Protecting our daughters, part 1

Recently I read an article wherein a father told a disturbing story about allowing his daughter to be subjected to continual harassment by a drunk man on a plane. Ironically, even though the father let this man persist in his unacceptable behavior, he actually believes he was protecting his daughter!

The father is Scott Brown. His daughter is Kelly Bradrick. (She was not yet married at the time this took place.) The article appears on the Vision Forum website.

"In 2003, I took my daughter with me on a mission trip to Romania. On the plane, there was a drunken man flirting with her in a very aggressive way. Unfortunately for him, there were 535 pounds of manhood in our party ready to protect her. Believe me, we were exercising much Christian patience with this man who persisted throughout the entire flight. He did not realize that he was facing deadly force, if he persisted. He actually touched her once and was making bold advances. He even continued the pursuit after the plane landed. I am convinced that, if we had not been with her to protect her, she would have been in serious danger." (Read it in context.)

Really? This creep was "facing deadly force, if he persisted"? But this guy DID persist - even after the plane landed - and absolutely nothing happened! Are we really to believe that men who are too cowardly to intervene and protect a woman from such obnoxious behavior are suddenly going to use deadly force? After sitting there passively and allowing his daughter to be mistreated in this way, does Scott Brown honestly think he is capable of manning up if things exceeded even his tolerance? And what were these men patiently waiting for? For the man to get physically violent?

"Unfortunately for him, there were 535 pounds of manhood in our party..." Don't make me laugh. Fortunately for him (from his perspective) these men gave him full permission to persist in his harassment of this young woman. I'm sure he had a wonderful time at Kelly's expense. I can only imagine what sort of awful ordeal the flight was for her.

From this account, I cannot help but conclude the following:

1. Mr. Brown sees no need to protect his daughter from "very aggressive" drunken flirting.

2. He saw nothing wrong with allowing this behavior to continue for the entire flight.

3. He saw no reason to intervene even when this man touched his daughter.

4. His daughter's feelings in this matter were of no concern to him. Can you imagine having to endure this while your father watched passively?

5. It was more important to exercise Christian patience with a man than protect a daughter.

6. He never taught his daughter how to behave in such situations. But, wait - maybe he did: "Exercise Christian patience and do nothing. Let the man's horrible behavior continue without challenge or protest. Here, observe my example."

7. Kelly would have been no less protected if she were traveling alone. She may actually have been safer. Perhaps, in the absence of the passive "manhood" accompanying her, someone else might have intervened - offering to trade seats with her, calling the flight attendant, and/or insisting, "Back off, buddy, and leave the young lady alone!" I know we can't count on being rescued by bystanders; at the same time, in my younger years, I benefitted from men who wouldn't tolerate a woman being treated disrespectfully. In Kelly's case, onlookers must have thought, "Well, if her father is perfectly OK with how she's being treated, why should I jump in?"

The huge irony is that Mr. Brown follows his story with these words:

"Where do we get the idea of protection from the Bible? We could make a long list, but here is a short one. Godly behavior is defined by shepherds who protect their flocks. The strong should support the weak. Women are the weaker vessels. And daughters should be protected by their fathers who are commanded to give 24/7 watch care over their children (Deuteronomy 6:1-9). This is enough for me to be convinced that women should be protected by men."

Let me respond: Please spare young women from your notions of "protection". I can't imagine any man I know allowing me to be treated as your daughter was. And if they did - out of fear perhaps - they would be ashamed. And, if they wrote of it, they would describe it truthfully - not pretending it was an example of the very thing they had so grievously failed to do.



Here are my alternate versions...how I wish things had played out...



Version 1:

In 2003, I took my daughter with me on a mission trip to Romania. On the plane, there was a drunken man flirting with her in a very aggressive way. Unfortunately for him, there were 535 pounds of manhood in our party ready to protect her. Believe me, we were exercising much Christian patience with this man - apparently too much, because an elderly woman seated nearby took matters into her own hands.

"Young man!" she addressed the drunk, even though he was much older than my daughter. "I will not sit back and allow you to treat a young lady in that way. You need to stop immediately or I will ring for the stewardess! Young ladies have the right to travel alone without being molested by strangers!"

I was shamed out of my passivity. Frankly, I'd been afraid to say anything. I didn't want to cause any trouble and I'd been hoping that, if my daughter continued trying to ignore this man's bold advances, he would give up and leave her alone.

