The frustration of arbitrary rules

I actually do love my job. I love that it is in an enclosed building, does not include customer service in any form -- no telephones, no drive thrus, no face-to-face consultations with angry customers, no insurance adjudications, nothing. I love that I can dress casually, listen to my radio or MP3 player, and work without someone standing over me the entire shift. I love my schedule -- four, ten-hour days, with plenty of opportunity for overtime hours. We are given four paid holidays every year -- New Years Day, July 4th, Thanksgiving, and Christmas. And we are either off with eight hours pay or work with holiday pay on six other occasions -- Martin Luther King, Jr. day, Washington's birthday, Memorial day, Labor day, Columbus Day, and Veterans Day.

But the management for whom I work tends to be a little arbitrary in their rules. Some things are overlooked, some things are not. Some of the rules make absolutely no sense. But rules are rules and if I want to remain gainfully employed, I need to abide by them whether they make sense or not.

But something happened today that just threw me for a loop.

I am sick. My oldest kid is sick. Half of my coworkers are sick. But I took some Tylenol Cold and Flu for the respiratory symptoms and some Motrin to tone down the headache. I pulled a pair of fuzzy flannel pants from the dryer, pulled my hair up into a bun, and headed out into the cold, rainy day to work. I could have called out but I didn't.

I was at work half an hour before my immediate supervisor walked by and jokingly asked if I was in my pajamas. I told her that I bought them as such, but they were clean and only worn because I was sick.  Less than twenty minutes later, I am called into the office and told that the big boss had complained about my attire, that 'pajamas' were not allowed in the workplace, and that I would need to go home to change.

I argued that they were fleece pants from Old Navy that just happened to have a funky pattern. She said they looked like pajamas and were therefore unacceptable.

I asked her if I would be pointed for leaving and was told I would be. At my job, we are given points, like demerits, when we are not on the clock. Even if you're half dead with an illness, they will punish you with points. Less than 15 minutes off the clock = 1 point. More than 15 minutes but less than three hours = 2 points. Anything over three hours = 3 points. You are written up at twelve points, suspended and possibly fired at twenty one.

Depending on interstate traffic, I live between 30 and 45 minutes from my workplace. For me to leave, have time to change, and return to work is a good two hours. Two hours of lost pay, use of gasoline (which is over $3.20 a gallon here), and an accrument of two points on my record.

I left, but went to the doctor. If I was going to be sent home I was at least going to see a doctor for the funk ailing both my oldest child and me. I went home, got her, and we went to the doctors office. While we were waiting, I re-read my employee handbook. The dress code starts on the bottom of one page and finished on the other:

Wha... ?

I was told by my immediate supervisor that anything that resembles pajamas was a violation of the dress code.  I reread the two pages in the handbook again.

If my pants had been a single color or had I worn a flannel shirt with the red pattern, I don't think anyone would have said anything. But this pattern on flannel pants appears to be offensive to someone in the office. So much so that they invented a rule that said they were against policy and sent me home. With points.           

When I got home from the doctor, I called my place of employment and talked to another one of the evening supervisors. He reititerated the first supervisors words -- my clothing was unacceptable.

The man with whom I was speaking this time is normally fair. But I also has an slight run-in with him back in October when, with only a couple of hours left in the shift, I complained about another employee's shirt. She had been allowed to wear an Obama tee-shirt all night, which is in direct violation of the Hatch Act. The Act forbids federal employees from engaging in political activities while on duty or on federal property.  We can't wear anything political -- hats, shirts, buttons, etc. -- or do any form of campaigning on the premises. I finally complained with less than three hours left in the shift. I had been told not to wear my Romney hat so why could she wear an Obama shirt? This supervisor made the woman turn her shirt inside out. And it wasn't like she wasn't aware of the Act. Months before, upper management spoke to worker individually and reminded us all of the Hatch Act. So she knew about the federal law and she willfully broke it. Yet she was allowed to remain at work.

Futhermore, we have a plethora of woman that wear, on a nightly basis, pants so tight they look like they've been painted on. I swear, they are closer to stockings than pants. These women wear pants like that as well as shirts that are see through in spots, gawdy jewely, and billowing scarves. Yet they are never sent home.

The icing on the cake is the fact that the supervisor that sent me home wore a shirt about a month ago with this filigree lacework on the front that showed her bra straps and the top of the bra itself. I even mentioned it to her ... and she had it on all night.

I wear pants that are in compliance with the dress code but I was sent home with points and without pay.

What the hell?

I will comply with any and all rules. I will wear my hair up, wear sneakers instead of my nursing clogs, and leave the jewelry at home. But how can I follow the rules if I don't know what they are? And the rules my apply to everyone, not just some of the people some of the time.

K-Mart and the great Christmas layaway debacle

*** Update at bottom of post ***

On November 19, 2012, I did something I've done numerous times before: I went to Kmart.com and started a layaway. This one was for the larger Christmas gifts for my children. We live on a tight budget and layaway helps to ease the burden of holiday shopping.

I chose my items and, like the times before, I chose at which store I wanted to pick up the order. I made my initial down payment and began envisioning the look on my kiddos faces when they got these particular gifts. Over the next few weeks, I made my scheduled payments and counted down the days until Christmas. The debacle that spawned this blog began on the Wednesday night before Christmas.

WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 19, 2012
After a long night at work, I pulled up my Kmart.com account to see exactly how much I still owed on said layaway. I was going to swing by the store I'd chosen and pick up the order Friday morning. As I made a mental note to pick up Scotch tape and gift wrap, I also noted that I owed $77 on the order. It was then that I noticed a "Layaway Shipcharge" of $20.04. Ship charge? WTF? So I called the customer service number listed on the website. The company was closed. GRRRR!

THURSDAY, DECEMBER 20, 2012
I took my oldest to school and called the 800-number before I was even out of the car loop. It was 7:30 a.m.

