in an instant. I saw him deteriorate over two years time and I saw him completely healed in 10 seconds.

I told this story to someone recently and they said “Yeah, well how is he NOW? For all you know, he relapsed a year later.” I didn’t know the answer to that because I lost touch with him. SO, I recently tracked him down on Facebook and said “You probably don’t remember me but...” - but he did remember me, and that night. He said God totally healed him that night and he never had another problem in his life. That was 35 years ago.

Ken was crippled and then he wasn’t.

I have lots of stories like this, I’ve had years of witnessing the miracle of changed lives like my Dad and people who were given death sentences but didn’t die. I don’t know why bad things happen and I can’t answer every argument anyone throws at me, but I know Jack, Richard and Ken’s lives were changed. That’s all the proof I need. - Tammy Lou Waite

- Tamilu © October, 2010

Follow me on Twitter @tamilu40

The Porn Star, the Pastor (And What America Can Learn From Them)

You may have heard the name Ron Jeremy.

I certainly won't judge you if you have; I've been aware of his career since college. Ron was an answer to a trivia video game at the bar my friends and I frequented in college. The guys in our circle thought my BFF and I must be really wild because we knew the answer to that question - but in fact we were merely Christian virgins who just spent too much time at the bar playing video games and had memorized all the answers.

On the off chance you didn't hang out in bars in the 80's playing video trivia, Ron Jeremy is a porn star.

I wanted to link Ron's Wikipedia page to this blog, but even the first paragraph of his bio would put my blog into R-rated territory, so if you opt to Google him on your own, it won't be my fault. Ron has made around 2000 adult films, and has had a career that spans 30 years. He likes porn and is proud of his body of work.

Craig Gross on the other hand, is the pastor of the XXX church and works tirelessly to help people break free of sex and porn addictions, as well as reaching out to people people in the adult entertainment industry.

They make an unlikely duo, and yet they have staged 60+ debates on Pornography asking the question "Is Porn just a harmless hobby, or is it destructive to our society?"

This forum is normally held on college campuses, but last night was held for the first time in a church at the Rock Church in San Diego.

This was not a "church" event. It was raw and uncensored. People discussed topics that aren't normally discussed in church. Pastor Miles playfully mimicked splashing Ron with Holy Water a few times when the topics got especially graphic.

People from the adult entertainment industry sat beside avid churchgoers and had an open discussion about Sex (even the word Sex was displayed on the stage glimmering in neon for emphasis.) People laughed, and gasped and applauded and reacted. It was a passionate event with strong feelings on both sides.

Each man got a set time to make his point and the debate ensued.

Craig Gross told tales of women desperate to leave the industry, the shame and embarrassment they felt after leaving and never being able to shake the reputation, and the destruction of families and marriages due to unrealistic expectations of sex and the rejection and betrayal one spouse felt when another viewed porn.

Ron Jeremy countered with a list of women who have become millionaires making porn and used the money to invest and start their own businesses, and consenting adults and married couples who use porn to enrich their sex lives.

It's clear that these two men agree on very little. (The only topic on which they did agree was their mutual and passionate objection to the sexual explotation of children.)

They are at totally opposite ends of the spectrum and disagreed on 99% of the topics brought before them.

But the thing that struck me and wormed its way into my soul is this: These two men clearly respect one another. They're friends. They travel together on a bus. They told humorous stories about one another. They know each other's families. There was disagreement, but no animosity. There were two opposing lifestyles without any judgment or hatred. They love each other.

In a country with a deep partisan divide and people calling those with opposing beliefs Hitler and accusing opposing viewpoints as unpatriotic and dangerous, Ron Jeremy and Craig Gross are shining examples of what America is all about. Ron is free to his beliefs, Craig is free to his, and they can peacefully co-exist. While I'm sure Craig prays for Ron's salvation, he doesn't condemn him. While Ron doesn't share Craig's beliefs, he respects Craig for standing up for his beliefs and for helping people who do want to get out of the industry.

I walked away from that even with a headful of alarming stats about Pornography and a genuine respect for the two men who disagreed so graciously.

