gut honest faith

Month: August, 2014

Make me beautiful


Moles come in different shapes and sizes. Some are best avoided in case one works in some secret government related agencies or other top secret undertakings. Others are strongly desired in case one owns a garden populated by snails. Moles love snails. Others are to be treated with utter disdain, mainly those inhabiting the realm of ones own body.

They are the ones heralding the start of those dreaded few letters that always spell cancer and horror and sometimes death. Cancer is mostly dreaded, and rightly so. So, really, moles are welcomed guests as they can tell of things that are not yet or those to come.

I have them on my nose, my fore head and the back of my neck. One sits on my hand and sprouts little hair. I look literally like a witch. Now mine do not have anything even remotely cancerous about them, they are just plain ugly. Some years ago my doctor sent me to aesthetician to have them removed at a small cost of more than half of my monthly budget.

Needless to say that was entirely out of the question. So this has been a great area for a fantastic trait of mine to truly shine: procrastination. Yep, so good I am at it, I nearly had my womb removed since I put off going to the doctors for so long. What an amazing procrastinator I am, I wonder if I could ever write this on my CV?

Ah, let me not digress here, so my moles were still gracing my face so that even small children started commenting, something that always counts as a sure fire sign that things are really that bad. Then I found a doctor who said they could be removed on the public health care bill, shrinking the zit removal cost down to zilch.

Do you know how long ago that was? A year ago, and well, it looks as though the winds are changing My womb is now again intact, my teeth will be fine again soon and so is my entirely witch-free face, or in fact already is. Only now I look worse, as though a mega wart has been applied to my forehead. With my black hair I best go outside waiting for a crow to land on my shoulders and bingo! Halloween costume ready.

Its as though this vehicle called my body is revamped and refurbished and slowly being pushed out of the garage. Maybe a new job will follow, what with all this getting up at dawn? Only thing is, what will I have to show for, since now my real strength, procrastination, no longer is my strong selling point? Gosh, I feel so hollow all of a sudden, what with the dirt removed from my teeth soon, the tumors taken out of my belly and the warts gone, is there anything I have left of me???

Oh, I know, getting up at dawn is something I will always despise. I love owls in that sense, as I am one. And famously they hate owls. See, it all makes sense now. Ah, puh, lucky ol’ me. Plus, there is still that yucky mole on my nose. Guess I will have that removed in ten years or when I am dead maybe. Tada, ready for transition time, beam me up Scotty.


Intelligent, stupid!

The one thing I heard more than anything else was that I was intelligent, smart, clever, insightful even, but never pretty, and lets face it, all I ever wanted to be was cute and gorgeous. Screw being clever and stuff, I want some mans heart to melt upon seeing me. Well, guess in my case this problem could only be solved by the following: a man who was smarter than me. He could then see past my brainy self and see a girl.

And, praise be to God, I am finally less clever than those surrounding me. Well, in all fairness it did happen before, mainly in University settings, during my masters for instance, whilst being surrounded by phd candidates most of the time. So I am not quite under the illusion to outsmart everyone. Though in most cases I did, and so got away with murder, which, in the case of matters brilliance meant getting away with getting things wrong.

In terms of facts, most people did not dare to question my authority on being cunning and in the know, so, more often than once I would get it wrong. And no one would know, least of all me. So, really, being stupid with my husband works in my favour. Firstly I can learn things that I previously was ignorant about and secondly I can be pretty, as the main priority is no longer my intellect. Of course it bugs me at times how now he is mostly right instead of me, but those sweet whispers reminding me of my cuteness more than make up for it.

In conclusion, being dumb came to my rescue, fulfilling all those hidden desires. Guess that is pretty backhanded in a way, don’t you think?

This one time

Being called into the office of my boss since I had asked for my holiday pay which contractually applied to my salary, I am sitting opposite the much feared lady boss. No, she is no owner of the place, nor is she frightening in appearance. Its stories about her that walk ahead of her.

Soon I find myself being accused of wilfully misappropriate information about my contract, and threatened with a lawsuit due to that behaviour. Myriads of juridical jargon is being thrown around, and I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of confusion. Remember, my company owes me over two thousand dollars yet here I am being accused of breach of contract.

Well, what madness. The owner of the business is a country wide known rich man. Not quite a billionaire yet, but getting there. Big forums online discuss his dishonesty, and I must say I begin to believe the hype. The lady works for him. Quite incompetent, sure, yet impossible to let go as she knows too much.

I leave the office and some month long bickering ensues. Meanwhile, rumours of all sorts develop about the companies demise. Imagine starting a law suit and then just being one of the many, and trust me, there are many, obligees? Yet having to pay the bill for the lawyer? Hubz and I decide to let this thing go, and not allowing it to steal even more joy.