"Yes, ma'am, this is a warehouse order. We'll ship it when you've paid it off. You should receive it the first week of January," the chirpy woman on the phone said.

"What do you mean? I chose a store to pick the order up at. Christmas is Tuesday."

"I don't know, but this is now a ship order. If you need the items before then, you can always go into one of our stores and purchase the items. And we can refund your money on the layaway."

I began panic. "If I had the money to just go into a store and purchase the items, I wouldn't have used layaway!"

I asked it I could pay to have the order shipped to me overnight. No. I asked if I could have a store credit at one of my local stores. Nope. I'd have to wait for my refund ... in five to seven BUSINESS DAYS.

Crying, I asked to speak to a supervisor. I was transferred to a woman named Soni who said she'd help. She wanted to confer with her associates and said she'd call me back. At around 9:20 a.m., Soni did indeed call me back and said that she had forwarded the case to the corporate offices in Illinois to get an expedited refund so I'd have the money by Monday afternoon. That was Christmas eve and I'd have to make a mad dash to the stores before they'd closed, but I could deal with that. Soni promised to call me back in a few hours to let me know the status of the refund.

She did not.

I called the customer service number again at 2:45 p.m. to be told that A.) they had no way to transfer me back to Soni and B.) my refund would take five to seven business days. I held the panic attack at bay and went into work.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 21, 2012
I awoke and called the same number (1-800-732-7747) yet again. This time the representative told me the order was still active but I would get a refund ... in five to seven BUSINESS DAYS. She also made sure to tell me that I should "pray to God" to find an answer to my Christmas dilemma. Wha?!? I obviously am a believer. I *am* celebrating Christmas, after all, but I balk at being told to pray for an answer to the problem this woman's company and inept customer service has created.

Irritated beyond belief, I asked for the number to the corporate offices. Se refused to give it to me. I hit the Internet and found a number to the executive office -- (847)286-2500. The woman to which I was connected was curt, telling me the order on her end was still active, that she'd cancel it out, and I'd get a refund ... in five to seven BUSINESS DAYS. I went through the tearful diatribe again -- Christmas was  in three more days and could she please help me. I made sure to tell her that I wasn't looking for anything free. I asked if I could pay for overnight shipping or get a store credit for the amount I'd already paid. Nope, nope, nope.

She did offer to give me $45 off my layaway, making my final payment "only $32."

WHAT?!?!?!?! I don't want the freaking layaway shipment at this point. It does me no good to get it in JANUARY. I just want the money I've put into the layaway so I can go and get the presents for my kids.

She said there was nothing she could do to help me and to have a Merry Christmas.

Luckily, my father stepped in and bought the presents for my kids. He spent his money at Wal-Mart (take that K-Mart!). So now I am not only out the money K-Mart is holding hostage but I also owe my father money. And he really didn't have the money to spend himself, so he still owes the bills he pushed back to help ME out.

Christmas morning comes and goes without a hitch for the children.

Then, everyday, I check the order at Kmart.com. Each time it is STILL active. Each time, I call customer service for help. Each time I am told the order will be cancelled out and I will receive my refund. (Yes, in five to seven business days.)

FRIDAY, DECEMBER 28, 2012
I began to screen print my account. And as you can see, over a week after I was told by a supervisor that the account had been closed and a refund on the way, the account was in fact STILL ACTIVE and no refund in the works.

I called the executive offices again.

Same BS and no real answers. I asked for the CEO's name and contact and was told I couldn't have that information. I went online and did a little bit of research while I ate lunch.

Kmart is owned by Sears Holdings Corporation. The Board of Directors is as follows:

Sears Holdings also owns:

• Kmart
• Sears
• Lands End
• Craftsman
• Kenmore
• Diehard
• Jaclyn Smith
• Joe Boxer
• Apostrophe
• Covington
• Country Living
• Beverly Drive
• BONGO
• Canyon River Blues
• Casa Christina
• Coexist
• Dream Out Loud
• Everlast
• LYS
• UK Style
• Sofia
• Smart Sense
• Rebecca Bonbon

Did I compile this list for a boycott? Oh, hell yes.

After that, the following Twitter conversation proceeded:

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 29, 2012
Yep. Still active.

Then I hit Twitter again.

MONDAY, DECEMBER 31, 2012
And now I am beyond pissed off.

Royally pissed off.

At this point, I don't think K-Mart ever had any inclination to refund my money. I will probably never see that money again. In the grand scheme of things, $377.95 isn't a lot of money. To a CEO or other executive at Sears Holdings, it's a bottle of wine or a nice dinner. But to me, that is a car payment with a little left over so I can buy stuff to pack for my kids' lunches at school during the week. It's a week's worth of groceries. It is money owed to my father which I can't pay back.

I will never, ever spend another hard-earned penny at a K-Mart. Or a Sears. Or at Lands End. Or on any product owned by Sears Holdings.  My faith in the entire corporation has been thoroughly destroyed.

 

 

 

 

*** UPDATE***

I put the hubs on the horn and had him calling customer service, too.  After being given the run-around as well and even being hung up on several times, he finally reached an agent named Margaret. She was nice and helpful and promised the refund, but I was skeptical.  I balked when being told there was a $10 cancellation fee, but she said it would be waived.

 

We received our refund today, January 3rd. Hooray! Someone from Sears also called my husband and offered him a $50 gift card.  He accepted it. He's going to split it between the kiddos and let them get something they want. I will not be the one taking them to the store though. I still refuse to ever, EVER shop at another Sears Holdings Corp. store.

Doulas, doulas, doulas

I detest doulas.

There. It's out in the open and there is no gray area about my feelings as we delve into tonight's rant.   I hate just about everything about the occupation and the way the media puts them on a pedestal. I hate that they and many of their supporters confuse words like occupation and profession, as well as licensure, certification, and accredidation.