Pay attention America. Play nice. - Tammy Lou Waite © 10.10.10

Follow me on Twitter @tamilu40

You Bleed Me Out

You are my spouse
For better or worse, we promised each other
But sometimes it seems you'd rather be my mother
I'd give my life to relieve your pain
But somehow you don't see what you have to gain
You take the best I've got
You treat me like I've been caught
You bleed me out

You are my child
With a parent's heart, I love you like no other
But sometimes it seems you'd rather I be your brother
I'd give my life for you to avoid pain
But somehow you don't see what you have to gain
You take the best I've got
You act as if it's all been for naught
You bleed me out

You are my work
I try my best to show you what's in store
But sometimes it seems you'd rather show me the door
I'd give my life for all of our gain
But you'd much rather cause me pain
You take the best I've got
You don't seem to want to improve our lot
You bleed me out

You are my Lord
I try my best to live by Your word
But sometimes I seem to fall on the sword
You gave Your life for my gain
I'm sorry for when I've caused You pain
I give You the best I've got
For with Your blood my soul's been bought
I bleed You out

Just Enough

I'd like to have a little house,
with an empty room
so I could say
to a dear friend passing along the way
"Come- stay with me as long as you like"

I’ll keep a good lamp beside your bed
where you can read before
you rest your head

And fill it with flowers
jasmine scent fills the air
and plump pillows to sink into
make you forget all your cares

A cozy place, a friendly home
Safety from the storm
A haven of peace where Jesus lives
To keep them safe and warm

But never a mansion with Persian rugs
golden doorknobs, stained glass windows
fine china on display
just enough, Oh just enough
give the rest away.

I'd like to write a book someday
and pass a table at some café,
and see someone reading the things
I have said,
and laugh by tossing back their head
Or crying a tear if I moved their soul
knowing God used me to help
them come Home

But never awards or trophies
or contracts and agents for me
just a glimmer of light
in the eye of one soul
that’s just enough
it’s all I need
give the rest away.

I'd like to have a pile of dollars,
a jar of coins in every size,
to pass among each soul that asks
any hand stretched out towards mine

to any eye who seeks my gaze
not caring if it's spent
on food or clothes
or whiskey or rent

but that someone said "HELP"
and I said
YES
over and over again

but never a pair of designer shoes
or a Gucci bag, a silk dress in blue
a department store lipstick
no diamond or pearl
when any mouth goes hungry
I’ll give them my world

just enough
just my needs
give my wants away

I'd like to be so full of God
that people see me shine as I pass on the sidewalk
and say
"who is she, and why is she light
and why is it warm when I'm near her?"
I'd like to have them look at me
and see His face
listen to my voice sing or talk and
hear His words
reach for me, and feel His touch
in my embrace

none of me
all of Him
give it all away
all away
He is enough.

-tamilu

Back to What He Said...

Last week, my co-blog author Tim posted on women and sexuality. I had a very visceral response to his post, but hesitated to respond.

I've spent the past few days asking myself why.I recently took a writing seminar about "Dangerous Writing" with the brilliant Tom Spanbauer and it touched on this sort of issue - there are things that are real and powerful that we yearn to say, but we don't for fear of what people will think, or perceived chinks in our sterling reputations. And so we write about safe things that might mildly amuse but don't move people in any discernible way.

So I asked myself, at 49 years old, exactly what reputation am I trying to protect? Obviously I've had sex, so why shouldn't I be able to talk about sexuality? My father the pastor is gone, so I can't embarrass him anymore, my darling 83 year old mother doesn't go online, and my husband is used to my shenanigans after being married to me for 21 years, so - caution to the wind.

I agree with what Tim said about what it takes for a woman to allow a man to penetrate her body. I think that's why sex is generally a different experience for a woman than for a man. Certainly there are women who have random sexual partners, but for most women I know, it's unheard of - we need a genuine connection with someone before we’re willing to open the treasure chest and give out the gold.

The pathway to our bodies leads through our hearts and minds. Capture our imagination. Ignite our soul with the flame of something real. The vulnerability most women need to open our bodies up to a man comes with trust and a passion that builds over time.

In 1978, I attended a Jesus festival and signed a purity pledge promising to remain a virgin until I got married. I kept it for awhile, but after my aforementioned accident, I was angry with God and went into a season of wild rebellion which entailed me drinking too many .25 beers at the Akron U Chuckery and...breaking my purity pledge.I thought I was teaching God a lesson for letting something bad happen to me. (Yeah, I know how lame that sounds now, but at the time it made sense.) Boy did I show Him! (And boy will I pay on judgment day if my Baptist Sunday School teacher was right.)

Back to sex. I never picked up random men and had sex with them; I'm just not built that way. My 1980's Girl's Gone Wild Meltdown aside, I've had fewer lovers in my life than you can count on one hand because I had to be in love to make love.

I've read that men are visually aroused, which explains the glut of porn in the world. But for me, looking at a photo of a naked man does nothing for me at all. I can admire his form, but it doesn't turn me on sexually.