As soon as I announce it, the boss lady forces me to sign a new contract. Just to ensure I have no more legal rights to adhere to the original one. Quite obviously an admission of wrong doing of some sorts. After my contract runs out it is not being renewed as the company still uses the official reason of mistrust towards me in order to justify not renewing it instead of admitting they are not willing to give me a contract that is valid indefinitely. Something that is compulsory by German law after a certain amount of time.

So, not only am I still owed 2000 dollars, but I am now without a job on the basis of a false accusation. Funny, as the company owner seems to flourish. Well, to a certain degree. Once my manager held a news paper with the front page of a famous German business man in hand cuffs. He is now in for embezzlement. One of our best customers. Well, used to be…

My manager drily goes “only a matter of time before we see Mr X here”, pointing to the hand cuffed man. Well, law suits after law suits, his business practice has made a lot of people very angry. I believe it is only a matter of time. Even the wolf of wall street eventually went down. In my mind I imagined to say to Mr X, “Hey Mister, remember the Lord God, of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob”.

I know, not terribly snappy, yet I dwelt on this comment for weeks. Had he ever approached me I would have said this to him. The God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob will be spending time there with him in prison, I am sure. At present, Ayn Rand is his god, guess she will do him no good in prison.

happy sunday! beautiful!

Some like it hot

So, this afternoon, I am just having this strong urge to pray for Marilyn Manson. I don’t usually have those strong impressions very often, so, here you go, if you want to join me in praying for him, please join me. Over and out!

Fat Bread

I loved a girl in Blankenese. Well, no, I was a girl there, once, many moons ago. Back in those days it was common to smoke in the office, and so I did. While speaking on the phone, I had a fag in hand, or between my lips even. Yes, those days were different. I owned a mobile phone, but it had an antenna you had to pull up in order to get a signal.

Oh, yes, those days. I loved a guy from London. Back in those days, I was head over heels in love with this guy. Once I went to visit him, it was one of those terrible moments I will never forget. The shame surrounding this event can never be fully quenched, it seems. It is many years ago, back in those days when stalking was not yet a crime, and boy, am I glad it wasn’t.

Back in those days, one could smoke on trains, and boy, did I smoke on trains. At night, I would sit in those smoking wagons and get talking to people, all sorts of people. One said he was a spy fleeing the country after some people had murdered his family. And so we sat, at night, puffing away, staring into other passengers faces that were stone grey from a life of smoking.

Yes, I remember those days. I studied fashion design soon after, and we did things by hand. The computer had not yet gained the status of recognition it has now. In order to collect information one had to actually go some place. Or deal with the fact that one had forgotten a telephone number or an address even. I would not have been able to google that spy’s story for that matter.

It was pre facebook, can you imagine. People exchanged numbers for their pagers in order to get in touch. Those days we did illustrations by hand, yes, a new drawing style meant taking another pen out of the tool box. Water color was not accomplished by the push of a button. Yes, back then, I needed to have information in my head and it was considered valuable.

Back in those days, one had to go to the library for image search. Then take those books and lay them onto a copier. Then cut them out and arrange them as a collage. It taught one to train ones eyes to spot a good lay out if one comes across one. Have you seen the layout of google image search? Its atrocious, to say the least. Compare it to an art book, and you get what I mean.

When being a girl in Blankenese, people did not cut their bodies open. An artist at the time, St.Orleans, was considered to be highly controversial. She had herself cut open to have implants inserted into her body. Critics made her out to be the devil. Looks like the world is now populated with devils.

Yes, there was no talk of climate change, as one feared mainly forest decline. And Y2K. The open outcry still existed, things were mostly produced in your far reaching neighbourhood. And they were expensive. Yes, wanting to buy a technical appliance meant saving up as for an investment. Things had their price. Yes, people were chatting online already, but at a very high price. 3$ a minute.

Now, per chance, I am a girl close to Blankenese, in fact only 30 minutes away. I have a husband who is younger than me. He keeps me on my toes. I did not have to stalk him, thankfully I buried that in the pit. I can reach people from all over the world via writing my blog. The hubz teaches me to use the internet for my advantage. I don’t have to live in the past.

The world is changing, I am in the midst of it. It is terribly daunting, to say the least. We are in the midst of the digital revolution. I think one has a choice: fear everything and stick your head in the sand, or accept change and use it for your advantage. Like we all, on this platform at least, are doing. World, have a great weekend, over and out from Blankenese.


In London, back in the days, I loved my lager. It had to be a cold glass with condensation water slowly running down its side, no foam on the top, filled to the brim. There was never just one pint. It quickly lead to three, four more. Minimum. Later I would drink the occasional harder drink to please the crowd, as the evening went on. Every day was spent like this, except Sundays. Sundays I would generally cure my hang over. Watching stupendous telly and smoking one or two joints. 