As we begin, I want to share a blog I read years ago. I remember shaking my head in agreement, so glad that I wasn't the only one who felt this way about this fad.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005
THE DOULA
posted by Dutch @ 11:08 AM
http://sweetjuniper.blogspot.com/2005/07/post-against-slavery.html
I thought I would never have to see the doula again.

I have been boycotting the Frisco neighborhood known as "the mission" for almost a year now, vowing never to venture south of 14th street and east of Noe. The Mission is the gentrified hipster neighborhood full of artist chicks with carrie-donovan glasses and yoga mats, panhandling Mexican troubadours, and "dive bars" crammed with Judds on the prowl every Friday and Saturday night. The Mission is the juddliest neighborhood because, just as most San Franciscans can't fathom living anywhere else in the country, most Mission-dwellers cannot imagine living anywhere else in the city. It's just like the Marina in that way. Instead of Marina chicks you have Judds and artists. I haven't made up my mind about which is worse.

The woman who was our doula for a few weeks lives there, so I figured I would never have to see her. I was wrong.

Let me back up. Back before Junebug was born, Wood was sure she wanted a doula to assist during the birth. All the books said doulas were such a great help. I think she just like the sound of the word. Doula. Doula. Sounds so peaceful, right? Helpful. Knowledgeable. A little hippie-dippy maybe. Knowing my predilection for all things ancient and Greek, Wood told me that it was an ancient Greek word for "female assistant." I was like, no, sorry, it means slave. Doula is the ancient Greek word for slave.

So Wood really wanted one of these slaves. I didn't. I pictured the doula as an annoyance, an interloper, wafting aromatherapy bottles in Wood's face and talking about chakras and chanting over the placenta. The birth slaves in the videos we watched in our birthing classes certainly did not shake this idea from my head. They were all fifty-year old lesbians with gray marine-corps hair and wood-beaded necklaces and flowery muumuus. One of them was wearing one of those little stiff caps with an African print on it. I looked at my wife as if she was nuts. "You want one of those in the birthing room with us?" Sure, if we were Ina May Gaskin types having Tantric sex and reading books by Deepak Chopra and listening to "world music" I could picture inviting someone like that into our home for a home birth in the sacred porcelain claw-foot bathtub, and I wouldn't have blinked when she showed up on our doorstep with a boombox blasting Enya and a selection of vegan snacks. But that's not who we are. It's chicks like that that drove us away from the Rainbow Grocery co-op forever by rudely elbowing us to get at the last carob-coconut squares. Having already been driven away from Whole Foods by the Judds and yuppies, where could we shop? What choice was there for two reasonable people who wanted to have a natural hospital birth? Wood was convinced she had to have a slave in the hospital room to hold back the anesthesiologists and clogged-foot nurses clutching hypodermics and IV bags and stop her OB from slicing into her and pulling the baby out so she could make a dinner appointment on time. At first I indulged her.

Wood smartly kept me out of the process of interviewing slaves. I didn't want to have anything to do with them, and I let her know I wasn't happy about it. I wasn't just my new-agey hippie prejudice that made me feel this way, it was my honest feeling that we didn't need a stranger in the room with us. That this was something we could do, just the two of us. I told Wood there wasn't anything a doula could do that I couldn't do. I bought and read "The Birth Partner" and declared myself the doula. Still, Wood searched on.

Wood conspired with the doula for several weeks over the telephone before I was allowed to meet her. "I really, really like her," Wood said. They had met for coffee. She had shown Wood her bag of tricks, full of patchouli-smelling gewgaws and oils. Wood said she was going to hire her. I braced myself for the inevitable. We were hiring a slave. Wood nervously scheduled a time for the doula to meet me. I came home from work that day wearing a suit, and slumped into a chair across our living room from her after weakly shaking her hand.

She was cute. Young, at least. A hipster. No muumuu. No wood-beaded necklace. No African print stiff cap. Maybe this won't be that bad, I thought. I looked at her business card M____ C_______, "mother, doula, knitter, artist," it said. Oh crap.

It was the most awkward conversation ever. As Wood and I tried to articulate what we wanted from the birth experience, she just sat there, nodding. But nothing we said seemed to be having an impact. "You should try to change from the hospital to the Sage Femme Birth Center in the mission," she said. "It's run by midwives. It's much more supportive." I tried to tell her my insurance might not cover that, and she said many insurance plans cover it. We told her we wanted to have the birth in the safety of a hospital, and she told us that Sage Femme has a relationship with San Francisco General in case of an emergency. San Francisco General? That's where junkies go to die! Does she consider that a selling point? I'm sure Sage Femme is a great place to squeeze out a kid but at the time Wood and I weren't ready for that. We were nervous first-time parents. Maybe next time, we said. She looked peeved. I realized she was judging us. Worse, she was condemning our choices. Fucking Mission hipster. The conversation only got worse. I was trying to be honest, and it was my understanding that a doula's first responsibility was to be understanding and tolerant of the choices of the family she would be working with. Not this one. Her $700 fee did not include tolerance or understanding, but damn did she have some aromatherapy bottles and a tennis ball in a sock that felt great when rubbed across a pregnant woman's spine! Well, I already had a sock and I could find a tennis ball in the bushes outside the courts in Golden Gate park.

What good is a slave if she doesn't listen to you?

Wood was uneasy about the meeting. She didn't like the way it had gone down. She didn't like how judgmental and awkward the doula had been. The next day, the doula called her. "I really don't think I should work with you and your husband," she said. What a relief.