What has always attracted me to a man is intellectual stimulation, or emotional connection. I need something that stirs my soul, ignites my imagination and penetrates my heart before a guy could ever hope to penetrate my body.

In those days of my youth, I sought a soul mate, a kindred spirit, a fellow sojourner with whom to walk through the world; not a random night of orgasms with a guy in tight jeans.I've been in love a few times in my life and though most of those relationships ended badly, (I was engaged 5 times before Jeff and I got married. Swear.) I still value those encounters, as ill advised as they might have been.

Why? Because at a certain moment in time, I loved those guys and they loved me. I look at myself in the mirror and still see the reflection of the way their love changed me. Their lasting impact in my life was in the way they shaped my soul, not in their sexual acrobatics or chiseled bodies. (We all had chiseled bodies in our 20's we just didn't know it.)

I hasten to generalize, but with some men, I fear that's not always the case. Some of my guy friends look at some woman walking by and say "I'd do her!" and I say "How do you know? She might be a total moron, or hateful and bitter, or not even speak English to talk to you." They say "So?"

Hm, curious. Perhaps being the penetrator instead of the penetrated makes you a little less concerned with substance and long lasting impact? Help me out here guys. Enquiring minds want to know.

Switching gears, I’d like to add a disclaimer of sorts. I posted this last week, and then thought better of it and took it down. Why? Because being a sinner and writing about your sins when you’re at the forefront of a ministry is a tricky business. Will it shock the church to know I’ve sinned? I hope not.

Our journey of faith is characterized by both triumphs and failures. My testimony of faith contains things I am proud of, and things I am ashamed of. It contains a few things that will haunt me until Jesus comes to take me home.

But as I contemplated how honest I wanted to be in my writing, I decided to err on the side of transparency. We all pretend we’re alright when we’re not. This s my personal campaign to stop that!

I look at actions I took in the past which were far from God’s perfect plan for me, but he turned those missteps into treasures. In Romans 8:28 it says “All things work together for those who love God and are called according to His purpose.” You know what ALL things means? It means ALL things.

The moments I sinned as well as the moments I behave like a saint are moments God uses to mold me into the version of me He imagined when He made me.

What treasure did I gain from all the times I’ve fallen? Compassion. Before I had any major falls, I had no compassion. I was harsh and judgmental. I have deep regrets still about a friend from high school that I terrorized when she came to confide to me she had gotten pregnant at 16. I had no mercy. I hate that old Tammy.

But after I messed up a few times? That inclination to judge vanished. My Dad used to say “We judge others by their actions, but we judge ourselves by our intentions.” He was right of course.
So calling all sinners – if you need someone to confess your greatest struggles with, I’m your girl. I will not judge you. I come with references. Some of you sinners in this reading audience have confessed some pretty messed up stuff to me and knew I'd still love you! In fact, I loved you even more so because I didn’t have to pretend to be perfect with you anymore!

Like Jesus, I’m more comfortable hanging out with the riff raff than the Pharisees.
-Tamilu

P.S. I know this is too many "She Said's" between "He Said's" but Tim did mention in our first post that women talk more, so you were warned.

The Jesus I Know

When I was 5, my mother started taking me to church. She didn't drive and my father wasn't a church goer yet, so we took the bus from the First Baptist Church of Stow that picked people up for Sunday School.

I asked Jesus into my heart when I was 5 years old and I was in love with Him. They taught me he was kind and that He made sick people better and cared about widows and orphans. When He saw someone in need, he met that need. When he saw someone being mistreated or abused, like the woman at the well, he stopped them in their tracks. He forgave any sin, he even asked God to forgive the people who were crucifying him while he hung on the cross.

I love that Jesus. I worship that Jesus. I have spent my life serving that Jesus.

But there is another Jesus getting a lot of press these days. He's not very kind or tolerant, and He has very little compassion. People invoke this new Jesus' name and do all manner of detestable things.

I saw a man who calls himself a pastor (Westboro Baptist Church) interrupting a dead soldiers funeral, who said Jesus hates the dead soldiers because they fought in an army that allows gays. The Jesus I know would not have said that.

Also, it's apparently unpopular to care for the needy these days presumably because it's their own damned fault and if you want to help them anyway, you're a socialist. The Jesus I know doesn't feel that way.

I have always loved the slogan on the Salvation Army building "We see the need, not the cause."

Certainly many people who are down and out got there because of bad choices. But does that mean we leave them in the gutter? The Jesus I grew up with would stop and help them. But this new Jesus I keep hearing about is much harsher.