"Um..." I said, feeling my face redden, "I'm her father."

"And you see nothing wrong with this man's behavior?" The elderly woman was incredulous. "In my day, fathers protected their daughters!" She then insisted on trading seats with my daughter. The rest of the flight was peaceful...giving me plenty of time to repent and to promise to treat my daughter with far more respect in the future.

Where do we get the idea of protection from the Bible? We could make a long list, but here is a short one. Godly behavior is defined by shepherds who protect their flocks. The strong should support the weak. Women are the weaker vessels. And daughters should be protected by their fathers who are commanded to give 24/7 watch care over their children (Deuteronomy 6:1-9). This is enough for me to be convinced that women should be protected by men.

My failure to protect my daughter on the airplane was without excuse. Thank God for an old-fashioned, elderly woman who taught me by her example.



Version 2:

In 2003, I took my daughter with me on a mission trip to Romania. On the plane, there was a drunken man flirting with her in a very aggressive way. Unfortunately for him, there were 535 pounds of manhood in our party ready to protect her. Even more unfortunately for him, he had no idea who he was dealing with. Kelly turned to face him and said, calmly but firmly, "I will say this once. Leave me alone. Do not speak to me. I am not interested in anything you have to say. Stop harassing me."

He responded with something I will not repeat. Mistake number one. Then he made an even more foolish mistake: he touched my daughter.

We knew what was coming next. Only he had no idea.

She caught his hand. Her hands were moving in a subtle but effective way - we could tell by his gasp of surprise and his grimace - and she kept applying pressure while saying, at twice the volume as before, "DON'T...YOU...DARE...EVER...TOUCH...ME...AGAIN!"

Then she summoned the flight attendant and explained the situation. The man was immediately moved - and this time he was seated by another man.

"You know we were ready to jump in," I assured my daughter.

She grinned. "Yeah, but I had it under control."

"That you did," I agreed.

Sometimes the best way a father can protect his daughter is by making sure she gets excellent self-defense training. Her lessons paid off. So did the hours I let her practice on me. Remembering, I rubbed my wrists, knowing exactly what the drunken man had felt, but I didn't feel sorry for him at all.



Version 3:

In 2003, I took my daughter with me on a mission trip to Romania. On the plane, there was a drunken man flirting with her in a very aggressive way. Unfortunately for him, there were 535 pounds of manhood in our party ready to protect her. We love her too much to allow any man to treat her like that. In addition, we would have intervened even if she had been a complete stranger. But, since she is my daughter, I had zero patience with this man.

"Sir," I said. Once I got his attention, I went on, "That's my daughter. See these other guys here? We are going to make sure you leave her alone."

He sputtered something unrepeatable and I motioned to Kelly to change places with me. Once I was seated next to him, I turned to the drunk and said, "Listen carefully. You have a choice. Either you sit next to me the entire flight or I call the flight attendant and have her find you another seat. After the way you dared speak to my daughter, I think you would be much more comfortable sitting next to anyone but me."

He opted to change seats. I let the flight attendant know why.

Kelly thanked me. Honestly, until she told me how this guy had made her feel, and how much my protection meant to her, I'd been on auto-pilot and my actions seemed like no big deal. Really, all I'd done was trade seats with my daughter and ask some creep to leave her alone. Hardly worth mentioning...but that's not how Kelly saw it.

I learned something that day. It's the simple acts of fatherly protection, the things we do automatically without even thinking, that speak volumes to our daughters. When we are faithful in the little things, they have the confidence to trust us in the big things.




Obviously I prefer happy endings...especially when evil has been thwarted rather than tolerated.

Remembering and reflecting: where I've been

It's been quite a while since I blogged semi-regularly. It's been so long that Blogger has come up with all sorts of cool new features since I last did anything but a quick post. It's also been a long time since I was active in the world of blogs. There are a few I keep up with sporadically, but I rarely comment. I have no idea what new controversy has everyone's knickers in a twist in what used to be my corner of the blogosphere. I am utterly and completely out of the loop. For all I know, some new wacky teacher may have arisen and convinced the gullible that patriarchy -- true, Biblical patriarchy!!! -- requires living in tents or that the reason men don't have concubines today is all the result of some vast feminist conspiracy.

I miss some of the people in that world, but I don't miss that world. It feels good to be free of it.