If there is a fundamental difference between Wood and I, it is tolerance. Wood is open to things, like astrology, that I have no patience for. I got kicked out of the psychic fair that they have in the county fair building in golden gate park once for making nasty faces at the tarot card readers while Wood and the Leggy Swede had their auras cleansed. I hate that fakey new-agey spiritualist tripe. I mean, I despise it equally with all those other wacky religions out there (you know: Christianity, Islam, Mormonism, Judaism, Scientology). I think the doula knew I would call her out on all her bullshit and like any snake-oil salesman, she turned tail and ran once suspicion was aroused. Wood knew it was all bullshit too, but Wood is a much better person than I am. She is far more tolerant of bullshit, even entertained by it. But Wood was also scared. She wanted a voice in the room that had gone through birth before. She wanted somebody in the room who could be strong, and she didn't know yet if she could trust me to be that person. The 20th century has been such a dark age of obstetric philosophy. I wholeheartedly believe that Ina May Gaskin and others in the midwifery/natural childbirth movement have the right idea, 100 percent. But I am troubled at the overall stranglehold these new-agey archfeminist muumuu types have over the movement. I think all the Enya and aromatherapy and meditation are a barrier to changing birthing policy across the social spectrum. If this shit is continued to be viewed as "wacky" or "weird" it is going to be much harder to convince the medical establishment to change, let alone convince your average Southern Belle scheduling her epidural. So peace to all midwifes and doulas who handle their shit with the professionalism their job deserves. Safe, natural birth shouldn't just be the province of nutbuckets.

Wood and I were alone for 95 percent of the birthing process. We left home for the hospital almost eight hours after the contractions started. My hands never left her. I helped her fight the urge to succumb to a nurse's offer of narcotics. She didn't have an epidural. She didn't use any pain relieving drugs. It was painful as hell for her. Junebug came out in two pushes. I did my best to fill the role she saw a doula filling, but even more I filled the role I myself wanted to fill. I was her birth partner. We had relied on each other for nine years at that point, and I was not going to let her down. I was going to do everything that she needed from me, and more. I do not think I could have been that person if a doula had been in the room, acting assured and relevant, pushing me to the sidelines, a stranger there in our way during the most poignant moment of our lives.

So when I saw the doula the other day, eating in a cafe outside her blessed Mission District with her kids and husband, I looked at her and kissed Junebug's head and thought: "We didn't need you after all."

Now, I don't agree 100% with this man's post. I don't have the anti-gay, anti-new age views, but I agree with him on the mindset of the doula movement.

Since I first heard the term back in early 2003, I've met many doulas in person and many, many more online. I can honestly say that I really only know one or two that don't fit the mold and who I'd actually trust to assist me during a labor and delivery.

The way the media gushes over these women makes me want to vomit. And that's say a lot seeing how I feel about the whole act of emesis. I just feel that it is import to inform the general public of a few points that the preganancy magazines and online forums seem to always omit.

First, doulas are not uniformly "trained" nor are they professionals. And that training they do receive is scant, at best, and doesn't even require a high school diploma. Many doula organizations do offer "certification" but that is deceptive as well, but I'll get to that in a moment.

The Flexner Report, for example, stipulates that a profession is based on a body of knowledge that can be learned and is refreshed and refined through research, and is taught through a process of highly specialized professional education. (from "Professional Nursing," fourth edition, by Kay Kittrell Chitty) A true profession requires a bachelor's degree at minimum and a license to practice.

Nurses, for example, are considered as being a member of a "semi-profession" since one can be an RN with only an Associate's degree. If a registered nurse, who does a vast majority of the floor work with patients, isn't a true professional, then how can one say that a doula, who has had no formal training, is? Being a doula is an occupation, nothing more.

Many, many people confuse not only the issue profession vs. occupation, but the issue of licensure vs. certification. When one reads pro-doula propaganda, they assume that doulas have some educational background in medicine and the birthing process and are recognized members of the healthcare team. This a dangerous assumption and should not be perpetuated by the publications we trust.

Licensure is a legal matter and is granted through a governing body, generally through the state. It gives permission to do something that is otherwise forbidden (think practicing medicine or law, dispensing drugs, driving a car, etc.). A certification, on the other hand, is a voluntary process and is granted through a private organization. It merely states that one has been recognized by the organiztion for reaching certain criteria. It does not carry legal status. Of even more importance, not one doula organization is accredited by The National Commission for Certifying Agencies.

The process of earning a certification through a doula organization does not even meet the standard of those in the automotive or construction industries, let alone those of the health care industry. (A complete list of accredited organizations can be found online at http://www.credentialingexcellence.org/NCCAAccreditation/AccreditedCertificationPrograms/tabid/120/Default.aspx)

I often see doulas described as being "compassionate," too. In theory, having a person with you and your partner during labor in delivery, a person who can help keep you calm and focused, is a good idea. The problem is that many doulas have an agenda that is staunchly against medical interventions of any kind. They use scare tactics to get their clients to do what they want in an effort to further the "nature" movement. Suein Hwang, a reporter for The Wall Street Journal, wrote a story in January 2004 that broke the doula hype, and made a lot of doula organizations mad in the process. The story, "As 'Doulas' Enter Delivery Rooms, Conflicts Arise: Hired to Help in Childbirth, They Sometimes Clash With Doctors and Nurses," can be found online at http://online.wsj.com/article/SB107446888698004731.html?mod=home_page_one_us and is a must read.

Doula antics, such as telling clients that an emergency cesarean really isn't necessary, that interventions such as a simple IV drip, a dose of Nubain, or even an epidural are harmful to the baby, and even messing with pitocin drips have rightfully earned them the name "nature nazis," which is used commonly in many circles to refer to these women who practice with an anti-medicine agenda. This agenda is a lot of things, but compassionate is not one of them.

When I was pregnant with my daughter in 2003, I looked into obtaining a doula after reading the hype in many of the parenting magazines. However, after talking to friends who were nurses and to my obstetrician, I changed my mind. When I "met" a couple of doulas on an online mother's board a year or so later, I was confident that I made the right choice in not allowing a doula in my delivery room. My opinion was solidified during the birth of my second daughter in 2008.

