Why I’m Mad

Note: this one is for my Christian friends. The rest of you, go read my food site. I’ve got a new post over there about making lasagna the "right" way.

The rest of you, you’re going to have to endure a bit of a rant…because I really am mad–in every sense of the word.

I follow several writing groups. Most are of the "super-secret", highly respectful type, where people come to build each other up. Most are not based on a religious affiliation. There is one non-private group that I follow, though. It is a Christian writer’s group, and I witnessed something there last week that made me so angry I could spit. One of the women felt that she was coming under spiritual attack, and she turned to the group for encouragement and validation. Basically, she turned to her fellow soldiers for help, looking for some form of shield lock formation, someone to watch her back.

Of course, that’s not what she got. The word menopause was thrown out. Hormonal treatment was suggested. Perhaps mood altering drugs would help? She was directed to seek aid from medical and psychiatric professionals. In the end, the poor woman was screaming for help, and the others were happily telling her the war did not exist. Since I read the missives in digest form, I was a day late. Girding my loins, I dashed into the fray, only to be told that the topic was closed as inappropriate for the group. After all, it didn’t have anything to do with writing.

It didn’t? Wow. A writer is a world builder, in every way an immitator of our Creator. Of course those writers are going to come under attack. My brothers and sisters did the enemy’s work for him last week. They saw a sister faltering and they promptly took their shields and bashed her over the head telling her that she was insane. I wonder if she was able to work on her writing later that day? I wonder what she was writing that drew such a powerful attack? The shadows were laughing at the completely powerless Christian warriors who not only didn’t know what to do with their armor, they didn’t even believe they were in a war!

Well, I must be mad as well, because I believe we are in a battle. Yes, the armor is pretty and shiny, but it wasn’t made to be put in the hallway and look daunting. It was made for wearing. Put on your armor, folks! Leave the medical problems to the doctors, but take the spiritual problems into the spirit realm where they belong! And for goodness sakes, people, the enemy is over there — point your shields and swords THAT way. Someone get a stretcher and a medic for our precious wounded sister.

In a real army, they call that being hit by friendly fire. I have a friend who was hit by friendly fire, and I don’t think he’d say it hurts less to be shot from behind.

I’m sure the members of that group will now see me as insane. They’ll probably suggest some form of medication. The problem is, I’m mad. In my berzerker state I just might mistake them for the enemy. Some days, it is hard to tell the difference.

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