But I have a problem with the new Jesus. I've read the Bible. I've seen the words in red letters that came out of his mouth when He was on Earth. He never mentioned Gay Marriage, or Abortion. Not once. You'd think if those were the two topics closest to His heart, He would have made sure we knew that in His time here. He never registered with any political party either.. Instead, He spoke about... well, let me show you from Matthew 25...

Matthew 25- 31-40 The Message translation...

31-33"When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left.

34-36"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what's coming to you in this kingdom. It's been ready for you since the world's foundation. And here's why:

I was hungry and you fed me,
I was thirsty and you gave me a drink,
I was homeless and you gave me a room,
I was shivering and you gave me clothes,
I was sick and you stopped to visit,
I was in prison and you came to me.'

37-40"Then those 'sheep' are going to say, 'Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?' Then the King will say, 'I'm telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.'

So tell me, how could someone read that and think Jesus meant he didn't want us to help people? And Jesus didn't say "Only if they are Americans!" because of course, America didn't exist. If you see someone in need, and you can meet their need, do it! Period. My Jesus doesn't care on which side of the border they were born, He still wants His church to love you.

Here's where I think the church has it wrong. We were commanded to do two things by Jesus;
" Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and Love your neighbor as yourself."

But instead, some factions of the church have appointed themselves the morality police.

Instead of going to a pregnant teenager and saying "Here, let us help you figure out how to care for your baby." the followers of the New Jesus choose to protest, (or worse) blow up abortion clinics. While I don't believe in abortion, I also don't believe in bombing abortion clinics.

Although I'm not Catholic, I read a beautiful book by Pope John Paul II entitled "The Gospel of Life" which made a compelling case against abortion, the death penalty, euthanasia, and any other instance where we consider taking matters of life and death into our own hands. The Jesus the Pope and I know is against that.

Instead of welcoming gays and lesbians into their church to hear the Gospel, the followers of New Jesus made sure the gay community knew the church would not welcome them. I've even seen signs that say "God hates Fags."

That's not the Jesus I know. He doesn't hate any of us. He hates sin. He hates your sin, my sin, everyone's sin. But we humans have decided to place a rating scale on sin and decide which ones Jesus hates most and have decided to help Him out by chasing those people out of His kingdom. I don't think the Jesus I know wants that sort of help from us. It's the backwards thinking of the church to try and clean the fish before we catch them.

I am tenderhearted and I won't apologize for that. I am the child of two kind people- we always had some misbegotten soul at our house- my parents took in wayward hookers and drug dealers and various people that came to my Dad for counseling.

Instead of handing them a good word and sending them on their way, he let them come home with him! That's love. Love isn't saying "I'll pray for you." and going on about your day. The Jesus I know wants us to love people tangibly by feeding them a meal, (Like my adorable friend Heidi! Watch that girl go!) giving them a place to sleep for the night (You saw The Blind Side, right?)

An African proverb says "Hungry stomachs have no ears." meaning that you can't talk to someone about the Gospel when they are starving to death. Their immediate needs must be addressed first before we preach to them. Certainly Jesus urged people to repent, but He rescued them and healed them first. He always responded in love.

The things the followers of New Jesus seem wrong and foreign to me. For instance, radio host Glenn Beck urged Christians to leave their churches if they practice social justice, like you know, feeding the poor... (Remember that pesky Bible passage above?)

They believe that their Jesus condemns, judges and hates. He is selfish and grabs what's his without considering the plight of the people He is keeping it from until the step into line. The people who follow him are loud and can out scream the followers of the meek peacemaker Jesus that I know every time.

Does the fact that they are louder mean they are right?

No. And thankfully, there are people who know the same Jesus I know, like my co-blogger Timothy Hughes which is one of the things that first got us fired up to write this blog in the first place. We're going to speak up for the Jesus we learned about in Sunday School because we believe He's the real deal.

The New Jesus is clearly an impostor.- by -Tammy Lou Waite © 2010

Follow me on Twitter @tamilu40

I Got The Music In Me

I considered writing another political post, but since Tim and I have both gotten in trouble this week for our political views, I decided to go into the weekend gently and touch on something a bit less controversial.

Music

I grew up an only child and spend a great deal of time alone on days I couldn't convince the neighborhood boys to play baseball with me. Sometimes I wrote poems and stories, sometimes I played Monopoly alone, (I know, mega-pathetic) but mostly, I listened to music.

I had a radio and a stereo and piles of records. My Dad’s friend owned a local bar and when they changed out the records in their jukebox, he gave my dad the old 45’s for me. I bought new records with any money I got my hands on, and taped things off the radio.

