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I can proudly say that, even if my Sophie-cat is a bizarre cat, she is also a ninja-cat.  If she wants to steal something, say a piece of paper (one of her favourite things to steal), the way that she nips it and runs is a thing of beauty: no hesitation, just pure, fluid movement.  And if you do not catch her immediately, watching her run away, giving furtive looks behind her as she goes, is worth the potential loss.

Shelby has not been as funny lately as she’s been sick.  However, thanks to modern medications, she’s pretty much completely recovered (thank goodness).  We have to burrito her in a towel a couple times a day to get them all in her.  Then all the kittens get a treat (because you can’t just give one cat a treat).  So Sophie and Percy come running at the first sign of Shelby’s misfortune because they know now that this vexation to Shelby ends in goodness for them.


I have been collecting some very nice upholstery samples for my future sleeper sofa.  This is all in the hope that one day I will obtain gainful employment and move out of my parents’ house.  I even have begun daydreaming about colour schemes.  So you know these hopes are getting serious, even if they are yet to be fulfilled.

Maybe I should see about volunteering at the middle school down the street.  It’s close enough to walk (thus saving gas $) and would give me something to do with my time.  If they have need for volunteers, but how could they not?


I had a delightful exchange with Barry from World Next Door on twitter about the need for towels when one is engaged in interstellar travel.  It may have started from a tweet about carrying around a sweat towel when in Sudan.

They’re also hiring for an office manager right now. If you’re interested: apply!  (I may even apply, although I myself am not qualified, but it’s hard to pass up the opportunity to at least try.)


I am angry.

I am angry at the ever present, ever influential, ever toxic he that infiltrates my life and thoughts despite a lack of permission.

This he is not just one, but all.  All who have ever taken advantage of me, who have abused me, who have betrayed, injured, not cared for me.

The he who molested me when I was 3.  Everyone who knew but did nothing.

The he‘s of high school and college who said/did/attempted unwanted things and got away with it.

The he who was a trusted mentor, who betrayed me from the first, yet tricked me into trust until years later when he (a married Bible teacher with a child, whom I viewed with complete naivety and completely platonic) propositioned me, and yet still got away with it even though I did everything right, through all the right channels.

Every he who has not protected me but has either hurt me himself or watched as others did.

I have physical memories that I do not consciously remember but which prevent me from physical intimacy.  Worse, I have spiritual betrayal that has destroyed my trust in men, in Christian men in particular.  Betrayal that has left me bereft and empty.  Betrayal that still makes it hard to pray, read my Bible, desire to grow in faith.  I feel distant from God, but it is not God who is distant.  It is my own inability to allow Him to be close.

And I am angry about it.


In many ways, I am better than I was.  I’ve found a new church and have gone three times.  And you know what made me go back after the first time?  The week before, one of their pastors was arrested in a police sting as he attempted to solicit an underage prostitute.  This is not good, obviously.  I did not know about it, but when I showed up, the service was the main pastor talking about it: how you had to be in the middle of truth (stone him, the heinous man) and grace (forgive it all).  How the Church is made up of sinners, each of us is capable of doing awful things, but none of us wake up one morning and decide to do those things out of the blue.  We take small steps of compromise, and instead need to ensure we are walking in the Light of Christ, in the fellowship of other Believers, being open and accountable to each other.

This pastor handled it exactly as it should be: honestly, openly, truthfully.  He did not hide it or minimize.

And so I went back.  I sit by myself (surrounded by strangers).  Sometimes I sing, but mostly I just listen.  I leave as soon as service is over.  But I’m there.  I view every man in the congregation as suspect.  But I am there.

It is a step, perhaps small to you, but huge to me.

I want to be well again.  I want to believe I might be able to trust again someday.  I want to know I can approach God with an open heart.

I don’t want to be angry.

But I am.

I just don’t know what to say lately.

I’m considering quitting the blog.  I’ve been blogging on one platform or another for the past 13 years.  Maybe I’m all blogged out.