A lot has happened in my life and in the life of my family since those days. Life and death stuff, or I should say, near-death stuff. Crises. Heartbreak the likes of which no one should ever have to suffer. Anguish. Dark nights of the soul. But also incredible joy in the midst of that sorrow.

In other words, real life. Real nitty, gritty life.

When life gets that in-your-face overwhelmingly real, despite all the chaos and confusion that might ensue for a season, some things become really clear. You re-examine a lot when you're treading through deep waters. You begin to realize what and whom -- and Whom -- you can grab onto for safety and what and whom will only pull you down further. You realize who you can go to with your burdens...those who will weep with you and rejoice with you...those who will hold your darkest secret heartaches as sacred trusts...those who will walk with you through the darkest valleys.

There aren't many of those sorts of people.

Years ago, back in the day, I remember an online discussion of homeschooling mothers during which one brave soul dared mention a minor issue she was having with her teenage daughter. This girl was no longer content to play "Little House on the Prairie" and read Elsie Dinsmore for the 20th time; she wanted more out of life; she longed to do something that made a difference and was exciting at the same time. A number of the other moms, who only had young children, tore into this mother and her daughter. You would have thought this girl had announced, "I want to be a harlot" and that the mother had answered, "Whatever you want, dear, is fine with me; let me buy you some harlot clothes" -- that's how these other moms carried on. They gave advice that this girl's "rebellious spirit" needed to be rebuked and punished, that the mother shouldn't listen to her nonsense, that both were in sin, etc., etc.

Needless to say, these are not the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

A few years went by, but it was still back in the day, when the son of a homeschooling family died under unfortunate and disturbing circumstances. The parents decided to alert other families to what had happened, so that others might be spared their tragedy. I was horrified at the lack of empathy, at the other callousness, in which some in the online world responded. There was much holier-than-thou shooting of the wounded.

Needless to say, these are not the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

More than one mother, way back in my days of writing about my concerns regarding the Ezzos' teachings, insisted that they had the whole parenting thing down and would never have to deal with any problems because their one-year-old was already "characterized by first-time obedience".

Needless to say, these are not the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

Also, back in the day, there were certain online teachers, some of them leaders in their own churches, who thrived on controversy, who loved to declare their authority over anyone who commented on their blogs, who sounded convinced that they held a special corner on doctrinal correctness, and who loved to argue until they didn't have the upper hand, in which case they banned people from their blogs.

Needless to say, these are not the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

In May of this year, I went to a retreat. It was my second year going. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. When my mother heard of my plans, she asked with some trepidation, "Is this the same retreat you went to last year? the one with the...troubled people?"

It's always after the fact that I think of what I should have said. In this case, I should have said, "Yes, that one...because I am one of those troubled people." 

Jesus said, "In this world, you will have trouble..." Some people are just more honest and open about their trouble than others. Some people know what it is like to be broken, wounded, and lost. Some people know what it means to find joy after sorrow. Some people aren't afraid of messes. Some people will let you grieve in ways that wouldn't look pretty in a movie, and they will sit with you in your pain, without condemnation. Some people know the joy of finding hope after despair, and they share it with you. Some people will walk with you as you try to find your way out of the darkness, out of the deep waters, and they will carry you when you are tired. Some people are like beacons in the night. Some people will give you permission to fall apart if need be. Some people will let you be real, as real as real can be, without any pretense, without any self-protection, and their complete and total loving acceptance of you will be like a healing balm to your soul. Some people will love you so much and so obviously that they earn the right to speak painful truth into your life, and they will do it with tears in their eyes. Some people will, with a hug and some whispered words, give you hope to sustain and encourage you for another year.

There aren't very many of those people, but I've been blessed beyond words to have found some.

Needless to say, those are the sort of people you turn to in a crisis.

And they are also the sort of people you turn to during times of joy and laughter, because they will celebrate with you like no one else will. They totally get the "rejoice with those who rejoice" part because they already have the weeping part down.

When I grow up, I want to be that sort of person.


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Keep me at thy sacred feet

Pray for me...

How oft, alas! this wretched heart
Has wandered from the Lord,
How oft my roving thoughts depart,
Forgetful of His Word.

Yet sovereign mercy calls, “Return”;
Dear Lord, and may I come?
My vile ingratitude I mourn;
O take the wanderer home.