I prefer to put my life and that of my child into the hands of trained PROFESSIONALS, not some yokel who might or might not have even a high school diploma.
In ending, an anonymous quote found online at http://doulicia.blogspot.com/2005/09/guests-at-birth-part-i.html says it best:

"The person who cuts your hair has to have a license…why not someone helping in the birth of your child?"

Those darned Baptists

Let me begin by saying that I am not without faith. I just keep to Matthew 6:5-8.


"And when you pray, you should not be like the hypocrites, who love standing in the synagogues and at the corners of the streets to pray, so that they may be seen by men. Amen I say to you, they have received their reward. But you, when you pray, enter into your room, and having shut the door, pray to your Father in secret, and your Father, who sees in secret, will repay you. And when praying, do not choose many words, as the pagans do. For they think that by their excess of words they might be heeded. Therefore, do not choose to imitate them. For your Father knows what your needs may be, even before you ask him."


I try to live a good life but I am not perfect. And before you point out any profanity located on this blog, I will admit that I "cuss." In my opinion, words are words. And it's not the words you use but the intent. The most innocent word can be made vulgar and vice versa. It's not necessarily what you say but how you say it.  


I was raised by a zealot and I know firsthand that when you force your faith on others, they will balk and run. If anyone wants to know what I believe and why, I will gladly tell them.  There are people who, when they learn of my faith, are surprised. "I didn't know you were religious," I often hear. It's doubly so when someone sees my Bible. It has been highlighted and written in so much that it is falling apart. I have bought a new Bible, but I haven't been able to actually replace my tatty one.

 Anyway, I digress.

I suppose to understand the reason behind the post, you must understand that I was raised Southern Baptist, being baptized at Clearview Baptist Church in Travelers Rest, S.C. when I was around 12 years of age. In my mother's mind, and that of most Baptists I meet, that is the magical age when one becomes acountable for their sins and is therefore in need of salvation. My sister and I were raised with a mother and maternal grandmother who were both Biblethumping zealots who ranted about hellfire for anyone not a member of a King James Version, holy-rolling church.  (They politely ignore, especially when they are railing against the gay community, the historical fact that King James I had homosexual tendancies. Irony?)

So came the fateful day in Fall of 1991. My parents had divorced. I was living with my father and I was a freshman in high school. And I met Christopher Smith. Having been freed from the yoke of religious hatred, I was actually able to pick up a Bible, read it, and start to formulate my own views on what the text actually meant. I began to search for what I honestly believed was TRUTH. Chris introducted me to view that was both scary and intriguing at the same time. He was a member of a faith I had been raised to hate with everything in my being.


But we'll get back to another time. For the time being, just know that I praise God that he opened my eyes and freed me from a faith that I found hypocritcal and, quite honestly, heretical.  I thank him for leading me as I swam the Tiber in 1993.


Do I look down upon those adhere to Baptist tenets? Not at all. I just ask that they keep it to themselves and away from my children.

Living in the South, though, trying to get away from Baptist proselytizing is like trying to walk though a hurricane without getting wet.  It is something to which I've become accustomed. Having grown up in the shadow of Bob Jones University, one gets used to the constant holier-than-thou, anti-Catholic nature of these people.

You know, now that I mention Bob Jones, I have to say that it has always amazed me that BJU touts its Sacred Art Museum ... which is at least 75% CATHOLIC artwork. Seriously. The museum has Papal vestments and altars on display! O.o  At any rate, the museum is worth a visit if you are ever in Greenville, S.C.

But I digress again.

In the past couple of months, Pastor Jonathan Doss has managed to leaflet my car not once, but twice. The first tract was discovered as I was driving down the road and saw the leaflet flapping in the wind.  Once I arrived at my destination, I plucked the innocuous little booklet from under my windshield wiper and rolled my eyes. The man had left a Chick Tract. On MY car. Jack Chick. Seriously. If there's one person on the face of the earth that I despise, it's Jack Chick. He is nothing more than an anti-Catholic psycho bigot. Any credibility this pastor might have had was gone in the instant I saw the author of the tract. I ripped it in half and tossed it in the trash (where it fully belonged) and I went along my merry way. 


Pastor Doss reared his head again last week, vandalizing my car once again with another little KJV ditty. At least this one wasn't by Jack Chick, but the message was no less erroneous -- if you aren't a KJV beliver, you are going to burn in hell for all eternity. The tract sat in my car until this morning, when I took it out and sat down at the laptop with it and my tatty old Bible. I sent a quick petition to St. Jude, the Holy Mother, and to God to guide me in my response.

1.) "Are you saved? It's not are you a member of a church but are you saved? It is not are you leading a good life but are you saved?" (etc., etc.)
This question is one with which I am familiar yet it still makes me cringe. Instead of ranting about it, I am going to quote an old chart that I have taped in the front of my Bible. (I cannot remember where I found this little ditty back in 1994 and I intend no copyright violation.) 

Fundamentalists aks, "Have you been saved?" -- a question which conceives of salvation as a past event. While Scripture does sometimes speak of salvation as a past event (Romans 8:24, Ephesians 2:5-8, 2 Timothy 1:9, Titus 3:5), or as a present process (Phil. 2:12, 1 Peter 1:9), it most often speaks of it asa future event -- Matthew 10:22, Matthew 24: 7-13, Mark 8:3-5, Acts 15:11, Romans 5:9-10, Romans 13:11, I Corinthians 3:15 (also alludes to purgatory), and I Corinthians 5:5.

2.) You must "admit that you are sinner."
 No argument there. We are all sinners.


