This is Evil

Thoughts and prayers don’t work if the very people who are praying are gunned down in a CHURCH!

Actions born of thoughtful prayer are what change violence. Common sense can save lives with thoughtful gun legislation.

VOTE!

peacepeAce
does not feaR men or guns.

time will have its perFect results of heaven.
our God will not abIde craven idolatry:
murderous sacrifice oF our innocent children,
worship of weapons insTead of His power on high,
grEed,
thEft,
a complete abadonmeNt of morals or wisdom.
keep your thoughtS and prayers alive

with actionS of this body
stalk and storm Halls of justice
with your powerful autOmatic voices of reason
attack vaUlts of law
where this Love of guns
is stored and protecteD by evil money and favor

oust and roust, Bust virtue out
kill the silencE of idling hands

demand safer lives wIth cautious liberty.
turn over the tables of destiny by eLecting those who should die for you
rather than kiLl in your names.
in thE name
of God,
peAce
should never be down the dark barreL of a privately-purchased democracy.


AR-FIFTEENS SHOULD BE ILLEGAL.

This is an acrostic poem, aligned in the center.
The center column has an equal number of letters on either side in each line.
The power in this country rests in the hands of those with guns and money.
It should rest on the peaceful people.


If you need a high-capacity weapon to protect what you have?
You don’t have what you need.


AR-15s should not be made legally available to murder 15 yos.


Every gun ever made was forged to kill a being.
Every gun ever made has or will kill a living thing. Or multiple living things.
Guns were made for no other purpose.
Only man could make killing so easy.
Karma will call and collect her damages.

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Hope

Hope during chaos
Focus in place of distraction
Courage under fire
Composure is required
Anger won’t bring satisfaction

Be open
Be brave
Be hope’s slave
And ride high on this blue wave


Hope requires faith
Faith is now accepting questions
Peace is an option

This is Evil

I’m reposting this because I’m watching 22 July on Netflix. It was so graphic that I broke down in tears.
I can watch just about any horror movie, but I had to stop this movie and post this blog.
Children should not be shot. Lie bleeding and crying not to die.
Children should never have to fear for their lives.
Children should be able to attend school, summer camp, a concert, the friggin’ mall without fear of death.
Anyone, friend or family, who supports the manufacture and sale of high-capacity firearms is wrong and YOU are propping up an evil industry. I am embarrassed to know you or be related to you. Manufacture of high-capacity weapons needs to stop now.
There’s a special place in hell for those that profit from the murder of humans.
The only reason these guns exist is to destroy flesh.
It must stop. VOTE!

peacepeAce
does not feaR men or guns.

time will have its perFect results of heaven.
our God will not abIde craven idolatry:
murderous sacrifice oF our innocent children,
worship of weapons insTead of His power on high,
grEed,
thEft,
a complete abadonmeNt of morals or wisdom.
keep your thoughtS and prayers alive

with actionS of this body
stalk and storm Halls of justice
with your powerful autOmatic voices of reason
attack vaUlts of law
where this Love of guns
is stored and protecteD by evil money and favor

oust and roust, Bust virtue out
kill the silencE of idling hands

demand safer lives wIth cautious liberty.
turn over the tables of destiny by eLecting those who should die for you
rather than kiLl in your names.
in thE name
of God,
peAce
should never be down the dark barreL of a privately-purchased democracy.


AR-FIFTEENS SHOULD BE ILLEGAL.

This is an acrostic poem, aligned in the center.
The center column has an equal number of letters on either side in each line.
The power in this country rests in the hands of those with guns and money.
It should rest on the peaceful people.


If you need a high-capacity weapon to protect what you have?
You don’t have what you need.


AR-15s should not be made legally available to murder 15 yos.


Every gun ever made was forged to kill a being.
Every gun ever made has or will kill a living thing. Or multiple living things.
Guns were made for no other purpose.
Only man could make killing so easy.
Karma will call and collect her damages.

If Jesus went to the WH

When Donald Trump was elected, I saw this meme.

white house

I threw up a little in my Jesus-loving mouth.

First of all, Jesus ain’t got baggage. According to, ya know, THE BIBLE!