And canst Thou, wilt Thou yet forgive,
And bid my crimes remove?
And shall a pardoned rebel live
To speak Thy wondrous love?

Almighty grace, thy healing power
How glorious, how divine!
That can to bliss and life restore
So vile a heart as mine.

Thy pardoning love, so free, so sweet,
Dear Savior, I adore;
O keep me at Thy sacred feet,
And let me rove no more.

-Anne Steele



-- Posted from my iPhone

Easter in the Midst of Grief

I wrote this back in 1990, to be published in a church devotional booklet. I posted it here on my blog before, but felt the urge to repost it this year:

Easter...it has held a new, triumphant meaning for me since I discovered that you can't really celebrate the victory of Easter without being devastated by Good Friday; one is meaningless without the other. When I was 19 years old, my beloved Opa died, my mother's father, a man who had completely opened his heart to me and captured mine in the process. Even when he was a continent away, I felt his love.

A brutal, painful heart attack took his life not long after he had celebrated his fiftieth wedding anniversary. My mother, who had the privilege of being with him when he went home, told me his last words were a prayer of praise, ending, "Jesus is the victor! Hallelujah! Amen."

Grief is far more than emotional. It is a pain so intense that it is physical, devastating, exhausting, all consuming.

Easter came in the early days of our grieving. My mother and I stood together in church, singing the familiar Easter hymns, tears flowing down our faces. It was then that Easter became real to me--truly real--dynamic and immediate rather than historic. I was amazed that my heart could be simultaneously filled with such great joy and such aching sorrow.

Someday I too will be snatched out of this life. Someday I will stand before my Savior, along with all the saints who have gone before, and I will shout with my Opa, "Jesus is the victor! Hallelujah! Amen."

That is what I celebrate at Easter.



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-- Posted from my iPhone while on the road...oh, the marvels of modern technology!

Just a nobody from Texas

That's what he would call himself. When I met him online, he was pastoring a tiny little church in some little Texas town. But he was one of the smartest men I know, with a mind that would never forget anything.

The first few things I found out about him is that he loved Jesus, loved his family, loved teaching, had a special place in his heart for mothers and babies, and was hilarously funny. Eventually I found out he had put together a lengthy series of lessons from the Bible dealing with a certain topic in a way that infuriated me, scared me...and then set me free from a lifestyle and church that was sucking my soul -- and the souls of my family -- dry.

It sounds trite and corny, but this man changed my life. Sometimes I'd tease him that he ruined my life. I'd say, "Here I was, happily living a life of crushing rules and regulations that I kept failing at, until you came along and ruined my life with all your talk of grace, freedom, and joy."

I only met him once in person, but it was one of those unforgettable visits that our family still talks about, over a decade later. He and his wife became "Uncle Mike and Aunt Marilyn" to our family. We fell in love with their adorable baby boy. We spent a lot of time talking and laughing. They felt like long lost family.

Just a little bit ago I got the news: "Mike has been promoted to Heaven." I can't help but think that Jesus greeted him with the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant. Enter now into the joy of your rest."


-- Posted from my iPhone

Prayer Request

If you've read any of my "Fall to Grace" posts, you know about the pastor from Texas who sent me his lesson series on law and grace. A few of you know him as well.

Right now, this special man, who referred to himself as "just a nobody from Texas" needs your prayers, as does his wonderful family. Please hold them up before the Throne of Grace.


-- Posted from my iPhone

In sickness and in health

Last October, my husband came down with a bad sinus infection that he just couldn't seem to shake. Doctors prescribed antibiotics in increasing strength. We tried to figure out what was going on in my husband's body that had compromised his immune system to such a degree, and that was rendering him weaker and weaker by the days. He was gripped with extreme fatigue and only his willpower, determination, and incredible work ethic enabled him to drag himself to work. Evenings, he would come home and collapse on the couch or in bed.

We tried this treatment and that. Sought an assortment of specialists in and out of mainstream medicine.

To make a long story short, we now have a diagnosis: panhypopituitarism due to a pituitary adenoma. What this means is that a rather large benign tumor has squished my husband's pituitary gland to the point that it is pretty much failing to function...which means the endocrine system is following suit.

On April 9, a skilled neurosurgeon will remove the tumor. We'd like to hope that pituitary function will return, but he has told us that this is not likely.