3.) "Realize that someone loved you and died for you.  Jesus paid for your sins by dying for you so you could go to heaven ... His blood paid for your sins. 'In whom do we have redemption THROUGH HIS BLOOD...' Colossians 1:14."
The first part is factual, yet the second part, the part the author of the tract CAPITALIZED, is a bit confusing.  You see, many protestants preach about the power of the blood of Christ -- and it is no doubt powerful -- yet they fail to recognize the actual sacrifice and the gift of holy communion. As a Baptist, we took communion twice a year with a cube of Wonderbread and a tiny little cup of Welch's grape juice. It was always treated as a side to the days preaching and never seen as anything worth more than five minutes and certainly nothing more than symbolic.


As a young Baptist, this always bothered me. I had read the numerous accounts of the Last Supper in the Bible and I understood the significance of not only the meal in and of itself but the fact it takes place around Passover. So why then was communion treated so nonchalantly? Why was this faith so pastor-centered?


I remember reading "Rome Sweet Home" by Scott and Kimberly Hahn. As a devout Presbyterian minister, Dr. Hahn began a Bible Study in his church on Hebrews. Getting excited about the idea of covenants, Hahn began to wonder about the pastor-centeredness of his church. In chapter four of his book, Hahn says:


I had already shown my parishoners that the one and only place where Christ used the word "covenant" was when He instituted the eucharist, or communion as we called it. Yet we only took communion four times a year. At first, it sounded foreign to all of us, but I submitted the proposal of weekly communion to the ruling elders.


One of them questioned me, "Scott, don't you think that celebrating communion every week might make it too much of a routine? Afterall familiarity might breed contempt."


"Dick, we've seen how communion represents the renewal of our covenant with Christ, right?"


"Right."


"Well, let me ask you this. Do you prefer to renew your marriage covenant with your wife only four times a year? Afterall, it might become mere routine, and familiarity might breed contempt."


Later, Hahn has a startling revelation about the actual substance of this meal his church was now consuming every Sunday. (From "Rome Sweet Home" by Scott and Kimberly Hahn, (c) Ignatius Press, 1993)

Protestants like Pastor Doss preach the blood yet they don't understand nor respect the blood.  There's a reason Catholics do not receive communion in a state of mortal sin. St. Paul stressed in I Corinthians I 11:27-29 that: "Wherefore whosoever shall eat this bread, and drink this cup of the Lord, unworthily, shall be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord. But let a man examine himself, and so let him eat of that bread, and drink of that cup. For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord's body."  Partaking of the flesh and blood of Christ with a stain of mortal sin upon their soul brings for judgement and damnation.

St. Ignatius, who lived in the first century, stated the following in his Epistle to the Smyrnaeans, Chapter 6, 110 A.D. (chapter 6): "Take note of those who hold heterodox opinions on the grace of Jesus Christ which has come to us, and see how contrary their opinions are to the mind of God ... They abstain from the Eucharist and from prayer because they do not confess that the Eucharist is the flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ, flesh which suffered for our sins and which that Father, in his goodness, raised up again. They who deny the gift of God are perishing in their disputes."  And in chapter 8: "Let that Eucharist be held valid which is offered by the bishop or by the one to whom the bishop has committed this charge. Wherever the bishop appears, there let the people be; as wherever Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church."


Justin Martyr said in the second century: It is allowed to no one else to participate in that food which we call Eucharist except the one who believes that the things taught by us are true, who has been cleansed in the washing unto rebirth and the forgiveness of sins and who is living according to the way Christ handed on to us. For we do not take these things as ordinary bread or ordinary drink. Just as our Savior Jesus Christ was made flesh by the word of God and took on flesh and blood for our salvation, so also were we taught that the food, for which thanksgiving has been made through the word of prayer instituted by him, and from which our blood and flesh are nourished after the change, is the flesh of that Jesus who was made flesh. Indeed, the Apostles, in the records left by them which are called gospels, handed on that it was commanded to them in this manner: Jesus, having taken bread and given thanks said, ``Do this in memory of me, this is my body.'' Likewise, having taken the cup and given thanks, he said, ``This is my blood'', and he gave it to them alone.


The Eucharist is more than a simple symbol shared over some Wonderbread and Welch's. And until you understand that you cannot honestly talk to me about the power of the blood of Christ.


4.) "Realize that you cannot earn or help earn heaven."
Paul Whitcomb, in his booklet "The Catholic Church has the answer" states:


Catholics fully recognize that Jesus Christ died on the Cross for their sins and thus "opened the gates of Heaven," and that salvation is a free gift which no amount of human good deeds could ever earn. Catholics receive Christ's saving sanctifying grace, and Christ himself, into their souls when they are baptized. Yet they also know that Christ has established certain conditions for entry into eternal happiness in Heaven, for example, receiving His true Flesh and Blood (John 6:54) and keeping the commandments (Matt. 19:17).


You know, let's actually come back to this because the tract repeats this in number six.


5.) "Realize that when Jesus saves you, it is forever."
Ah, the old "once saved, always saved" issue.  Martin Luther, the father of Protestantism, once said “Sin cannot tear you away from him (Christ), even though you commit adultery a hundred times a day and commit as many murders.”


Whitcomb explains it very succintly: Catholics follow St. Paul, who did not think that his salvation was guaranteed once and for all at the moment he first received Christ into his soul; for he wrote: "I chastise my body, and bring it into subjection: lest perhaps, when I have preached to others, I myself should become a castaway." (1 Cor. 9:27). Also: "With fear and trembling work our your salvation. For it is God who worketh in you..." (Phil. 2:12-13). "He that shall persevere unto the end, he shall be saved." (Matt. 10:22). Nevertheless, Catholics realize that even the fulfilling of Our Lord's requirements for salvation is impossible without the free gift of His grace.


Salvation CAN be lost.  God gave us FREE WILL. We have the ability to CHOOSE to remain in Christ or we can CHOOSE to return to the ways of the world. Salvation is a life-long process. Not a one-time event.