Second, and most importantly, the only way Jesus would have gone to the White House was with a whip or on a cross.

I would personally love to see Jesus whipping all of Congress and driving them out. The money changers. The corruptors. The sellouts. The evil-doers. Let’s do that at the polls this November, y’all. Let’s be the Jesus in the halls of Congress. Turning tables and clearing the house.

If the White House is your temple, if this is where your Jesus resides? Whosoever shall believe in this meme…we ain’t readin’ the same Bible, y’all.

Crafty B out.

Cheerleader

We stand on the shoulders
Of the women who come before us
Don’t stop your loud chorus
Don’t let them ignore us
Don’t let your sister fall
Call your anthem tall
Straighten your back, lock those arms
Drop your wiles and feminine charms
They will only weigh you down, way down
Fly to the top of this pyramid
Let loose your yawp of spirit, Kid
Be a cheerleader for your own team.


Love other women.
Believe them.

#Metoo

Pussytrap.

I was caught in a pussytrap once. That’s what my friend and I called it. We laughed about it later. Because it was so horrific and nothing to be done. No agency to report it to and no officer to tell.

Plus, when you’re young? You think the world is the way it is. And to squawk about it? Is unnecessary and useless. So laugh. So you don’t cry.

My friends and I went to a dance club in a university town. It was on a street with other clubs. Alcohol was served, but only to those with the over-21 stamp. I had the under-21 stamp.

We went to the bar to dance. Not to drink. We loved listening to music, dancing and laughing.

About 20 minutes in, we lined up to use the bathroom. The line stretched back to the bar and two young men started chatting us up.

We were young. Naive. We were friendly, inviting, charming, silly, laughing. We wanted boys to think we were cute. We wanted attention.

After a few moments, the line was going nowhere, and the boys started grabbing. First, my friend.

I was always the protector. The NO-sayer. The “Hey, watch it!” girl. So, I was laughing, but I said, “Hey! No!” Then they grabbed me.

First, my breasts. Quick, pinching, playful swipes and pokes. Then, my crotch. You can imagine that when someone grabs your breasts or tries to, you pull back. But that only presents your lower body for them to grab.

While all this was happening, another young man had positioned himself behind us. He would grab our butts when we tried to move away. Thus, the pussytrap. No way out. A vicious game of unwanted touching.

After a few moments of arms and punches and shuffling and finally just leaving without the use of the bathroom, we got away. We weren’t laughing any more. Just wide eyes and nothing to say.

That was it.

“Hey, why you leavin’?” They called after us.

No one ever taught me to stand up for myself. In fact, the lesson I learned was, “Take it.” But to be fair, my mother didn’t grow up in a time when young men acted this way. She didn’t know. And everyone else acted like it was no big deal. That this behavior was just “boys being boys”. Or locker room antics. Isn’t that what the president said to excuse his own behavior?

That should never happen. To anyone. It’s humilating. Not titillating. It’s meant to objectify and demean. It’s not foreplay. It’s degradation.

Especially to an actress. Especially to anyone who ever worked for or with the current POTUS.

These are your mothers, your sisters, your daughters, your friends, your neighbors, your coworkers, your fellow human beings. Your equals. Keep your hands to yourself. Or when we grab you back, you won’t like it.

If any man or boy ever touched my daughter like that, he’d be sorry. So would his balls.

Have I ever told you about the balltrap? LOL I’m older and wiser now.

Ford Ahead

I just want to write briefly about the hearing yesterday.

CB Ford gave her testimony yesterday. She was terrified. I would be, too. Not to speak in front of people. She does that every day as a professor. To speak about trauma. To speak about PTSD, anxiety, the assault and to be humiliated all over again by having to relive the attack. With her alleged attacker nearby.

Terrifying.

And the nation was listening.

I cried and trembled yesterday. Not much. Not crazy sobs of compassion, just small little tremors. Mostly moved at her quiet bravery. Strength. Composure.

I heard her tiny voice. Stuck at age 15. It’s not unusual to be stuck vocally at an immature age for victims of sexual violence. Meek. Restrained. Congenial. Apologetic. Deferential.