Through this trial, I have grown to respect and admire my husband all the more. We have actually managed, despite his exhaustion and health problems, to enjoy each other's company. In many ways, we are closer than ever. We have even found lots of things to laugh about.

Our family has faced another trial as well. As a friend of mine used to say dramtically, "we have been passing through deep waters". We have not quite yet reached the shore. It may take a long, long while.

God is faithful. Amazingly so. In extremely tangible and practical ways, as well as in secret ways that only one's heart can know.

All that stuff about Jesus never leaving us nor forsaking us, about His being made strong through our weakness, about those who wait upon the Lord renewing their strength? It's all true. More than I could have ever hoped.

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Good cop, bad cop

Back in the day, I worked--- mostly nights --- at a university hospital, as a ward clerk. As part of my job, I met quite a few security guards, of which a significant number were either in law enforcement, had been in law enforcement, or planned to be.

Around that same time, I read the LA Times...a lot...and there was a lot of bad news about the L.A. County Sheriff's Department. There was also bad news about the LAPD.

One night in the emergency room, a sheriff tried to impress me with the fact that he had beaten up some guy in the course of arresting him. The sheriff looked completely unruffled. The young man he'd arrested was extremely bloodied and had a couple broken bones. I was not impressed. In fact, I was sickened and disgusted.

Of course, I don't know the story of this man's arrest. But, a few years later, I was an eyewitness, more than once, to what I can only describe as unprovoked police brutality.

There were some other dealings with police over the years. Some good, some bad. But I grew cynical about the sort of person that was attracted to police work, and about what police work eventually did to even the best of people.

And then I met two police officers who made me toss out all those stereotypes and prejudices. One morning, after a long night shift, these two men, practically strangers to us, cheerfully helped us move, joking and laughing as they easily carried our heavy bookcases upstairs, actually seeming to enjoy the hard work, and apologizing that they couldn't stay all day, but had to get some sleep before their next shift.

One of those men was Mark Riddering. We barely knew him when he helped us move, but that didn't stop him from eagerly volunteering to help. As we got to know him...well, I have to admit that he sometimes made me feel like I did when I was a little girl and hero-worshiped a heroic policeman.

Mark Riddering was a good cop. He was a true hero.

He was also one of the sweetest, kindest men I've ever met. I loved watching him interact with his kids, loved watching how he looked at them, how he played with them, how he so obviously cherished them and his wife. He enjoyed life...enjoyed his family...enjoyed his many, many friends. I don't think I'll ever forget his smile or his laugh.

We knew Mark during the time when he began noticing troubling symptoms, and when he received the diagnosis of ALS. He was an important part of the weekly Bible study that first met in his home and later in ours. We all watched him walk through this time of uncertainty. If he felt sorry for himself, we never knew it --- his concern was always for his family...and that he would be found faithful in God's eyes. Over the months and years, we watched his big strong body deteriorate. Never once did we hear him complain. Instead, we still heard him laugh and still enjoyed his smiles, his loving concern for our family, and his sense of humor. He encouraged others over and over again.

As his body weakened, it was as if Mark grew even stronger. The last few times I visited him, I felt as if I were standing on holy ground. Jesus shown that brightly through Mark. It sounds cliche...but it was true.

One local news story reported that Mark Riddering "lost his battle with Lou Gehrig's disease". That doesn't seem accurate. From what I know, and what I've heard from his family and friends, Mark finished the race, the long tiring marathon of the last 15 years, and he finished it well. He fought the good fight. He kept the faith. He persevered to the end. The prize is now his. He didn't lose; he won.

Tomorrow I have the awesome yet sad privilege of attending the funeral of a true hero of the faith. Mark Riddering has left behind an awesome legacy. I cannot help but think that Jesus greeted him with the words, "Well done, my good and faithful servant."

Read more about Mark Riddering

Edited for readability.

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One thing I know

As I was posting my last blog entry, I caught sight on what I'd written in my sidebar:

One thing I know...

In the end, the very end, Jesus wins.

He's the Victor.

And His grip on me is way, way stronger and more sure than my grip on Him.

In the end, He wins. And His victory will be final and everlasting and good and righteous and just and merciful. My hope is that, because of His grace and His grace alone, I will be there to celebrate that final victory. That is real hope. And, on that glorious day, we will all be changed...in the twinkling of an eye.

And I...even I...shall be utterly and forever transformed by His presence.

