Destiny Herndon-DeLaRosa

Archive for the ‘Miscellaneous’ Category

Theology on tap.

In Miscellaneous on August 27, 2010 at 7:02 pm

If you’re not familiar with this, it’s basically an evangelical outreach held in pubs. Pastors/Priests have started hosting ‘seeker sensitive’ meet & greets at bars in an attempt to draw in more wayward souls. The odd thing about this is, when I’m sober, I get it. I think it’s a relatively good idea; but when I’m drinking, as I was tonight, with some fellow Christians (yeah, I guess we’re all just sinners) debating theology….I dunno, maybe the Holy Spirit(s) moved me, but I totally chose to argue the against it.

I even went as far as to offer up one of my favorite teaching tools (let’s see if I can get the hand gestures to make sense in writing). Ok, so at the beginning the church was here *hand at the far right side of the table* and the world was here *hand about 4 inches over to the left* and then as time went on the world moved to here *move ‘world hand’ 4 inches to the left* and then the church followed *move ‘church hand’ 4 inches behind ‘world hand’ and so on and so on until finally you see that the church and the world might as well be one….and then we see that the world and church start voting far to the left! I kid, I kid, I leave that part out when I’m bar preaching.

(so anyway, go ahead and let it sink in for a minute…..if nothing else, out of respect for the fact that it’s my favorite easy preaching tool)

Ok, so anyway, as I am arguing my point *takes sip of Gin and Tonic* for why this is not the optimal situation for sharing the Gospel, I did not have the epiphany you all would like (“By golly, maybe this is brilliant!”) no instead I realized for the first time, as terrifying as it may be, yeah, the world is totally going to end in 2012.

Totally.

Say what you will, but guess what, I’m gonna have the last laugh because I’m RIGHT.

And if you’ve read my previous posts you know that I have been thoroughly prepared for this shiznit too (my indoctrination began at birth). Not that I want it….but I am on a much further level of acceptance then most of you suckers. Ok, so to back up my super, spiritual, scientific, splendorific hypothesis, check out this “data”…Rapture Index.

Holy Guacamole. No offense Jesus. But scary.

Like I said, I have my pre-trib-gas mask ready and all, but I just pray that the good Lord takes me up three sheets into the old testament at one of these ‘on tap’ sermons because otherwise you’re all liable to witness the first mid-air, flopping and flailing panic attack as we’re sucked up into the heavens. Because between my fear of heights with my tendency to shy away from the supernatural, my reaction might be anything but divine.

So while I may theologically disagree with them, when it comes to self medicating for the rapture, I understand the need for a bit of alcohol.

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The community center.

In Miscellaneous on August 27, 2010 at 5:42 pm

Every year when my birthday rolls around and my husband asks me what I want, I always tells him the same thing, “Oh, nothing, just for you and the kids to be happy and healthy; that’s enough for me!” He’s a smart man and knows he better get me a very thoughtful and heartfelt gift, or else. And a few months later when it’s his birthday, even after being fed the same line, I, being an equally as smart woman, know I better get him something.

I tell you this, because to me this is the same way ‘Political Correctness’ must be done if we expect it to work properly. It’s a mysterious set of unwritten rules, and if both parties do not subscribe to them, one party will simply get taken advantage of.

There has been quite a bit of debate over a mosque that was to be built two blocks from ground zero in New York City. Immediately upon learning of this, a local radio show host made some extremely offensive comments about the Islamic faith and their God. The leader of this proposed community center made a powerful plea at city hall, stating that to eradicate terrorism from their faith they must teach of it’s foundation in peace, and in order to do so this new building was pertinent. He received a good deal of support from Mayor Bloomberg and many others on the city council. But, was it due to his powerful speech or could it have been influenced by the fact that to compensate for this talk show host’s tirade they felt the need to be overly ‘politically correct?’

I can understand if they did. No one wants to be seen as a bigot. However, the very basis of political correctness is going out of ones way not to offended, right? Even though you might naturally be inclined to do otherwise? So I have to wonder, had the Islamic community center done that themselves? Had they taken every precaution to make sure they would not inflict emotional pain on their community, or had they simply assumed their opposition would take those precautions when dealing with them? I f the local Islamic community had been appropriately sensitive to the pain of the families that had lost their loved ones due to an extremist faction of their faith, or “politically correct” in a balanced sense, they would never have asked to build a Mosque that close to the location of the most horrific and racially motivated event of this generation. I’m not saying either side is right or wrong, I’m simply pointing out what I see as a politically correct imbalance. Like someone giving you a gift, without you giving them one back.