You don’t have to apologize, Christine. Or be concerned about anyone else’s comfort. You’ve worried about that for far too long! Thank you. Many women will benefit from your authenticity. Thank you for showing us class, candor, courage. Transparency. Something we want from our SCOTUS nominees.

We believe you. And your tiny voice will topple the tallest towers.

You, at least, deserve what any victim does–an investigation.

Good Advice

Some of the best advice I ever heard was indirectly. That’s the best kind. Simply an illustration, manifestation, of good sense. Or proverbial wisdom. Sharing an overlooked or misunderstood or obscure nugget without harsh or pointed intent.

It came through our friends, Richard and Tracy Potter. Haven’t seen or talked to them in quite a while. I hope Richard sees this and nods.

Their child had a tough choice. A good, tough choice. Go to a local prestigious university or halfway across state? The child was bright, talented and earned her way to either school. The differences in benefits of each school were minute. It was pretty much an equal choice aside from distance. So they asked this incredibly bright child, with no other information to weigh, “Which choice will make you more dependent on God?”

Woah.

I didn’t even think to ask that. My question would have been, “Which one’s easier?” My question for my daughter? No question. You’re living with Mommie until you’re 37. LOL

But this is the question, the one they asked of their girl, we should be asking of our children, of our spouses, our family, ourselves. What choice is going to make me focus on God the most?

I have to say, I feel somewhat guilty, leaving on a missions trip. I’m going to help others, but those motherly/wifey twinges of paranoia-guilt tug at my emotional heart. Will they survive without me? Will things, bodies, hearts be the same when I come back in two weeks? Will they feel forsaken?

But when I ask the Potters’ question, “What will make us depend most on God?” Going to Israel will bring all of us to the foot of the cross. Lilli will have to pray more. Guy will have to ask for help. They will have to seek each other for comfort and necessity. I will be completely alone emotionally and have to turn to God through all of it. That’s a good place to be.

I’m sure our family does much codepending all too often. We can’t help it. We like each other.

So I guess going is okay. I don’t have to feel guilty. I just have to trust God. And talk to him. Lift my family up to him. Make room to grow.


Good news! I’m going! I reached my immediate goal of $500 and then some. Thanks to all who helped. Now I will tackle those big Venetian fish and ask local churches if they have any discretionary mission funds. Pray, if you’re the praying kind. 😉 Or give if you can.

Crazy White Lady

I am a middle-aged white woman who has every advantage a person could have. I was born in America. I’m white. I’ve never hungered a day in my life. In fact, I was super morbidly obese for 10 years of my life. Just morbidly obese for the other 35.

I’ve never been so poor that I couldn’t buy food. Only one day did I wonder about dinner. No food. No paycheck. And the long weekend to make it to money. And even at that low point, my husband went to our local food pantry and got enough to fix dinner for a few days. A friendly, benevolent nun gave us pasta and sauce. Humiliating as that was, we ate dinner with our school-age daughter. And we were so very thankful. We were full on grace.

I’ve been struggling this week. Last Friday, I was accepted for a mission trip to Israel. I rejoiced at being chosen, but immediately became worried after the joy subsided. I would have to raise the money for my trip.

I’ve never been good about asking others for money. I struggled with paying my medical bills, but hesitated in asking others outside of my family for help. So crowdfunding made me squeamish, but missions are something that I’ve wanted to do since I was 16. Go to another part of the world and help those in need.

I know you might say, “Martha, we have need in this country.” And I would say yes. But we also have overweight poor people. The need in this country is real. But even our poor people live better than most in other parts of the world. Even our poor people are among the 1 percent. THAT’s the truth. Being poor in America doesn’t automatically mean death. Being poor in other countries can mean starvation. Being poor can mean a violent or untimely death.

I need to raise ~$3500. The supplies for this trip are already provided for, but I need to get myself there, to help. But first, by Monday, I need to raise $500 to reserve my spot. GAiN is supporting me and encouraging me to keep trying, they want and need me there. I can serve in so many ways on this trip. But I need that $500 to reserve my travel. If I don’t have it, this journey ends here.

