Noise Machine

I think I've done a blog on this before. 

It's ironic, really.  My husband is black (says so on the Birth Certificate).  My customers are primarily black.  My neighbors are about half black, half hispanic. 

I very seldom hand out a Bible to a white person when I'm doing a handout. 

The devil wants me to be a racist.  I live on a street in NW Houston, in the suburbs.  It is a nice middle class neighborhood, mostly Black and Latino, with some Asian and White.  Median income is about 55K, with an average 2.74 residents per home.  The average home is valued at $93K (my home is half that). 

I would call that middle-class.  So, I live in a middle-class subdivision, very nice and quiet.  When I put my cat on a diet, he got fatter because other people fed him.  At any rate, we're not far from the Beltway which is a boon to most commuters, but it can bring trouble. 

One of the streets bordering our subdivision runs straight into Acres Homes, a notorious ghetto and home of 2 Bible Handouts.  I go where I'm sent. 

So, I went to Acres Homes for a Bible Handout.  My home is robbed by two black men (we had a witness).  Actually, being mugged by two black men 3 years before that - was a partial trigger on all the Bible Handouts.  So, attacking me directly via Black guys doesn't work too well for the devil.  I see it as an attack and I do my best to respond with love, forgiveness, and even more evangelism. 

I should add, my home was also robbed by a black man, whom I caught in the act, in 2004.  I tell you, the devil wants me to hate them! 

I live on a pretty short street.  About 20 homes.  Since the economy crashed things have changed, a lot.  About half the homeowners sold their homes.  One was already renting, and continues to do so.  These tenants are worth keeping around, except for their vicious dog, but they do keep her confined. 

The other guy is kind of high strung, dramatic, and high-maintenence.  He did a VERY extensive remodel several years ago.  His home is now overvalued, if he sold it, he wouldn't get his money back.  His first tenant was pretty unremarkable, except for the pit bull sitting in the front yard, unleashed.  I was glad I had not taken Ron for a "walk" in the wheelchair! 

The new guy clearly came from a bad area.  In the ghetto, loud music is played constantly, especially at night.  To his credit, he probably thinks he is quiet, but you long term readers will know how much it %ucks with my head to hear music at night!  I don't know if I'm hallucinating!  It is horrendous. 

I remind myself of things like: the uterus is a very noisy place.  When I was gestating it was constant racket, day and night.  Gurgling intestines, heartbeats, talking, you name it.  Noisy.  It didn't bother me then, did it? 

I tell myself things like that and it doesn't matter if I'm hearing the same rhythm again (because that's what happens when I hallucinate!).  It doesn't matter. 

Then I want to hate the guy because he's ignorant, ill-cultured, and black.  But I don't.  I just hate the music.  Then I just lie there and fester like a pimple.  Not God's will. 

So I turn it over to God.  I need to recognize this is a spiritual attack.  I know some of you hate that I attribute so much to spiritual warfare, but it helps me cope. 

Ron will also call in a noise complaint if required, but I think I'll just turn up my white noise machine.