Midweeks, during the day I would drink Orange juice. So people who only knew that side of me could have easily reached the conclusion that I am in fact a very health conscious girl. Nothing could have been further from the truth. Orange juice was my beverage of choice merely to stock up on liquid and vitamins during the day, since the previous and proceeding night always depleted me again.

Orange juice was my choice during my exchange year in the US. There I would easily drink a gallon a day. Yes, you read correctly. One entire gallon. Often times I would find myself rushing to the store at three at night to stock up on my then drug. Next to it I ate a huge bunch of grapes. Daily. Insane, I know. I did not loose crazy weight, and it also made me pretty unstable once I stopped these insane binges. Soon I would find myself attending Overeaters Anonymous meetings. 

After leaving the psychosomatic unity of a hospital due to some serious instability, I continued attending OA meetings, and was henceforth seen with diet drinks. Low Cal drinks. Soon though I found myself working at a Burger King and my weight quickly jumped through the roof. Not a smart choice of a career, I would say, considering my anamnesis.  Well, during those times you would see me with a high cal coke in my hand, or better still, those awful milkshakes. 

Having buried those habits in the grave, I started to opt for either milky tea, or milky coffee. During the day a bottle of apple drink would always be near where I was. It is a drink called Apfelschorle, and consists basically of apple juice diluted with sparkling water. It would cost 55 Cent for one and a half liters of drink. Considering my daily budget for everything was at 5 Euros, those cents were making it an incredibly luxurious drink. A tenth of my budget for something that is usually not considered staple food?

Well, after attending my dentists something emerged: terrible teeth, nursed over years of complete abuse. The nice doctor lady just nodded when I asked her whether my alcohol consumption with subsequent non-hygiene may have contribute to the rotting of my teeth. I now have a chronic disease usually found in people twice my age. Hm, crap. Had I only known. Well, to be honest, it would have not made the least bit of difference. Addictions don’t form due to lack of information. Just a little heads up to those who imagine they could be cured that way. 

Now I have bottles of water near me at all times. One is for travelling, with the exact size and perfect lid. VOSS, best bottle, and I have searched far and wide. Another bottle is in my bed, small size, perfect lid, perfect to refill. Another one stands around the house. Insecure lid yet perfect colour. The perfect bottles to accompany my life have become somewhat of a science to me. Now I am facing the challenge of finding something to carry warm water in since during winter months, nothing is more off putting than drinking cold water.

Please don’t hesitate to send me ideas including links, and if you are drinking lots of beer, try water. It may be that you are just really really thirsty. By the way, I only buy the VOSS bottle once, and then continuously refill it, but of course, dear VOSS representatives, if you want to sponsor me, feel free. I promise to carry a bottle of VOSS where ever I go.

Unfailing love

Imagine you are serving dinner in a restaurant and you witness the following scene: a very wealthy man comes in and sits down. Upon asking what he would like to eat, he says he is still waiting for his son. Everyone knows this man, he is influential and powerful in the neighbourhood. It is news to you that this man has a son. Surely, the son must have been lost for a while, as there has never been news about his son. 

Surely the son will be welcomed by his father and, as you know this famous man and know him to be very generous, this son will get to eat the finest food. A few minutes later the son appears at the back entrance. In fact, this boy is well known to you, as he often comes in the late afternoon to rummage through the rubbish bins. You are shocked to find that he is not pleased to see his father. 

Rather, he is fairly hesitant to sit down. As you approach the table, you see the father being delighted at the sight of his son, tears are in his eyes. You wonder what made the son leave his father in the first place, as he is well known for his kindness and honest approach to business and life. You take their orders and the dad says to his son he can eat whatever he likes. You are exited to find out what this boy will eat after years of eating out of the trash bin.

“Here, can you fill my glass with the puddle water from outside, please”, he says, and you are shocked. Why would he not order anything off the menu? The father is looking on with a saddened face. Apparently he knows his son quite well. You just want to suggest a nice fresh smoothie from the menu and yet the son continuously shakes his glass under your nose. Trodding outside in unbelief, you crouch down to reach the dirty puddle. It is filled with cigarette buds and trash that has fallen from the countless shoes that have gone through the back entrance. 

You turn around and see the father crying, his son adamant awaiting his “drink”. As you return, you put the contaminated water in front of him. “Are you ready to order your dinner?”, you ask, half awaiting what you think will be the next scenario. And, sure enough, the boy asks for rubbish from the trash can outside. In detail he orders, as he knows those trash cans quite well. The father is hurt to the core, yet he lets the son proceed. All that beautiful food the restaurant you work for has will never be eaten by this boy.

