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The Wormwood March

The Wormwood March January 26, 2017

So, perhaps you heard there was a Women’s March last weekend?

I’m late writing about it, because I’ve been a bit befuddled at such an open, shameless display of bitterness and vulgarity. The entire parade, in my thinking, would be more appropriately called The Wormwood March rather than The Women’s March.

The chief constituent of the Wormwood plant is a volatile oil it is usually dark green or sometimes blue in color, and has a strong odor and a bitter, acrid taste, says a source I found. Volatile. Dark. Odoriferous. Bitter. From my point of view, that about sums up the march.

How does dressing up as a giant vagina, shouting profanities, and threatening the newly elected President’s life spur a country to, with any seriousness, consider the pleas put forth? How does it provoke anyone in power to look deeper into the pain the marchers say they are enduring? And flashing boobs at the entire world. How could that ever serve to encourage the supposed positive change for which they are marching? Nothing that went on at the march was effective at drawing me in or making me sympathetic. It only made me wonder what is eating a slew of women alive.

Perhaps that is the point – to draw attention and make me wonder. But when I say I wonder, I do not mean I wonder in a way that makes me want to dig deeper. I wonder in a way that makes me shake my head and run the opposite direction because someone has discredited themselves with obscene behavior.

Do those who marched understand that women around the world view them as the elite? The over-privileged? The fortunate? Have they considered that the women in third world countries seeing the genitalia displays will be reminded that their own genitalia have been mutilated to prevent sexual pleasure – against their will and without anesthetics? What about the third world woman whose daughter was stoned to death because she didn’t bleed enough on her wedding night to convince her husband of her purity? What did she think of the march? What do truly oppressed women from around the world think of a crowd of overweight women crying about inequality when they themselves have not eaten anything but crumbs for the last three days and are unsure of where the next crumbs will come from? And to the marching women who donned headscarves made from the American flag … what do you suppose women who have been subject to the Muslim Brotherhood would shout back at you? Hint: The answer is not You go, girl! The answer is here, in this article. 

I could go on. The true injustices of the world are many and severe, and as such, make the complaints of those who marched come across as, frankly, trivial. Too many taxes on tampons? Some women would be grateful to know what a tampon is.

Bottom line is, bitterness run amok cannot be anything but destructive, and nasty behavior, nasty language, and nasty attitudes aren’t effective ways to be heard or taken seriously.

Can we consider the likes of Rosa Parks, Margaret Thatcher, and Esther for a moment? All three had different circumstances and battles, but all three fought with respect, intellectual pleas, appropriate boldness, and dignity. Yeah, they broke some rules. But take writing, for instance. If a writer’s going to break the rules, she must know which ones to break, when to break them, and how to break them. Otherwise, she looks like an imbecile. Rule-breaking is an art, in and of itself. It can be effective, if done right, but retaining one’s dignity should always be at the helm of any rule-breaking attempt (I say as I write about vaginas).

Also. Interviews conducted throughout the event revealed a complete lack of thought. Some women couldn’t articulate why they were marching – because they didn’t know. Some spat on or attacked in other ways those with opposing views. Some clearly confused boldness with bitterness. And some willingly gave up their dignity with their boob flashing, vagina glaring, vulgar speech approach.

(I’m sorry to keep mentioning the vagina glaring. I think I was legit traumatized by the complete absence of couth.)

This blog is not to say women should not protest wrongdoing or even perceived wrongdoing. It is to say protesting wrongdoing, real or perceived, should be done without committing further wrongdoing. The first step to doing good in the world is to first define good. And good can never be defined as destroying property, bashing men who are made in God’s image, and fighting for the “right” to kill tiny, innocent, human babies.

Good can only be defined by what God calls good. We can either adopt His good agenda, or we can make up our own agenda, but understand: the agendas of mankind are notorious for being wicked.

The Lord saw that the wickedness of man was great in the earth, and that every intention of the thoughts of his heart was only evil continually. (Gen. 6:5). That’s God’s observation about us from the beginning of time. In order to even understand good, mankind needs much, much help. But the women at the march have looked solely inside themselves, trusting their own ideas and agendas rather than looking to the all-wise Creator of the universe and everything in it.