May Jesus, tonight and at this very moment, work His transforming power in my life. May my hope rest in Him and in Him alone. May what breaks His heart break mine.

To share in His sufferings...even though the thought frightens me...

To be found in Him...

To be like Him...

To be obedient, even unto death...

Thank God that His grip on me is so much stronger than my weak and feeble grip on Him.

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What can I say

Sigh. This says it all much better than I possibly could.

None of this has taken God by surprise. He is still on His throne. May He have mercy on us all.

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Putting things in perspective

Yes, it's another political post...

For any stray visitors who may have stumbled across my blog: I am not Roman Catholic. There is much with Roman Catholicism and its theology that I find problematic. But there is much that I believe, despite its flaws, the Catholic Church has gotten right.

I am old enough to remember the Roe v. Wade decision, and to remember the deafening silence, apathy, and ignorance within Protestantism. I am old enough to remember going to pro-life events and having my Catholic brothers and sisters greet me warmly, sometimes tearfully, and say, "We have praying for years that Protestants would finally join us in concern for the sanctity of life."

I remember Catholic acquaintances who were shocked when I was happy about my third pregnancy. One blurted out, "But I didn't think Protestants liked children!" She went on to say, "It's really difficult to get Protestants interested in pro-life issues and, besides, most of you don't even allow children and babies in your church services. Plus, you're the first Protestant I've ever met who wanted more than one or two kids."

Our actions --- and lack of actions --- and our silence have spoken volumes. No matter how opposed to Catholicism you might be, I would urge you to set aside those differences, if you are a follower of Jesus, and prayerfully consider what part of the following message might apply to you:



Yesterday I received an email containing a link to The Judeo-Christian View. Some of what they write might seem alarmist, disturbing, and a bit over the top. But please do not discount it out of hand. Read it prayerfully:

Our nation faces a fork, a divergence between the high road and the low road -- and you and your congregation could very well determine the direction we take. The high road upholds America's peaceful tradition of Judeo-Christian tolerance and morality. The low road marches us toward militant secular-paganism, militant Islam, or both.

The high road upholds traditional marriage between one man and one woman, and the sanctity of innocent human life that springs from such unions. The low road favors homosexual "marriage" and child sacrifice (we're not referring to familiar abortion here – see below).

The high road upholds the rights of pastors, priests and rabbis to "speak truth to power" in the tradition of Moses, Elijah, Isaiah, Jeremiah, Daniel, (and for Christians) John the Baptist, Peter, Paul, Stephen and Jesus. The low road would officially censor the Judeo-Christian view from the public square.

[To read more, click here.]


There are those who accuse people who speak out against Obama of fear-mongering. I will agree: there is some of that. There is also fear-mongering among those who become somewhat hysterical at the thought of another four years of a Republican in the White House. But that doesn't mean that there is no cause for fear, or that we should plug our eyes and ears and refuse to think about the fact that Obama stands for much that we, as followers of Jesus, should oppose.

Some of us are accused of being ignorant and narrow-minded one-issue voters. We are told that the abortion issue doesn't really matter as much as we claim. We are told not to worry about the fact that Obama has publicly promised that, as his very first act as President, he will sign the Freedom of Choice Act. We are told, as if this will assure us, that this will not result in that many more abortions. We are also told that same-sex marriage is not that big of a deal either. After all, does it really impact, in a negative way, our own marriage? If not, what's the big fuss?

What really matters is the economy, and Obama's plans to redistribute the wealth, and the fact that he talks about hope and change. And isn't hope oh so Christian? Isn't that what really matters?

My grandfather was a bold voice in a time when many thought he was alarmist, over the top, concerned about peripheral issues rather than about a nation's economic survival. People thought he was a fear-mongerer when he attempted to warn them. They saw no danger. They saw only hope...and change. Eloquent words, which my grandfather did not possess, persuaded them. Some...way too many... paid with their lives. They thought they were safe. They were not.

We may be safe. Today. We may feel completely unthreatened. We have grown callous to the abortion issue. We have watched so many movies and TV programs, and perhaps even laughed along with Will and Grace, that we are jaded about homosexual unions, just as we are jaded about adultery and pornography and pre-marital sex. We don't see how far our nation has drifted away from what is right and decent. We don't even see how far we ourselves have drifted away. Do we have the mind of Christ? Are we truly concerned about the least of these? Do we even care about rescuing those who are being led away to slaughter? Has holiness become just a religious word to us?

