A Simple Christmas…M4B*

Because of the persecution at the hands of my birth family, which included being systematically poisoned in their attempts to control this great gift of shalom that is die zauberflote and try to use it against God’s will, Christmas has a special meaning for me. I learned it the hard way. At the time, I could not understand why it seemed that God had abandoned me to people who insisted on turning themselves into monsters. Yet nonetheless I willingly stood in ankle-deep icy mud, at times with tears running down my face, and sang Christmas carols with the neighborhood children in my hometown of Fairfield, Connecticut. Although I came to realize that the persecution would intensify during the holidays, I never lost my love of every piece of music connected to Yeshua, the Messiah.

But much of the hooplah came to make me quite miserable. The tree, the tinsel, the cotton batting on the mantle with a cardboard sleigh and reindeer, and of course, “Santa Claus” — whoever that was — came to represent to me an abyss of hopelessness.

“Let’s have our Christmas!” my Mother would chuckle, as she got out her notepad to record which gift was from whom, so we could immediately send thank-you notes for everything under the tree.

Well, that was it. The Bible sat dusty and untouched on a bookshelf, and everything swirled around who got what. And of course, I seemed to end up with items I had never wished for nor could ever use. That seemed to be part of the orchestration.

At the time, being quite young, it was all very confusing. Now, looking back, I can see how God has used everything for good, for I literally cannot tolerate anything having to do with Christmas that does not directly lift up the Lord Jesus Christ. I no longer ‘celebrate’ what I call ‘Xmas’. No tree. No lights. No wrappings. Just the music. And The Presence.

And I am richly blessed…I invite you to do the same…:-)

*M4B=Mozart For Believers

“Nominal” Christians…M4B*

When I was a child growing up in Fairfield, Connecticut, we lived in a nice three-bedroom house.  My father was a metallurgical engineer.  He had done well for himself.  He started out as a poor cowboy on a farm in Yankton, South Dakota.  He put himself through the South Dakota School of Mines and graduated with a degree in metallurgy.  He was quickly hired on by a steel company in Chicago, where I was born.  He then changed jobs and was soon transferred to the East Coast.

My father was an avid reader.  We had only one bookcase in our house, surprisingly, as he read everything from the ancient Greeks to contemporary history.  He borrowed nearly all his books from the library, so didn’t need a lot of space for them.  But there was one Book that sat on the shelves throughout those years — the Bible.  I cannot recall my parents taking it out, even dusting it off.  It just sat there, among all the other books.  There didn’t seem to be much need for the Wrd in our household.  That is because we were what I would now call ‘nominal’ Christians.

We were Methodists.  And yes, I know now that there are thriving churches of every denomination where Believers can be fed, so I am not pouncing upon the poor maligned Methodists.  It just happened to be our fate.  There are also at least two Methodist ministers in our family — both cousins on my father’s side.

Our Methodist Church, http://www.goldenhill.org/, is one of the loveliest neo-Gothic churches I have seen anywhere, with a full pipe organ, a choir with paid soloists, ushers who back then wore morning coats with carnations in their lapels, and a delightful area called the “Pullman Chapel” where the children had service.

What we learned from that church was how to excel at being nominal Christians.  We put issues of substance first, and complained when Gd didn’t give us everything we wanted instantly.  We learned fellowship, with cookouts, and weekend getaways.  I am sure it was mere coincidence that many of the wealthy people who lived on “the Hill” attended that church. We were, of course, in awe of them.  Gd had obviously favored them and not us.

We did say grace maybe once or twice a year — certainly at Easter and Xmas. And we were always present at church.  The only time we missed that I am aware of was when President Kennedy was assassinated.  That Sunday we sat in front of the black+white tv eating tv dinners (yes, really) and watched Lee Oswald being murdered by Jack Ruby.

It’s really hard to get through to people when they become nominal Christians.  They think they are doing everything right!  If you try to disciple them by nudging them toward the Wrd or — heaven forbid — repentance — we are usually met with defiance and outrage…

So that too, I now believe, was the crisis our Lrd Jesus Christ faced when he dealt with the Pharisees and Sadducees.  They already ‘knew’ they were going to heaven.  They had nothing to learn.  They needed nothing.  They did not realize that they were already mostly dead inside and only yelling at them could hopefully wake them up…:-0

*M4B=Mozart For Believers

 

 

 

 

 

On the possibility of my having been poisoned as a child…

Update, January 9, 2023

My parents were never brought to justice…but their accomplices may be…

Original post..

When I was four I had a vision, of sorts, that probably helped to keep me alive.  The significance of it to me at that time was that I became convinced I had to protect a Gift I had been given from my mother whom, it seemed, had made some sort of a pact with a dark angel I came to call “Lermontov”,  as it resembled a movie character by that name. I had no doubt my mother was my adversary, but I did not at the time comprehend the extent of her antagonism.

