I have several blogs.

One is my main blog where I put anything and everything. It is my first blog, like my first baby. We grew up together in blogging. The first thing I posted on this blog was the first thing I wrote online. I had been writing for over thirty years, but I went world-wide when I started blogging. I have a reader in Ghana, several in the British Isles and one in Australia, at least. This blog and I cut our teeth together. It is the first thing I check online every morning and the last thing I check every night. I am inextricably linked to this blog...Prodigal Aspersions.

I write about abuse and to those who are victims of sexual abuse, sexual assault and rape, domestic violence and especially to those who are recovering from these things. This blog is mostly poetry, but it occasionally contains an essay or links to a news item of iterest to what a friend of mine calls FLU, Females Like Us, although certainly some of us are male. Some of the things I write about abuse and recovery are not pretty, very not pretty. I created my second blog because some folks who read me regularly can't take what I write about those who would do damage to the children of GOD. This second blog provides a buffer between my regular blog and what I see as my mission in life...to speak out for those who can't speak for themselves and to speak to those who wish they could recover enough to feel whole again. I don't apologize for the things I write in support of this mission, this high calling, but I do see that the work is not for the faint of heart, the squeamish, the sensative. The second blog is the closest to my heart and I feel like a parent may feel about her disabled child. It needs me more. I fiercely protect this blog...Dead Daddy.

My third blog is one of the future. I created the page to save the name for the future. There is a book I have been working on for years, mostly in my head. The one thing I know about it for sure is the title I am going to use. I named the blog the same thing. So the blog name is a reminder to me that the space is waiting to be filled. This is a blog of promises...A Thousand Wonders.

You are reading my fourth blog. It is about me, the group of friends I journey with and the things I wonder and think about GOD. It may seem like I compartmentalize my life, that I live an unauthentic life where I am different depending on the setting. I do, I am.

I got to school as my main activity of the week, pursuing the degree that will help me help others to heal through writing. In school, I am attentive, disciplined, compliant. I know the rules and I do my best to abide by them.

I go to church for a number of hours a week and spend another number of hours in communion with GOD, meditating or reading in support of my journey with GOD. I ask lots of questions, I try new things, I listen, I challenge the old ways and look for ways to strenthen my spiritual muscles. I am old in my faith. I know the rules, so I can test the boundaries.

I spend time with family and friends. I am careful to consider them when I act. I am not in this life alone, so I try to keep them in mind. There are not a lot of rules in personal relationships, but there are limits. I don't cross them.

With all the rules and limits and journeying and testing in mind, I realize that I act differently depending on the situation. What is appropriate for watching the Cowboys game is not the same as what is appropriate for my sociology class. I don't talk to my mother the same way I talk to a survivor of sexual abuse. I don't pray out loud at church with the same words as I pray to GOD at night before sleep.

Am I being false when I am different depending on the situation? Am I compartmentalizing myself so that I can act differently with different people?

Am I true to my calling, my faith and my GOD? Are you? ...don't be afraid to ask.

So I asked to be a Prophet

Really. I prayed that. It came up one Sunday in my Mystics, Cynics and Pilgrims class. I fit into this class very well. You might say it was made for me...literally. Back when I was in a regular adult Sunday School class, I would ask a question. Then it would get very quiet. We got to practice the discipline of silence until the teacher would say... Well...ok...um, good question, now back to the Sermon on the Mount. My questions were not the ones that others were asking. They didn't understand what I was determined to discover. It seems I needed special education. So, we created a new class that came to be MCP. We started out as just Mystics and Cynics (misfits, too, to tell the truth). Just a few of us who wanted to ask those questions and not be afraid of the answers.

"How do I know there is a God?"

"How can I find God?"

We asked those and any other question. We looked for answers...sometimes in unorthodox places. We shared, we bonded, we became for each other a safe place. Then, we struck out on a journey of discovery. Contemplation. Silence. Disbelief. Pain. Reorientation. Rest. Struggle. We became mystical, cynical pilgrims who were determined to be on that journey together.

So, one day, we were discussing something about how we relate to the world outside of Christian community.

I asked, "What would happen if I prayed to be a prophet?"

John said, "How would we tell the difference?"

John's job is to be a quiet sage for most of the time and then say the one thing we all wish we had said. He is also a very witty smart alec. John thinks I am outrageous enough that no one would notice if I came out of the wilderness of South Texas one day sucking locust juice from my fingers and started prophesying.

So I prayed to be a prophet. Really. I realize that takes some hutzpah. With not a small amount of trepidation, I prayed it anyway.

"Dear GOD, I want to be a prophet. I realize that I have no qualifications except an unusually loud mouth...oh, and I don't care much for what people think of me, if I am doing what I think is right...and John thinks I am weird already. So, I want to be a prophet, if you please. AMEN"

So far, I am not a prophet. At least I think I am not. Going by John's theory, I would just segue on into Prophet status with no one the wiser. And I certainly don't feel any wiser myself. But I do hear GOD (appropriate pause...) and I bet you do, too. Divine intuition, conscience, the little white angel on your right shoulder. We have lots of ways of explaining it away, but it's GOD. You know it is. Stop being so busy and listen. Can you imagine a creator that would not say a word to the people he loves? We are not supposed to hear things. We lock those people up and give them pharmaceuticals. Imaginary friends are for children, we say. I say it's GOD.

I am Cynthia Huddleston, 47 years old, wife and mother. I am not a prophet, but I am a poet, have been since I was about 8 years old. I blog a little, write a lot. Currently, I am going back to college to get the degree I missed along the line. I am trained to work as a Victim's Advocate and hope to use that more when I graduate.

My intentions for this blog are simple. I will tell you what I think and wonder about GOD and listen to what you think. Mostly prose...sometimes a psalm.