My Voice In Pen

Writing is a struggle against silence

Following your gut instinct is no joke.

Yesterday, I had a very strong and sudden urge to pan for gold. A week ago we had been attempting to drive to another ghost town not too far away, and had stumbled upon a creek with quite a few obvious small flakes glimmering in the sunlight.

“Let’s go today,” I insisted.

Ronnie, lazily, “Why today?”

Me, “Obviously because we could be millionaires.”

It’s not often that one discovers true *gematrocities in life, but I always am intrigued when I do. Recently, (special thanks to Dank Kingdom Christian Memes Facebook Group) I gleaned information regarding, and their blog that exposes the false, pretending wolves in Christianity. I would estimate there to be about 500 posts, or more. Each exposed faker getting their own personal blog entry dedicated specifically to them, and updated as the need requires.

Some of my favorite ones: “Baptists Exposed,” (who knew every single Baptist was exactly the same?) “Christian Motorcycle Group Exposed” “Alcoholics Anonymous Exposed” “Ray Comfort Exposed” and no one, mind you, gets off the hook here. Dozens of individual churches, (if deemed worthy enough) obtain their own delightful read. The Amish, Mennonites, and any branch of Anabaptist that exists or wants to exist has been dutifully exposed.

As kids, the varying levels of embarrassment come to us in different forms. My brother loves to recount the story of my encounter with McDonald’s one day when I ordered my food, arrived back to the van to discover that I had forgotten to add fries to the order. However, the horrific mortification of returning inside to order AGAIN was too much for me. “I’ll give you an extra dollar,” I offered to my overly confident, capitalistic brother. “If you purchase the fries.”

In retrospect, my low self-confidence as a kid seems rather ordinary. All teens go through this “everything is embarrassing” phase, right? I’ve heard the laughter of adults over the red-faced teen who caught him/herself in woeful blunder, or at times, a strictly imagined one. “They’ll get over it in time,” they nod, believing that time and age mercifully erases many of the heart-stopping embarrassments that afflict our late childhood and teen years.

Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t.

My blog is a dusty unused journal at this sorry point in existence. It’s time for a fresh reboot. I don’t have much of an audience which is surprisingly freeing, because talking to one’s self is very therapeutic. I’ve archived/trashed the former posts on this blog, they needed to retire. Heads up, my blog has …

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