At 4:10 am, Tuesday morning, just this past week, I woke up in a NyQuil/Benadryl-induced fog because I’ve been very sick. Trying to write, work and raise money for a trip has been tricky. At 4:10 am, I didn’t want to be awake, but my eyes popped open. And a realization washed over me. It was God’s voice because there’s no way that I would have this thought.

God, carefully pulling me close, grasping my attention and pajama collars, whispered softly into my stinging eyes, “Martha. You’ve been worried. Terrified. About money. You don’t know how you will provide for this trip halfway around the world. You’re scared. You feel alone. You feel forgotten. Forsaken. You’ve only experienced that for a few days. NOW, my dear child, you have some small understanding of what these people I want you to care about face every single day of their lives.”

And I fell back into my dreamy, warm covers. Broken and blown away.

I can’t tell you why this crazy white lady wants to go to the Holy Land. I can’t justify it. Other than to say, I’m following God’s heart. And that plane is going with or without me.

If this trip dies here, it dies here. I don’t want it to though.

God, if you want it to happen, you will provide. I know that. Thank you for opening my tired, sick American eyes, at the very least. I’m going to run after you, every chance I get.


Please consider giving. GAiN for Martha Maggio. There’s more info about my trip and who we’ll be serving. If every one of my followers gave even $1, I could meet my immediate goal. Thanks!

I swear I’m not crazy.

I’ve been reading the Bible this week, along with following the news, and a few things popped out at me. Almost.

First, a stone popped out of the Western Wall. Also, the stone was large enough to be described as a boulder by one article. The wall has stood for 2,000 years. Built around the time of Christ’s birth. Nearly finished by 4 BCE, fyi.

So, honestly, I had to look up the significance of the wall. I knew, generally, it was an important site and that many religions hold it as a holy place, but I didn’t really know the precise geographical layout or the turmoil over this spot.

It’s the closest you can get to the old Jewish temple. So Jews and Christians have come to this holy spot for centuries. They pray at the wall. They write down their prayers and insert the paper into the crevices, between the stones.

So. At the base of the wall, would have been the foundation of the old Jewish temple. But now the courtyard of the old temple has been filled in with rock, dirt and time. Muslims have built their temple on top of everything. It’s a very holy site. Everyone wants it. So I would say that probably no one can dig on this site to search for the old temple or anything inside it. Some people think the Ark of the Covenant is still housed in the Holy of Holies (inner sanctuary). Not sure since Rome rained hell down on the Jews in 70 CE and destroyed the temple for a second time. Wouldn’t they take the Ark? Or destroy it? If they could? Super valuable religious iconography and they are going to leave it? Don’t know. I don’t think so.

So anyway. Jews can’t go to the old temple, but they can get as close to it as possible by worshipping and praying at the Western Wall. This is where they can worship and pray without offending anyone or being arrested.


And I know what you might be thinking, “Hey! Maybe quit putting paper in between the stones and they won’t pop out!” But it was much higher than where people can reach. And no. No one can kick it out from the other side. There is no other side. It’s buried under rock and dirt. It. Just. Popped. Out.


So. A stone popped out. Weird. Damaged the wooden deck, broke the stairs. Just a day before, it would have crushed someone or several someones. Why? Tisha B’av.

Second weird thing. Tisha B’av. Did you know that the 1st Jewish temple and the 2nd Jewish temple were destroyed on the same day? I never knew that. That seems like more than coincidence. Right? In fact, 5(+) really bad things happened to the Jews on that same day throughout history. In fact, in 1942, the same day was a mass exportation of Jews from the Warsaw Ghetto to an extermination camp.

This shit blows my mind.

So, just hours after Tisha B’av, where people observing Tisha B’av would have been praying, a stone pops out (the remnants of the old temple falling/being destroyed)? Of the Western Wall? And observers would have been crushed.

All around the same time, within hours, Israel shoots down a Syrian jet with a US Patriot missile.

Hm.

Guess what?

This weekend is the longest 21st century lunar eclipse that turns the moon blood red and one of the best places to see it is the Middle East. Gah! Holy of frackin’ holies.


I’m not crazy. I just had to share these strange happenings. I don’t think it’s the end of the world. But I might have a popcorn movie blow out this weekend. Just in case.