After this scenario is over, you and your work colleagues are trying to understand why this boy has rejected his fathers wealth and with it all the beauties attached to it. You know this man to be nothing but good, and yet his only son rejects him? The next time the son comes rummaging through those cans, you want to talk to the son to understand, to help him see his father the way you know him to be. 

This, lovely readers, is the cause I believe in, helping sons and daughters of the kindest father to see they no longer have to plunder the bins of the world. They, too, can enjoy everything that is their fathers and enjoy his protection and provision. This to me is the a worthy cause.

The Grinch

Dr. Who famously travels through time. My tunnel travels along Dr.Who’s time route. I can travel anywhere and to any God given time. Where would I go? Here! Bereisheet bara Elohim et hashamayim ve’et ha’aretz

בְּרֵאשִׁית בָּרָא אֱלֹהִים אֵת הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֵת הָאָֽרֶץ

Uhm, in the beginning. That’s where I would want to go. Whatever anyone may believe about the beginning of the Universe, seeing it happen, gosh, I guess I would probably have a heart attack just from looking on. 

Seeing stars forming, primeval soup being stirred, faster than light speed swooshing past. Not to forget, that thunderous voice making it all happen. Oh, if only I could have that one peak. 

I wonder sometimes, since, being with God, and He being eternal, He in essence is outside of time, maybe, after I die, I will be able to look on those things that have already taken place?

One of the favorite passages of scripture are those when God finally talks back to Job. 

“Where were you when I created the earth?
    Tell me, since you know so much!
Who decided on its size? Certainly you’ll know that!
    Who came up with the blueprints and measurements?
How was its foundation poured,
    and who set the cornerstone,
While the morning stars sang in chorus
    and all the angels shouted praise?
And who took charge of the ocean
    when it gushed forth like a baby from the womb?
That was me! I wrapped it in soft clouds,
    and tucked it in safely at night.
Then I made a playpen for it,
    a strong playpen so it couldn’t run loose,
And said, ‘Stay here, this is your place.
    Your wild tantrums are confined to this place.’”

“Have you ever gotten to the true bottom of things,
    explored the labyrinthine caves of deep ocean?
Do you know the first thing about death?
    Do you have one clue regarding death’s dark mysteries?
And do you have any idea how large this earth is?
    Speak up if you have even the beginning of an answer.

“Do you know where Light comes from
    and where Darkness lives
So you can take them by the hand
    and lead them home when they get lost?

Are you the one who gave the horse his prowess
    and adorned him with a shimmering mane?
Did you create him to prance proudly
    and strike terror with his royal snorts?
He paws the ground fiercely, eager and spirited,
    then charges into the fray.
He laughs at danger, fearless,
    doesn’t shy away from the sword.
The banging and clanging
    of quiver and lance don’t faze him.
He quivers with excitement, and at the trumpet blast
    races off at a gallop.
At the sound of the trumpet he neighs mightily,
    smelling the excitement of battle from a long way off,
    catching the rolling thunder of the war cries.”

And, I always wanted to be the one who can answer to the question “where were you?” “Right here with you, God!”


No, I did not say anything strange during confession. I guess it would make quite a good story line. No, unfortunately, my confession concerns something pretty recent. I am just not very funny. Yep. I do laugh about myself at times. Memory of joyful things are scarce in my head though. Nothing I am particularly proud of btw.

Yesterday the hubz and I went to a really nice American Diner. The food was great, the place amazing, and what did I do? Feel stressed and guilty. To me, the image of the Israelites wandering around the desert for so many years really captures this state of affairs. You can be externally free all you want, if inside you are still a slave, no palace can change that. 

God took them around the desert to get their internalized slave to be free. In fact, only a few of the original Egyptian freed slaves went into the promised land. It apparently was too much to do, habits were already formed that could not be broken. I tended to frequent such places only as a worker bee, now I am here to relax, and I frikking have no idea how. Very sad indeed.

My brain, left to its own devices, imagines the worst. I see people contemplating whether or not penguins have knees at night before falling asleep. I envision all sorts of horrid things. I hope and pray this habit of mine will be exchanged one day. My husband has a very sunny outlook on life, and I learn a lot from him. It was actually him and his best friend who taught me some days ago what fun can actually mean.

In fact, I look at funny websites at times for hours on end just so I can begin to grasp the whole concept and, well, funnily enough at times I view my world through a meme viewer. Memes are fun. And, it turns out I have the humour of a 12 year old boy, since most the memes are made by just them. That humours and worries me at the same time. One day, I hope, it will only make me chuckle and no longer worry. First world problem post indeed=)