More recently, we have heard reports of the New Black Panther movement that is terrorizing – excuse me, intimidating (to be politically correct) – polling places while playing upon the sympathies given to a repressed people by assuming they will not be held accountable for their actions. And so far they have been correct

The system of ‘political correctness’ will work if we all participate, but unfortunately that never seems to happen. One party will always, even innocently, take advantage. So now in turn we see a society that is being killed with its own kindness. When compromises are one sided the ultimate goal caves in on itself, and always at the expense of the accommodator. I am not saying minor compromises can’t be made, but they must not be made by sacrificing the final result. Often it feels as if we are asked to sacrifice in the name of ‘political correctness,’ yet, I do not often see that same level of sensitivity being reciprocated, and until it is, I have found it’s better to be unwavering than a politically correct. Not hateful nor malicious, but unwavering. Decide where you stand and do just that, stand there. Then, if you later find that you genuinely agree with someone’s rationale that is perfectly fine; you will be that much more prepared to fight beside them for their cause. However, if we continue to let others impose their views on us out of fear of being insensitive we will forever be dissatisfied with the state of our nation, our state, and our communities.

On a recent trip to the local tattoo parlor…

In Miscellaneous on August 27, 2010 at 5:32 pm

which I would like to point out, here in suburbia, looks more like a Pro-Cuts (strip shopping center locale and all), I took along a friend of mine whom I know through city council dealings. She’s amazing, and by far one of the coolest people involved with local politics, but still, I had to acknowledge that this was an odd place for us to end up on a Friday night. Here we are, two conservative, suburban housewives, both mothers, giddy about the fact that my face is soon to be impaled with yet another large, metal harpoon.

It’s assumed that we conservatives congregate on golf courses, at fundraisers or in the confines of our country club, but rarely do we turn up at tattoo parlors, even a tame ones as this.

Such a subtle happenstance really got my wheels turning. Perhaps I am just that unique of an individual, yeah, a truly non-conformist middle class, suburban Independent! Sure, me and all the rest of us.

I know I am not alone in my off the beaten political path lifestyle, Rod Dreher has shown me that much, but can I really claim to be that ‘crunchy’ of a Conservative? Honestly, no, not really.

I’m progressive in the sense that I was born during the Reagan administration, so my youth and global consciousness is a bit fresher than some of my fellow conservatives, but at the same time my husband still has to remind me which things have trans fat in them, that we shouldn’t water the lawn at 11:35am, and where exactly it is that we put the recyclables.

Labels are so un-cool these days that they are back to being cool again. And in the spirit of self-absorbed revelation, I’ve hereby decided to invest much of the time in which I could have been rinsing and sorting aluminum spaghetti-o cans, into labeling myself. So here it is. Wait for it. Wait for it. I am…………A PunkyCon.

*applause*

Why thank you, thank you, you are all too kind, no seriously sit down….this is just too much…oh, I love you too!

A sect of Dreherism, PunkyCons are conservative only in name, morals, convictions and voting records. They are often times known as the “pro-life nut jobs” in their circle of friends, they show up late to weekend music festivals because the pastor’s sermon ran long, they have as many bumper stickers on their cars as their liberal counterparts, they believe in the Bible, but they also believe in dinosaurs, they are actively involved in politics – meaning they actually do what their shirt says, and vote.

Among fellow conservatives, PunkyCons are often thought to be defectors, and are very familiar with the phrase “If only my grand babies saw things the way you do.” They are credited with making their political activist groups ‘cooler,’ and are usually put in charge of ‘Technology,’ which means they handle anything more difficult to operate than a remote control (a.k.a. a ‘clicker’). They help their ‘more seasoned’ conservative peers understand where a lot of younger Americans are coming from on issues such as health care, global warming, and why it’s not o.k. to say ‘colored’ anymore. They spike their tea and fight for their right to party.

Punkycons are exactly what their name says they are, because being anything short of this dichotomy would simply be too mainstream, too conformist.

I will fully acknowledge that we tend to fit awkwardly amongst our peers and our party but someday you will all realize and appreciate how we are a vitally unconventional spike in the American mohawk.

The humane league

In Miscellaneous on August 27, 2010 at 5:23 pm

There is a woman in my neighborhood who walks her dogs. And by walks, I mean she holds one puff shaped little pup under each arm and walks. They don’t…just her.

She is what you call a ‘dog person.’ I however am not.