Take, for instance, John 15:1-10. Christ says, "I ams the true vine and my Father is the vine grower. He takes away every branch in me that does not bear good fruit. ... Remain in me, as I remain in you. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit on its own unless it remains on the vine, so neither can you unless you remain in me. I am the vine, you are the branches. Whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit ... Anyone who does not reamin in me will be thrown out like a branch and wither..."


And this leads in to point six in the tract.


6.) "By faith, receive Jesus Christ. ... The only faith that saves is complete faith in Jesus Christ... anything your try to add to faith is 'works'."
The tract cites Romans 3:28. How very selective. St. Paul is speaking to the Romans about the Jewish circumcism law and how every human being belongs to Christ, not jus the circumcised. 


St. Paul says in verses 22-31 that "And the justice of God, through the faith of Jesus Christ, is in all those and over all those who believe in him. For there is no distinction. For all have sinned and all are in need of the glory of God. We have been justified freely by his grace through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus, whom God has offered as a propitiation, through faith in his blood, to reveal his justice for the remission of the former offenses,  and by the forbearance of God, to reveal his justice in this time, so that he himself might be both the Just One and the Justifier of anyone who is of the faith of Jesus Christ. So then, where is your self-exaltation? It is excluded. Through what law? That of works? No, but rather through the law of faith. For we judge a man to be justified by faith, without the works of the law. Is God of the Jews only and not also of the Gentiles? On the contrary, of the Gentiles also. For One is the God who justifies circumcision by faith and uncircumcision through faith. Are we then destroying the law through faith? Let it not be so! Instead, we are making the law stand."


There is only ONE place in the Bible where the four words "justified ... by faith alone" appear together. Once.  And it precisely says: "a man is justified by means of works, and not by faith alone."


Look back at the verse I cited above (John 15:1-10). Then read James 2:14-26.  (emphasis is mine)


My brothers, what benefit is there if someone claims to have faith, but he does not have works? How would faith be able to save him? So if a brother or sister is naked and daily in need of food, and if anyone of you were to say to them: “Go in peace, keep warm and nourished,” and yet not give them the things that are necessary for the body, of what benefit is this? Thus even faith, if it does not have works, is dead, in and of itself. Now someone may say: “You have faith, and I have works.” Show me your faith without works! But I will show you my faith by means of works. You believe that there is one God. You do well. But the demons also believe, and they tremble greatly. So then, are you willing to understand, O foolish man, that faith without works is dead? Was not our father Abraham justified by means of works, by offering his son Isaac upon the altar? Do you see that faith was cooperating with his works, and that by means of works faith was brought to fulfillment? And so the Scripture was fulfilled which says: “Abraham believed God, and it was reputed to him unto justice.” And so he was called the friend of God. Do you see that a man is justified by means of works, and not by faith alone?  Similarly also, Rahab, the harlot, was she not justified by works, by receiving the messengers and sending them out through another way? For just as the body without the spirit is dead, so also faith without works is dead."


Over and over again, the New Testament speaks of vines and branches not bearing fruit being cut off, pruned, of those claiming faith not being active in the light of Christ.  Those fruits and actions are good works. Matthew 5:16, 7:15-20, 12:33-37, 13:18-30, 17:27, 25:31-46; John 4:12, 15:1-10; Romans 2:7, 11:11-24; Galations 5:6, 6:1-10; Philippians 2:12-18; I Timothy 6:17-19; Hebrews 6:4-12;  James 1:22-27, 2:14-26; I Peter 2:11-16.

Good works are a natural progression of true faith. They will spring forth without second thought or effort.  Good works are a sign of a living, thriving faith.

7.) "Dear Soul, if you're willing to stop trying it your way and completely trust Jesus Christ, then right now you can be saved!"
Yes and no. Belief in Christ is paramount. One cannot enter heaven without it. But, as shown over and over above, faith grows and flowers in the sunlight and live-giving waters that are the Holy Father.  It's not a one-time deal.

8.) "Please read what the Bible says if you have chosen not to admit your guilt and trust Jesus Christ as your saviour."Sounds nice, right? We live in a time where the Bible is just a click of a mouse away on the computer and available to be bought at mega-stores like Wal-Mart and the Dollar Store for just a few dollars.  If you cannot afford one, there are a barrage of organizations that will send you one for free.

Heck, I can pull of the Bible on my iPhone while sitting in the middle of gridlock. The Bible is available to most of us 99.9% of the time no matter where we might be.

In the history of this great, redeeming faith, we must remember that the Holy Scriptures, while paramount, are only half of the equation.

What of the first 400 years of the church when there was no Bible? Christians had the Old Testament and a plethora of letters that were floating about between local churches. It wasn't until the end of the 4th century that the church -- the only church in existence -- came together and set the canon of the Bible that is still in use today.

What of the poor who could not afford a Bible before the invention of the printing press in the 16th century? Before that time, all books, the Bible included, were only reproduced by hand. It is for that reason that Bibles were chained in churches. (Like phone books used to be chained in phone booths.)

What of the numbers of faithful who, until that last couple hundreds years, were illiterate? Even if they had a Bible, they could not have read it.

