Help me, Lord!

I'm gonna tell it to you straight cause I don't know any other way to tell it.
Hold on, cause it may get hairy up in here...

There's been a sinful, seductive element lurking in the shadows near my soul lately. Tempting, taunting, terrorizing my mind...and I've nearly given in to the lusts of the flesh.

I'm a strong woman. A woman of faith. A woman of principles. A woman of God.
BUT, I'm still a woman. A woman with needs, wants, desires. I am bone - blood - teeth and a little bit of girly pheromones.

Lately, the waters of temporary pleasures have crept so close to the nostrils of my staunch principles that I've questioned the resolute ground on which they stand. I'm in pain, yet without a wound. I'm bound, yet shackle-free. I'm tormented, yet unscathed.

I feel the chilly waters begin to overtake me, clutching at my throat and ending all that I am.
So, I lift my eyes to the hills from whence my help comes...and I speak the only peace my heart has ever known...

"Protect me, O Lord. I'm falling. Your servant is weak and craving...yearning for...desperate to have...

...chocolate cake, ice cream and fudge. Maybe some pizza, a taco platter, fattening soft drinks and empty calories...she longs for fattening foods, very short walks on the beach, sunsets near a camp fire where hot dogs and marsh mellows are being roasted, she dreams of greasy cheese burgers and onion rings. Your portly, wanna-be-saint of a woman thinks of nothing more than to lay in the shade with a bag of salty chips with maybe some queso and guaco and jalapenos close by...

...Help me, Lord."

and they call this Justice?

Call me jaded, but I hope the bad guy from Boston suffered hours and hours of excruciating pain before he surrendered tonight like the textbook coward that he is. It's unfortunate that we had to provide him immediate medical attention before questioning him about his horrific crimes.

Since our equally cowardly president will undoubtedly insist that this terrorist be prosecuted by the Common Wealth of Mass. instead of treating him like the terrorist that he is...we will probably never know why - after becoming a naturalized citizen on September 11, 2012 - he decided to betray the country that welcomed him with open arms.

Now we will get to see his elmo-looking, someone's-gonna-love-on-him-in-prison face for twenty plus years as we feed, house and (undoubtedly) educate him. That's not to mention the hundreds of thousands of dollars of free medical and legal services that we will lavish on this cold-blooded killer before we humanely put him to sleep like a rabid dog.

So call me jaded if you must, but I hope the Boston bomber suffered just a smidge before he enters the American justice system that consistently bows down and kisses the toes of the guilty while sticking its crooked middle finger in the face of legless victims.

Stop Resisting!

Nineteen years ago I attended the Council on Law Enforcement Education and Training in Oklahoma City. Employed by the city of Tonkawa as their first female police officer, I was anxious to attend my basic police academy. It had only been a year since I had completed basic combat and Military Police training with the US Army. Many of the things I learned at Fort McClelland, Alabama were similar to the training I was receiving in Oklahoma City for the Tonkawa Police Department.

One huge difference though as explained by our defensive tactics instructor, Vince O'Neill, was the verbiage used when trying to get control of a non-compliant subject. The Army had taught me to say, "kill" or occasionally, "die." Instructor O'Neill was not real crazy about my constant use of these commands I screamed while I struck the large, red pads with my expandable baton.

My defensive tactics training partner was a tall, very fit, muscular, black guy with an incredibly infectious smile and an outrageous personality. He was attending CLEET while employed by the Oklahoma Attorney General's Office.

On one particular day of training, while my training partner held the pad that I was striking with the baton, I screamed, "Die" just as our instructor passed by. Instructor O'Neill stopped my partner and I. He put his hands and each of our shoulders and reminded us again that we had to train as we would fight. We had to say, "Stop resisting," not "die."

"I'm not going to say that," I said after the instructor walked away. When my partner asked why I told him it sounded like a cheer, not a command. He laughed at me and then did his best "gay guy" impression by striking a pose like a cheerleader. With a dynamic lisp that I was certain he had used many times previously he started chanting, "Stop resisting, stop-stop resisting." He clapped his hands wildly in front of his face and off to either side of his body. He swung his long arms around carelessly and threw his hips off to one side and then the other as his full lips pursed together in a large pout. A slender index finger pointed straight at my face when he said, "Stop resisting," then he flashed me a perfect, white-toothed smile. It was that smile that sealed our friendship.

I'd never met someone so full of life and crazy fun to be around. Over the next 19 years, he and I would work together many times including recently as we worked on a publication that would bring us into contact on a weekly, sometimes daily, basis. When he died last Saturday, I was so stunned and heart-broken that I struggled to grasp the reality that he was really gone. For someone whose personality was bigger than life itself, it's hard to imagine that my buddy, Pete "Stop Resisting" Norwood, won't be around to share a laugh with anymore.

I'll forever treasure those hilarious memories of Pete, but I'm most grateful for one of our more serious conversations that took place only a couple of weeks ago. That's when Pete told me that he knew Jesus, but that more importantly, Jesus KNEW him.