This was a tricky process, because if I was waiting all day for some groovy song like Terry Jacks “Seasons in the Sun” to finally play, as soon as it would come on, my Mom would invariably yell something into my room like “Get your bike out of the driveway, it’s time for your Dad!” and every time I listened to my tape of Seasons in the Sun I would silently curse my mother for her bad timing.

I listened to Casey Casem’s Top 40, and watched American Bandstand every week. Sometimes I stuck around for Soul Train, too. I wrote down the names of all the songs, singers and any random trivia they had to impart. I got records and played them over and over again and wrote down the lyrics. Once I learned the words, I sang them into my hairbrush in the mirror and fancied myself a rock star in the making.

When I was lonely, music was my friend.

On one stellar week, I conned some boys to come in and play Partridge Family with me. I made them sing the Partridge Family's "I Woke Up In Love This Morning" into the mirror on my pink vanity table. I even tried to create some cheesy choreography. There was an actual tambourine involved. As you can imagine, this didn’t go over very well with the boys. I had to catch frogs in Meadowbrook Lake with them for three days straight to win back my street cred.

But I digress.

I have immersed myself in music my entire life.

I listen to it, I sing it, I write it, I pimp it, and I breathe it. There is no gift anyone can give me that is as precious to me as a new song I haven’t heard that moves my soul. At our age, days can become quite routine, we get up, we go to work, we drive home in annoying traffic – and sometimes like a gift from God himself as we flip the radio dial something wonderful spills out into the air and inspires us, takes our breath away, and makes our heart feel alive again.

When I am empty, music fills me.

When I hear “Sunshine on my Shoulders" I think of Ted Root and the 8th Grade Girls Ensemble where he taught us to sing it with echoes; I still hear the other girls voices in my head.

When I hear “Baby You Can Sleep While I Drive” I think of my years on the road with CP and all the nights we drove the highways of America taking turns sleeping, singing, driving, laughing – a magical part of my life’s story.

When I hear Counting Crows sing “Long December” I think about the day I got the “it’s been so long since I’ve seen the ocean line” caught in my head and went home and told Jeff I wanted to move to California. Yes, I am the sort of woman who makes major life choices based on pop song lyrics.

When I need motivation to change, music provides it.

When I was 21, I experienced tragedy. I was traveling cross country with my theatre friends and fell asleep at the wheel while I was driving. One of my friends was killed. Two were critically injured. I thought I would die from the pain, and to be frank it’s still something I live with.

Not much survived the crash, but my Dan Fogelberg “The Innocent Age” tape made it out unscathed. I listened to nothing but that tape for at least a year. It was about lost innocence, confusion, and all the swirl of emotions I was trying to make sense of after this horrifying event.

I didn’t see a shrink; I didn’t take anti-depressants although God knows I was depressed. I received powerful guidance via correspondence (Paper, ink, stamps, and days between responses. Anyone remember that?) from an Episcopal priest I met on the road in Salt Lake City, Utah, and I listened non-stop to Dan Fogelberg.

“Storybook endings never appear
They're just someone's way of leading us here

Waiting for wisdom to open the cage

We forged in the fires of the innocent age

Back at the start it was easy to see

No one to own to, nowhere to be

Deep in the heartlands a sad memory calls to me

Fretful horizons, worrisome skies

Tearful misgivings burning your eyes

Yearnings unanswered, reckon the wage you pay

To recapture the innocent age.” – Dan Fogelberg

When I was broken, music fixed me.

Friends, I have ten more pages like this in my head, but at the risk of Tim kicking me off his blog and replacing me with another “She Said” I’ll stop now and save the rest for future posts. –Tammy Lou

"I Never Met a Man I Didn't Like"

Will Rogers uttered those words many years ago and was referring to a general fondness for humanity. But for the purpose of providing juxtaposition to Tim's post on women, I want to go on record and say I prefer the company of men.

When I was a little girl, I lived in a neighborhood of boys and I was an only child. Since I wanted to have someone to play with, I learned to play baseball and I made my Dad take me fishing. I learned to fillet the perfect fish and stop squealing if the fish moved while we cleaned it. (Although I wore gloves to put worms on my hook because they were just nasty.)

When people bought me girl toys like dolls, I turned my nose up at them. I wanted baseball equipment and bicycles and nets to catch frogs in so I could keep up with the boys.