Christ gave the Apostles many things to do in His name. But He never, ever told them to write down a single thing. In the Scriptures, the only thing He ever wrote was one single line in the sand. This whole Sola Scriptura, happy-go-lucky, smile and clap your hands on Sunday stuff is downright hokey. Go and watch Mel Gibson's "The Passion of the Christ," and tell me that you still feel so upbeat and carefree. As Christians, we should be people of few words and many actions. We should feel the weight of the blood of Christ on our shoulders, we should feel just an ounce of the wounds inflicted on His holy body in our name. (We should shudder and approach the altar in humbleness and gratitude. And without guitars, drums, and tamborines. )

The next time you are near a Catholic Church, go in. Look at the statues and the stained glass windows. Such items were used to teach the faithful, the illiterate. They conveyed Biblical and Tradtional teachings through art.  Walk into such a church, feel the warm sun filtering through the colored glass, watch the dust mostes float to the floor in those beams. Watch the flicking flames of votive candles and smell the hint of incense left in the air. Look at the tabernacle and the Holy Bible displayed on the altar. Feel the spirit of Christ in the setting of faith, the only faith, that dates back to the time He commissioned the twelve.
You see, there is a reason Sacred Traditions are a part of the Christian faith. There is a reason St. Paul told the Corinthians to "hold fast to the traditions, just as I handed them down to you." (I Corinthians 11:2). And he tells the Thessalonians to "stand firm and hold fast to the traditions which you were taught by us either by word of mouth or by letter." (2 Thessalonians 2:15)

What, in the opinion of dear Pastor Doss, does one need to know Christ, to be "saved"?  And if I am wrong in what I've stated in this blog, I ask Doss What is the pillar of truth for a Christian?

The Insanity of the Vegan Protester

I've been toying around with keeping a journal of my complaints and irritating stories so as to get them out of my head and away from my free spirit. Holding on to anger affects everything and everyone around you. When something bothers me, I jot it down and put it away. But an issue arose last week that I feel needs to be shared. So grab a cup of coffee, sit back, and enjoy the following Pagan Vegan vs. Catholic Omnivore saga.

Let's rewind back 11 days to Wednesday, February 8th. I was at work and noticed a flyer on the bulletin board showing a chained elephant and a plea asking people not to go to the circus. Ringling Brothers is scheduled to stop here in the Lowcountry of South Carolina at the end of the month/beginning of March and I was excited to see that someone else abhorred the animal acts as much as I do. Alas, there was no name or contact number. I began to ask around as to who might have posted the flyer. The same name came up several times as well as a the same warning. But I'll get to that in a bit. The next day I found the woman on Facebook.

So, I sent her a message asking if I could help with the upcoming Ringling Brothers protests. Here's how the conversation went over the next two days:

Notice that she writes back about my personal information. She must've immediately pounced on my profile the minute I approved her friend request.  For the record, I am Catholic. I lean toward the Libertarian party although I consider myself to be an Independent. I am too conservative in some areas to be a Democrat (although I have been a registered Democrat since I turned 18 way back when) and too liberal in other areas to be a Republican.  My views are mine and mine along. I don't force them on anyone, not even my family. My views do not represent my husband, my father, my sister, my friends, or anyone else, either. To be honest, I've never met anyone with whom I agree 100% and I like it that way. How boring would life be if we all agreed all the time? Anyway, the image to the right shows exactly what my Facebook profile states about me and my views. 

Now, back to the private messages.

Well, I begin to compile undercover animal abuse footage and beginFreedom of Information Act (FOIA) letters to be sent to the USDA's Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service (APHIS) to gain the Ringling Brothers/Feld Entertainment list of Animal Welfare Act violations over the past few years.

During this time, my father contacted me. He and my sister live three hours away and take in abadoned cats as much as they can afford to do so. Well, the little old lady across the street from my father's office died and her cat was picked up by the city's animal control unit. Dad said the cat was a sweet tuxedo who loved to be petted. He called the "humane" society and was told that the cat was around three years of age, neutered, and in good health. But since it wasn't "cute enough" to be put in the adoption area they were going to put him down. Dad asked them to hold off for a few days and he and my sister began to frantically search for someone to help the cat. I posted my sister's plea on my own wall and asked Carol the Vegan if she knew anyone who could help the poor cat.

I must preface the following with the fact that many, many of my friends are staunch liberals and big fans of the president. I do not go on their pages and create a nuisance and vice versa. We accept each other's differing opinions civilly. Anyway, on Thursday, February 16th, I posted several stories about the controversy between President Obama and his fight with the Catholic Church over birth control. I make no secret of the fact that I disagree with about 99% of what this president has done. But this latest antic hits very close to home as I am a Catholic.  I posted a link to the story "Obama declares war on the Catholic Church" to my timeline. Seeing this, Carol went bonkers. The entire thread is below.

Carol then began to rant and rave on an earlier post.

I was infuriated and posted a status about it. I then wrote an open letter to Carol and posted it here as well as on her page. I then defriended her.



Afterwards, I settled down to eat dinner. I took great joy in sinking my teeth into that steak after fighting with that hag. Sad, I know. But it makes me wonder. How many people will buy circus tickets out of SPITE after having a conversation/altercations with this zealot?

From there on, the argument went to pivate messages. Notice that she used the cat she "saved" as another fighting point. She never asked me to pay a dime for the rescue. She never mentioned it until she got pissed off. 

My response must've sent her off the deep end as she blocked me from sending her anything else. I find this funny because the only time I've written to her - besides the initial letter - has been in RESPONSE to her. It's doubly funny because I was heading to block her and she beat me to the punch. To be honest, though, I am not angry anymore. More baffled than anything, actually. I was on her side, ready to help her with this Ringling Brother's protest. If this is how she treats those with which she has common ground, how does she reach out to those who have nothing in common with her?  How will people attending any of those shows be able to take her seriously when she bugs out and goes all hag on them when they disagree with her?                                                                                              Then again, according to her own graphics, if the person doesn't "like animals," then they aren't worth her time. How many people could she have converted if she simply had a better attitude?                                                                                               In the end, I do feel sorry for her husband. The man is a genius and I admire his inventions at work. Talking to him from now on will be awkward as he has been unknowingly, unwillingly drug into this. How sad.  Sad for friendships, work relationships, and the animals as a whole.

And, just so you know, at one point in my life I WAS an ardent protester. While I'm not as active now, I still hold true to my no fur, no circuses view point. I find it ironic that this woman has the audacity to say that a non-vegan can't be a good animal rights activist.