Upon noticing this about myself I felt oddly kin to the likes of a serial killer. I mean, there had to be that one day when the light bulb went off and they realized, ‘wow, some people actually care if they are the reason for another persons demise…hmmm….that’s odd.’ This is me and pets. I’m that jerk who says ‘WHAT?!?!?! You paid HOW MUCH to get you dog CHEMOTHERAPY???? What ON EARTH were you thinking?!?!?’ I cannot fathom that type of innate compassion for an animal. To me this is absolute insanity. Don’t get me wrong, it saddens me to think of dogs being put to sleep or hit by cars, but at the same time…c’mon, it’s an animal, right?!?! And honestly, how am I the jerk? You’re the ones picking and choosing which ones you eat, and which ones you buy matching family sweaters for the holiday greeting card picture. At least I’m across the board….not that I would eat my dog…I’m not saying that…calm down Bob Barker….ah, I digress.

So, here’s the point: I like Nico. He’s a friend, perhaps not my best. But then again, I’m not a man, so it really doesn’t apply now does it? All that aside, today we had Nico neutered. So now neither of us our “men” and I was certainly no friend of his. It was sad, on the way home I tried to pet his little head in the car and he quickly jerked it away. ‘Dad’ was the one who drove him to the vet but for some reason I’m the one being given the cold…nose.

And what’s crazy is all day long I was thinking about him. Worried. I felt as though someone I actually cared about was in the hospital undergoing surgery. (Let me pause here to say for all of you “dog people” I realize I sound a bit cavalier in my emotional description, but this is new for me…I’m usually seen as a “people person”) So, oddly enough I think, perhaps, my grench sized heart took it’s first ever canine loving beat today. I finally feel human(e).

Jesus is coming to town.

In Miscellaneous on August 27, 2010 at 5:18 pm

I was 9 years old when my grandmother told me that Jesus was going to be coming back on Christmas Eve.

My grandmother always seemed to have insider evangelical information, mainly stuff discovered from years of theological studies, but from time to time, bits of prophesy was acquired from late night infomercials as well.

Either way, I recall thinking ‘who in their right minds proceeds to tell a nine year old something of this nature?’ As if I would be elated, having already lived a good long life, sowed my wild oats, and come to the conclusion that I wanted the Lord to hurry up and take me out of this God forsaken place already…not so much. My days consisted mostly of tea parties and amusement parks, so the last thing I was looking forward to was being “raptured.”

It was a few days before Christmas Eve and in the same way misery loves company, also does sheer panic and anxiety, so I decided I had to break the news to my 7 year old brother. Needless to say our holiday vacation didn’t have that carefree air about it that it used to. When Christmas Eve finally arrived I remember my brother and I were on our best behavior, not wanting to bicker or fight, or use the restroom much for that matter…I mean who wants to be taken up mid-tinkle? The day proceeded to go by as usual and still no second coming. By this point the anticipation had consumed our every thought and we saw little purpose in leaving cookies & milk out for Santa or wasting time dreaming of sugarplums or the gifts that would never be opened.

My mother had decided to put us to bed at a cruel hour that night, around 8 o’clock, so that “Santa” could get an early jump on things. To her curiosity I passed up a night in my own cozy bed and instead chose to roll out my sleeping bag on my brother’s floor. I figured this way when it happened I would know immediately, rather than risk being left behind, and not discovering this chilling fact until the next morning when I woke up in a tinsel covered ghost town.

Needless to say, these were the longest 4 hours of our entire lives. My brother and I were both glued to the clock, watching as final minute, after final minute ticked by. At this point I’ll note that yes, it was a given that Christ worked according to Central Standard Time. We were small children and didn’t realize he had other options. And then, finally, the moment had come. The clock read 11:59. It was J.C.’s last chance, and man, had he really drug this whole debacle out…but who can blame him, you only get to orchestrate a second coming once, right?

I don’t think either of us took in one ounce of oxygen for that entire minute. And when the clock finally struck 12, and the blue started to leave our little faces I remember wondering how my grandmother must be feeling right at that same moment. Was she embarrassed by her miscalculation; was she up, feverishly writing Robert Tilton hate mail; had she perhaps simply shrugged it off and headed back to bed thinking ‘oh well, maybe next year.’ Did she even realize that she complete robbed her two precious, little grandchildren of the joy of Christmas this year.

All I know is that we never told our mother, in fear that she wouldn’t let us go over to grandma’s house anymore, so obviously her positives must’ve outweighed her negatives.

By the way, that Christmas she gave me a bike and $200 dollars, which goes to show she had somewhat thought ahead and couldn’t have been all that invested in this whole rapture on Christmas Eve idea. And years later when I asked about this landmark moment in my childhood, she laughed and told me she had just gone to sleep that night, same as any other, just as I suspected.