Don't get me wrong, I have some really wonderful girlfriends. But women are SO much work. When you go out with women, you have to worry about if your shoes match your purse and if your nails are done and if your roots are showing. They want to shop for antiques or do crafts or talk about their babies' butt rashes. Pass! I don't know girl things like designer brands or the best stores to buy wallpaper, or where to get false eyelashes applied for $150. It's just not me.

But I can name most of the Cleveland Indians from the 70's like Buddy Bell, Dennis Eckersley, Duane Kuiper, Oscar Gamble, Gaylord Perry and ... chicks are not impressed by that knowledge. I can also name the singer of most any song in my lifetime, and basically no one on Earth is impressed by that skill except when my college friends call me up at 3 in the morning drunk and try to get other drunk people to stump me.

One more strike against women... If a certain woman doesn't show up to the party- she is the topic of conversation for all the other women. One time I missed a party with a bunch of girls from work and one lady told me something another lady said about me. I confronted her and she said (I swear I'm not making this up.) "Well, if you would have come we wouldn't have talked about you." Sometimes women are insane! (Myself included.) Women are hard on each other. They have the tendency to tear each other down with great regularity. I've never understood the need they have to belittle one another. I despise it. (I say as I write an entire paragraph tearing down women. Hypocrite!)

But men? Men have this lovely quality - they seek to uplift and encourage you. They go out of their way to find something positive to say. They work to see the best in you. Sure, it might be subconsciously motivated by a desire to get laid, but so what? If they are successful in their quest or not -they're affection and kindness achieves the same effect; it makes us happy.

Men are also more likely to tell you something to your face than to wait until you leave the room and whisper it behind your back. They're direct and honest. I value that quality very much. Guys mean what they say. "Let's go to a game." means "Let's go to a game." It's much less complicated to decipher Guy Speak.

Bottom line? If given the option to go shoe shopping with a bunch of women, or go watch a baseball game with a bunch of guys, I will pick the guys and the baseball game 100 out of 100 times.

When Jeff and I first got married a million years ago, I think all my guy friends made him uneasy. But as he got to know them, my theatre friends, my college friends, my travel agent friends, etc- he liked them too. They're just good decent guys.

And they could care less if my shoes match my purse.

Men are content that I laugh at their jokes and know what's happening in a baseball game. Much less pressure. Tammy Lou

P.S. I don't want to use to broad a brush here, I have many notable exceptions to my theory, such as Jill, Barb, Gretchin, Cathi, Betsy, Susan, Pat, Bridget and ...many of my dear lady friends who are deeply, sincerely gracious and kind; encouraging and supportive. Women I ADORE. But still and all, I dig boys.

The Weaker Sex

This won't come as a surprise to the ladies in the audience, but I must accurately represent my gender and state that males are the weaker sex. That's right, I said males. Obviously, not in a physical strength sort of way; but in the emotional, spiritual and relational ways that woman are so much better at than us.

Growing up, I was much closer to my mom than my dad. I also had a younger sister who clued me in to some of the ways of women. In addition, at an important point in my development (i.e puberty), I was 6' 2" and 135 lbs. In other words, not a classic example of overt maleness, but more the 99 lb. weakling on the beach in those old comic book advertisements. As such, I didn't feel I could compete for female attention in the typical fashion. I had to do an end-around to garner the attention of the fairer sex. Thank God for Jackson Browne. He helped show me the way to my sensitive/female side. I had a good friend once tell me, "You were metro sexual before they had a term for it." And how right he was. Fast forward some 24 years and here I am wearing a pink shirt with a lime green sweater and garnering a lot of good attention, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, back to my main point about women being stronger than men. My wife and I were at a Project Management seminar recently when a member of my gender stated something about 95% of the people not being able to multi-task effectively. After his comment, my wife leaned over to me and whispered, "95% of the males maybe. Any woman who's a mother has been doing it since her first child was born." And I realized how right she was. Women, by the role they normally play, HAVE to multi-task effectively just to make it day to day.

Recently, I've also been thinking about the sexual aspect of a woman's strength. She has to be strong enough to grant us penetrating idiots permission to enter her body. Think about that gents, unless you're gay or you've spent an inordinate amount of time in prison, you've never been penetrated by anything. Think about how vulnerable a woman has to become to engage in sexual activity. It's truly a miracle that our species has propagated the way it has given how sexually challenged the male gender can be.

In closing, it's only taken me 49 years to figure this out, so don't think I should get any props for this revelation. I just wish I would've recognized it some 30 years ago. If I had, I could have spared myself and the women in my life a lot of heartache. Also, since I've spilled the beans by broaching the subject, I'll probably NEVER get my man card back. Oh well, you guys can keep it as I'd much rather spend my time with women anyway. The company is so much better.