Although a robustly healthy child, I regularly found myself becoming violently sick to my stomach and throwing up.  Ironically, at those time, my mother was conciliatory and sympathetic, bringing me ginger ale with shaved ice and saltines to calm my stomach.  This continued until shortly before I left home for college.  Once I had settled into dorm life, my first thought was how nice it was to be somewhat on my own. My second thought was relief that I was no longer throwing up.  It immediately occurred to me that my mother had probably been behind this, but my relief at having survived was my primary emotion.

Within a few months of this realization my father nearly died by his own hand.  All my attention switched to him.  I did not make the connection until recently, as, subsequent to that event, the rest of my birth family seemed to circle the wagons and lock me out, so to speak, that there could have been a connection. Other questions that I had about my birth family also began to fall into place when I looked at them from the perspective of my birth family trying to shield themselves from the consequences (not of their own actions, mind you) of my having survived this ordeal.  :-0

Update 4.17.21

Since this post was written a lot has taken place.  I spoke to my dear husband about this possibility and his response was, “You remember that?” Of course, I was puzzled, to say the least.  I then told my two younger children of this possibility. I received blank looks.  There were no questions.  There was no concern. Just a chill emptiness.  I did not know what to think. 

It became evident that for whatever reason, protecting my one living birth family member from being held accountable for their part in this terrible situation was more important than showing any concern for me. 

At that point I began to step back.  The Corona pandemic provided an extension of what I had already decided to do.  

Now I see the situation from a different perspective.  I have had the courage to ask, “What if it didn’t stop?” I don’t like the answers that come to me, but accepting the truth is always better in the end.  

Update June 9, 2021

There has been a veritable flood of information coming at me for the last few weeks. Most stunning is the realization that these odd coincidences possibly connecting Bob Dylan’s family and mine are not that at all.  Instead, this may consist of ‘inside information’ from a member of my family that made its way to Dylan’s people.  Even more astonishing is the possibility that this may have been going on for a long time…perhaps even back to when Dylan appeared on the scene in New York.  What could possibly be the reason for this, I wondered?  It has been, at the very least, a betrayal, but to what end?  I puzzled over this until the lyrics of one of Dylan’s songs came to mind…Jokerman…whose features could have been carved out by Michaelangelo…dancing to the nightingale tune…

Jokerman

Whoa Nelly, I said to myself…could Dylan be hinting at my father’s ignoring my mother’s terrible behavior toward me?  Is he giving his insiders information about what happened in that house? Where would that possibly come from?  My family members have all been in lockstep to shut me down whenever I mention what happened in that house, and here is a complete stranger telling the world — or at least his ‘insiders’ — about this?  

And then, another possibility occurred to me — that Dylan’s people had somehow obtained a pilfered copy of my manuscript Titan, from Piper to the Alternative.  The heroine’s middle name is Philomela — which means nightingale.  Her father, Dorian, is as handsome as Dorian Gray, and as ignorant and selfish…

This opened up an entirely new kettle of fish, so to speak…

Jokerman appeared on the scene in 1983. The only adversary I am aware of who had access to my early drafts of Titan in the late 70’s, was my ex-husband, a bass player in the Minnesota Orchestra, whom I call “Monostatos”…

Was that what had happened, if that is the case? 

Stay tuned, as this is becoming curiouser and curiouser…

 

MinnegeddonPartDeux — just for “Starla”and Yoko?…really, ladies? Really? :-0

Update, January 27, 2023

Some time has passed since this post was written, and some things have changed.  Bob Dylan has insisted on telling us about our connection to John Lennon.  And Piper has some new characters…

It looks like the Queen of the Night (my mother) has some helpers…a Wanna Be…and possibly an adjunct! Well, John calls her the “Mother of Night”, so that kind of fits.

And Monostatos has increased in size with Bob as the leader of the cadre, and Bill, along with his cohorts at the Minnesota Orchestra…

Oh, and my best friend Brad (Papageno) is now married to his little dove Missy (Papagena)…however, he is complaining that he is being tested more as a Christian than I am!  I would beg to differ with him, but what good would that do?

And it looks like Minnegeddon is in full swing, where the truth comes out about everything that has happened to us…

Original post…

In the novel “Piper to the Alternative”, Pamina’s mother is Mildred Payne.  She is the great Queen of the Night.  She hurls down curses with a bolt of lightning.  She emanates charm that can seem almost irresistible.  At other times, the air glows black and white with the depth of her profound wickedness.

Mildred was also an adept at various evil strategies.  One of them, in fact, perhaps her favorite, was that of finesse.  In order to accomplish this, you set your prey up through flattery and deceit, and then move in to destroy them, getting them to do something or give up information they would never otherwise do.

By the time of MinnegeddonPartDeux (post Monostatos’ Orchestra lockout) Mildred is dead.  A proxy or two seem to have tried to step up to the plate.  They too try to corner Pamina and cause her harm. They seem intent on becoming Mildred’s little mini-me’s.  Of course, the energy of the great die zauberflote protects Pamina.  And, as it might be expected, Pamina has learned from her experiences with her mother how to finesse her adversaries…

So instead of a slanted field, there is instead an even one…:-)