A long story cut short for you:

At age 13, I was sexually assaulted by a 16 year-old. At age 15, I was sexually abused by a man who attended my church. He was ten years my senior. The incident when I was 13 was brutal and terrifying. It happened out of the blue, meaning, I was either too naive to see it coming, or it was a split decision on the part of the perpetrator. The incidences (plural) at age 15 were confusing, shaming, psychologically damaging, and ongoing. But here’s the thing: If I had ultimately looked inside myself to find solutions on how to deal with the two men who committed crimes against me, I would have in turn committed a crime: murder. I understand the Wormwood struggle. I understand the hurt and anger and the way abuse just lays a girl flat and renders her nearly destroyed. But what does dealing with it bitterly gain? What does laying an offense on top of another offense accomplish?

Somewhere, somehow, the cycle must stop. If we as women want to make a true difference, we have to cut the hate and disrespect and lack of dignity. We need to know what good is. What respect of God, ourselves, and others looks like. We need to kill the idea that sexual abuse puts in our heads that we are worthless or lesser than and we need to believe God when He says He wants to make us His friend by the washing away of our sins. Not only a friend, but an heir to everything that is His. He wants to heal us. He wants to make us pure, lovely, beautiful. He wants to love us with an everlasting love. He wants to convert us. Make us whole. Give us significance and beautiful feet that bring Good News to the world (Rom. 10:15).

Government can never ever ever do those things for us. Even if Donald Trump delivered all the so-called “goods and benefits” women are crying for, it would not be good enough. Our hearts crave an intimate relationship with our Creator, and until we get that, we will keep cycling through futile attempts to feed our starving hearts.

Dear marching women (and I do count you dear),

You say you are angry at men, but all anger ultimately leads back to God. I am not judging you for your anger. Rather, I am identifying with you, because I’ve been there. How could a loving, sovereign God allow the things that have gone on in your life? How could He give you a Dad who forced you to have an abortion? How could God have allowed a man to rape you? Why did He allow your father to rape you? Why was your boyfriend allowed to force you to kill your baby, which (naturally) in turn causes you to defend the right to abort, otherwise you’d be forced into admitting you are guilty of murder? Why didn’t God provide what you needed, financially speaking, for you to carry through with your pregnancy? These are extremely tough questions that I suspect are (in part) at the heart of why you marched. But these are questions that are only answered by adopting a lifestyle of turning to God and asking Him to answer, which He will do if you persist and are sincere in your search for the truth.

Draw near to God, and He will draw near to you. (James 4:8a)

Your only desire at this point may be to reject God. No way in heck will I ask Him anything, you say. In my mind, He doesn’t even exist. And that is your prerogative. But my belief is that no matter what choice you make about God today, one day, you will believe in Him because you will be before Him. You in the flesh. Him in the flesh. Face to face. And as God has promised, there will be a time when every knee will bow, and every tongue will confess that Jesus is Lord.

It’s possible I’m wrong about His existence. It’s also possible I’m right. So the questions are:

If I go through my entire life and end up wrong, what have I lost? And if you go through your entire life and end up wrong, what have you lost?

Nothing and everything, respectively.

I’ve been sorely tempted to make this blog about me and my lifestyle. To defend my pro-life views and the old-fashioned, complementary lifestyle I’ve chosen for myself and my marriage – and not because I am oppressed. To bemoan for paragraphs about the years of hell I endured because of two men bigger and stronger than myself. To ensure the reader that I have felt the sting of the dreadful inferiority complex that comes with simply being born a female. Etcetera. But that blog has been written a thousand times since the march, and frankly, it is not the heart of the matter. The heart of the matter can be boiled down to four words:

People need the Lord. 

All of life boils down to that. So, big whoop. I am shocked and appalled at vagina glaring, boob flashing, the advocation of murder, and the spewing of hate. In some ways, I should be. But in one way, I shouldn’t be shocked at all. Because the truth is, there’s nothing new under the sun. It’s all been done before. Murder, sexism, abuse, oppression, homosexuality, and more … it’s all in the front of the Bible, where the beginning of time and the creation of man and woman took place. Thankfully, God’s Word isn’t merely a book of true stories. It’s a handbook for living. It tells us how to get along together in peace and harmony and mutual respect – and how to eradicate the Wormwood of our hearts.

If I’m going to march to any beat, I want it to be the beat of God’s drum. And this blog, though somewhat confrontational, is ultimately an invitation for anyone reading to march with me, hand in hand, with the Prince of Peace who is able to do far more abundantly than all that we ask or think.


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