I, Porcupine

 Why does everyone assume you’re judging people when you’re quoting the scripture? I never got that. Maybe they didn’t know it was the scripture you were quoting. Perhaps there wasn’t enough King James lingo peppered in. If a scripture I quote hits you in the solar plexus, it’s not me being mean; it’s God reaching out, hoping to get your attention.

When did everyone become so sensitive about everything? You type out the word cat moms; then you have to spend an hour and fifteen pages explaining that it’s a generalization, it doesn’t apply to everyone, there are exemptions, and if you really love your cat, my words shouldn’t affect you anyhow.

It’s disheartening seeing fully grown men acting like my eight-year-old daughter; it really is. Everyone’s offended, hyper-emotional, averse to any correction, and willing to show up in your driveway screaming Ichabod while you’re trying to drive your kids to school for the smallest perceived offense.

I’m told I’m not loving enough pretty much every day, but it’s always by strangers who have never met me. That you would associate someone lying to your face and fleecing you for every dollar you have and a few that you don’t with love tells me that you don’t understand what true love is.

I assumed we were all soldiers. I must have missed the memo where we got permission to revert to our childhoods, sucking our thumbs and rocking ourselves to sleep. You don’t undergo basic training to be coddled, infantilized, flattered, indulged, or babied. You go through basic training to learn how to strap on your armor, wield your sword, use your shield, and keep from dying in a muddy alley or hot desert somewhere.

The devil isn’t playing, and you shouldn’t be, either. I get it; you have feelings, and so do I. Feelings don’t stop the fiery arrows of the wicked one; the shield of faith does.

Just because I was accused of being prickly when I wasn’t, behold the prickly me in all my curmudgeonly glory!

Can we really be surprised at the state of the contemporary church when one of its preeminent prophetic voices has stated that when we get to heaven, we’ll have pet dinosaurs and get to ride around on them? Among other gems that will forever be seared into my mind, like the time I drove past a fresh car wreck where a man’s head was on the hood of his car sans body, she’s been noted as saying that there are twenty-foot sasquatch in heaven, as well as unicorns.

I’m waiting for a new revelation where the loch ness monster and the abominable snowmen also make an appearance. It would be disappointing if they got left out. What about trolls? They’ve been making a comeback lately, ooh, and fairies and Smurfs as well. This passes for prophetic, and people are defending this nutter.

If you walk into a store and the smell of rotten meat hits you as you enter, you’re not judging if you conclude that their refrigeration system is on the fritz. It’s a rightful conclusion that you come to based on available information. I have all the information I need to know that this woman is nuttier than a squirrel’s nest in the fall. Now I’m going to be accused of being unloving again.

But that’s the way things always go. The unscrupulous hide behind a handful of verses and try to guilt you into keeping silent so they can continue claiming to have gone to heaven three hundred times and played hacky sack with Jesus.

Stop lying that it’s all about Jesus; it’s all about you, baby boo. It’s about your comfort, your well-being, your self-esteem, your self-worth, and your self-delusions. I get it; you’re royalty! You’re a prince among princes and a queen among peasants, but you seem to forget that they beat, humiliated, mocked, rejected, and crucified your King. Again, short-term memory being what it is, I can’t be sure, but wasn’t it your King who said that if they hated Him, they would hate you? Wasn’t it Jesus who said that if they persecuted Him, they would likewise persecute you?

The battle is here, and the church is wholly unprepared. Those pointing to the dust cloud and hordes of approaching enemies are labeled as being hyperbolic and accused of exaggerating the true danger the enemy poses.

You can quote Jesus, Peter, Paul, John, even the Father Himself, and it’s still not good enough because ‘my prophetess spoke a word to me that was confirmed in my spirit that I should leave my husband because he’s toxic. It really bore witness, you know?’ Your prophetess? Is that like your fortune teller or palm reader? Since when are prophets or prophetesses proprietary?

Next million-dollar idea: Prophet Wars! Two modern-day ‘prophets’ make a prediction each, and the one who gets it wrong loses a finger. If both get it wrong, they each lose a thumb. It sounds savage, but it’s better than what they’ll get when they stand before God. You’re welcome.

The fact that he said that maybe you should hold off on your fifth round of Botox wasn’t him being toxic; he was concerned that your face was already in permanent surprise mode.  You’re walking around as though someone is jumping out from behind a couch and yelling surprise every five seconds. We get it; laugh lines and wrinkles make for bad television, but there’s a limit to everything.

And since we’re on the topic, if you don’t love your wife as Christ loved the church, your complaining about her not obeying you will fall on deaf ears as far as I’m concerned. I married the woman I love. She is the mother of my children and my helpmate on this journey, not my slave.

Most people that don’t believe they can be deceived already are. Most who believe they will stand and fight will turn and flee. Most who tell themselves they will defend Christ will betray Him at the first sign of trouble. That’s the reality we are presently living, yet some expect me to focus on aliens and the rising phoenix hypothesis.

If a phoenix were to rise from these befouled ashes, it would be wearing chaps, waving a rainbow flag, and having a full-blown gender identity crisis. That what calls itself the church today no longer has a standard of morality tells me that the world will not spontaneously fall on its face in sackcloth and ash any time soon.

That’s the thing about repentance. You can’t manipulate someone into repentance; you can’t goad someone into repentance; you can’t threaten or scare someone into repentance; it must proceed from a sincere and contrite heart that has concluded the moment has come to break ties with what was in order to walk into what will be. True repentance is not about finding a balance between God and the world that you can live with; it’s forfeiting the world and counting the things thereof as dung that you might gain Christ.

And since this is Mike’s very special vent day, there’s one more thing. If the best the devil could do as far as the Anti-Christ is concerned is king Charles, then the devil’s slipping. They’re ears; they’re not horns. The man’s about as charismatic as a wilting cactus, yet the man of sin is supposed to have the gravitas to compel the world to bow the knee. I get it; your abacus told you it’s him. Common sense tells me it’s not. Hint: The Anti-Christ will be a religious figure, not a political one.

The world is changing, and the changes will accelerate exponentially. If you do not possess a clear picture of what is coming and prepare your heart, you’ll freeze like a deer in headlights and be of no use to yourself or anyone else.

I’m thinking of Cornfields of Desire for the title of my Amish romance novel. What do you think?

With love in Christ,

Michael Boldea, Jr.