Duality

It's hard to follow Tim's poem, (which was sad, but true.) but as I told Tim if we don't take turns posting it would throw off the delicate balance of the "He Said, She Said" theme, so I must.

My mind is always awhirl with thoughts and ideas but I don't always write them down. I'm thankful Tim suggested co-authoring a blog because it holds me accountable to someone and I'm far more likely to follow through when another human being is counting on me than when left to my own devices. (And vices.)

For instance, today is Mother's Day. Jeff had to work and my kids are 1000's of miles away, so if I want breakfast in bed, I'd have to make myself an omelet and go lay down. Jeff just emailed me an ad from a local restaurant that's serving .50 cent margaritas for Mom's all day and I have 20 bucks in my purse. I figure I should wake up by Thursday.

Ellen had a guest on her show a few years back that uttered the phrase "I love Jesus but I drink a little." I loved it so much my friend and co-Stow Class of 79 grad Mark Marko put it on a t-shirt for me.

It pretty much sums up my battle between faith and flesh. I grew up in church, asked Jesus into my heart at age 5, joined a Christian theatre group when I was 19, and for the past decade have worked at a church and been involved in ministry of all varieties. I am a Christian. I love Jesus. But...


On the other hand, I have a fondness for tequila, rock and roll, and text the "F" word to my best friend when I'm having a hard day. And those are just the sins I'm willing to post publicly for the world's review.

And it's not just faith and flesh where I battle to decide who I am. I'm a Democrat on paper, but I'm not as left as they'd like me to be. I'm not conservative enough for the GOP and am constantly chastised by my fellow church members for my left wing bleeding heart tendencies.


I don't fit in on either side of the line.

On Saturday nights, I write a soap opera column about a show that glorifies mob violence and random sex, but hop up on Sunday morning to sing about Jesus in the church choir.

How can those two beings reside in one body? Am I a hypocrite, or just human?

According to my late great Dad the pastor, the thing that you can't stand in others is a reflection of you own sin. For instance, if you think everyone is lying and hate liars, it's probably because you're a liar. Well the thing I hate in others is hypocrisy, like when I see a Christian Right leader who has railed against gays get caught hiring a gay prostitute.

So, if Dad's theory is accurate, I'm a hypocrite. But it's just another thing to work on because as the saying goes "God's not finished with me yet." But in all seriousness, I never want to get too holy to enjoy a good .50 cent margarita on Mother's Day.

Same Shit, Different Day

Same shit, different day
Same shit, different race
Same shit, different gender
Same shit, different religion
Same shit, different generation
Same shit, different nationality
Same shit, different political party
Same shit, different socio-economics
Same shit, different sexual orientation
Same shit.

I Should be Cynical, but I'm not

I, like my pal Tamilu, was born in 1961. I know I am naturally biased, but I feel that those of us born in that year and the ones around it have a much different perspective on life, music and authority figures than the generation prior or even after.

We are a lost generarion caught between the Baby Boomers before us and the Generation X-ers who came after. We really aren't children of the sixties as we weren't even teenagers when that decade ended and when the 80's rolled around we were hitting our young twenties.

A lot of people feel the music of the 70's doesn't compare with either the 60's or the 80's. While I like the music from both those decades, I think the 70's were better. It was far more diverse musically where bands like War and their song "Why Can't We Be Friends" along with 10cc and their hit "I'm Not in Love" could hit the top ten in the same year if not the same summer (1975, I believe). We had everything from the break-up of the Beatles in 1970 to hard rock to disco to punk to Supertramp's "Breakfast in America" in 1979.

With regards to authority figures, you need to understand what our first impressions were of a lot of culturally significant insitutions. To wit:

1) Our first big exposure to college was the Kent State shootings of May 4, 1970

2) Our first big exposure to the Olympics was the 1972 Munich summer games and the terrorist attack on and murder of the Israeli team

3) Our first big exposure to the Presidency was Nixon's Watergate scandal and ensuing trial in 1973

After all that, we have every right to be cynical about life and those in authority, but we're not. There's a very different way of approaching things, and if you ever give us a chance, we'll show you.

I Need a Cape

I've decided I'm going to attempt to slide my middle aged body into a spangly leotard and proclaim myself a Superhero. I am now The Truth Avenger.

I have no intention of inflicting revenge for ridiculous lies with any sort of violence, I'm a peaceful kinda girl.

Instead I hope to avenge the truth by ensuring that folks who carelessly spread lies and rumors are outed as idiots.

I have received multiple e-mail rumors in my inbox this week that were completely untrue.

Most of these emails had been forwarded to literally hundreds of people without the sender checking to make sure it was factually based before they passed it along. This irks me.

There are multiple websites that specialize in fact checking. If you have the Internet capacity to send an e-mail, you can just as easily click a fact check website to see if a rumor is true or false before sending it to your 200 closest friends.

The first e-mail rumor I got said the ACLU was making all military cemeteries remove crosses from their headstones... Since I happen to live in a Navy town and drive past the Fort Rosecrans National Cemetery from time to time and see miles of crosses on headstones, I thought that sounded like a lie. With a quick click on http://www.snopes.com/ I found the facts; the e-mail was false. I replied to my friend and cc'ed the other 200 people she sent it to with a link to the facts. She might think I am a beyotch now rather than a superhero, but I like the truth more than I like anyone.

The next e-mail rumor I got was the oft repeated "Obama doesn't have a U.S. Birth Certificate." Every time I get this one, my eyes start rolling. Seriously- if the guy wasn't a U.S. citizen do you think the entire G.O.P machine and the Clinton's wouldn't have uncovered that during the primary season of 2008?

But since the rumor persists, I diligently clicked on http://www.factcheck.org/ and replied back to my friend and all the cc'd victims with the link that had a copy of Obama's birth certificate with the raised seal, along with the birth notice that was posted in the Honolulu paper from 1961 thinking they'd say "Oh, thanks for letting us know."

But no, instead they said "That could have all been faked!" Sigh.* I put those people up there with the ones who think the Holocaust never happened and the Moon Landing was filmed in some guys' basement.

Why would they choose to believe in some vast conspiracy rather than factual evidence?

Because the lie suited them better. They preferred the fallacy to the facts because the lie was more in line with their viewpoint. The truth would have forced them to reevaluate their beliefs if they took it to heart. That my friends, is hate. "We hate this guy so much we'd rather believe lies about him than the facts."

Geek that I am, instead of having bumper stickers with designer logos on my car trumpeting the brand of handbag I buy, I have a quote by Thomas Paine:

“It is an affront to the truth to treat falsehood with complaisance.”

Enough for now, my Superhero leotard is very uncomfortable. - Tammy Lou

Is this Heaven? No, it's Hockeytown

Tuesday of this week was Game 4 of the first round of the Stanley Cup Playoff match up between the Phoenix Coyotes and the Detroit Red Wings. In these parts (i.e. metro Detroit), Red Wing hockey is a blue collar religion of sorts. The game I'm referring to had a 6:30pm start and for someone who works downtown, it was the perfect storm of hockey playoff possibilities. I started trolling for tickets as soon as my feet hit the ground at the Renaissance Center. I was asking around and touching base with my friends in high and low places in between work meetings, answering emails and the general daily mayhem that is OnStar.

I must admit it was a pretty stressful day, but in a good way. As luck would have it, the possibility of a pair of tickets fell into my lap and I went about scheming how to get one of my kids downtown to attend the game. I needed to have one of them come down as I'm part of a van pool and didn't have a ride home after the game. After much consternation, neither of my kids was able to come down. A colleague suggested that I ask my friend Jeff who is a lifelong metro Detroit resident and a long time Red Wing fan. That was the perfect solution! He normally comes to work in the same van pool as me, but had to drive down himself that day. He was able to go and after some effort to get the tickets from the seller, we were able to meet over at The Joe and head into the game.

It was a tense affair for most of the game with the Wings leading 1-0 in the third period. However, they scored a couple of quick goals and The Joe was rocking like no other sporting event I had ever attended. Talking to Jeff during the game, I found out that this was his first playoff game. That fact alone was enough to make it a memorable occasion and worth the price of admission. The 3-0 win was just icing on the cake and the end to a perfect day in Detroit. As we were walking back to the RenCen in the Jefferson Avenue tunnel waving our pom-poms at passersby, a question popped into my head, "Is this Heaven?". The answer came quickly, "No, it's Hockeytown."

So we decided to start this blog...

Through Facebook I've become reacquainted with quite a few High School classmates. As a result, I've discovered a lot of kinship with one Tammy Lou W.. We discovered we had similar tastes in everything from music to religion and politics and decided to start this blog. This is a humble beginning to what I hope becomes an interesting and entertaining blog.

It's been said "an average woman uses 7000 words a day and an average man uses 2000 words a day." Let's just see how accurate that really is.

Peace,
Thug Nation