There is no candidate that I can enthusiastically support in this race. But there is one who stands, openly and unashamedly, for things that I simply cannot accept. I fear --- and I believe there is good reason for fear --- that the change that Obama will bring is not a change that the followers of Jesus should find acceptable or pleasing. But it may be the change we, as a sleeping and disobedient Church, fully deserve. May God have mercy.

Please pray. My daughter is planning to join with many others, in California and across the country, to intercede earnestly on behalf of our nation. She has been fasting and praying. Some may just think this is just youthful zeal. Please do not despise it. Please pray for some of that zeal for yourself.

My father has been praying that God might show us mercy...yet again. Mercy is, by definition, undeserved. Please join him in that prayer.

Pray that we might all be awakened, that the change and hope we seek may come from Christ, rather than from those who oppose His Words, and that God might make our hearts tender towards Him and towards the least among us.

May God have mercy.

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More powerful than a sermon

A brief life, lived for only 99 days, yet a life that continues to touch hundreds, if not thousands, others...yet a life that too many in our country feel never should have been allowed to survive beyond the womb...a life that brought --- and continues to bring --- glory to God...

Can you watch this and say, along with too many Americans, that we are the better for allowing and encouraging women to choose to have the lives of children like Eliot snuffed out in the womb?



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In the public eye

Ack! Someday this blog will be less about politics, I promise!

Yesterday I made another trip around the blogosphere, to see what people were writing about Governor Palin. I also read some of the articles in the media, both mainstream and otherwise.

And you know what? I got really excited. Not so much about the politics, but about the tremendous opportunity we, as Christians, have been given to be salt and light before a watching world. Governor Palin has suddenly brought all sorts of issues out in the open, issues that are now being discussed widely, in a more public way than I can ever recall, issues such as:

1. Outside of the pro-life movement, it is shocking news that 80-90% of babies known to have Down syndrome are aborted. The response has been interesting --- I've been amazed to read how many of those who are not opposed to abortion are still very troubled by this.

2. Suddenly the pro-life movement has a different public face. It's not just a bunch of white males who want to keep all women barefoot and in the kitchen.

3. The hypocrisy of many liberals is being exposed. It's not really about choice, after all --- people are more than willing to attack Palin for her choices.

4. We're all forced to face reality: not every women is liberal. Even more shocking, not every feminist is liberal and pro-abortion. You can be feminine, articulate, intelligent and politically conservative.

5. Having a baby with Down syndrome is not a horrible, life-consuming tragedy. It will not ruin your life or your family. Even if angry bloggers refer to your child disdainfully as "that child", and suggest it is unseemly for him to be seen in public, you and your family will love and unashamedly enjoy your special child --- at least that is the testimony that the Palin family lives out, loud and clear. (Other families live this testimony too, of course, but they don't get to do so on TV, in front of the entire nation.)

6. There is nothing shameful or degrading about being an involved mother. You don't have to be a crunch granola Birkenstock earth mama to wear your baby in a sling. Nor does wearing your baby in a sling turn your brain to mush or turn you into a primitivistic marsupial mother. You can be bright, successful, charming, and attractive --- and mother your baby right out there in the open, without apology or shame.

7. Not everyone who has five children is some sort of cross between Ma Kettle and a faceless, downtrodden cult member. Having more than the socially acceptable number of children does not rob you of brain cells, turn you into a boring drudge, or make you spend the rest of your life in shapeless dresses and/or frumpy sweatpants.

Many of us who are conservative Christians, pro-life, and who have dared to have more than 1.8 children could never have dared hope that we would ever have a "poster child for our cause" capture the national attention like Governor Palin has. Whether or not we agree with her politics, whether or not we think women should be vice presidents, we have to agree that she has been a remarkable public advocate and shining testimony on a scale that none of us could ever hope to be.

But there is more. I saved the best for last...

8. Over the past two to three days, I've had the amazing experience of reading in newspapers and hearing on the radio people trying to explain why evangelical Christians are not suddenly dropping Governor Palin like a hot potato after hearing that her teenage daughter is pregnant out of wedlock. And do you know how some of these journalists and commentators --- a number of whom I have no reason to believe are Christians --- are explaining it? With the gospel. Suddenly, people are feeling a need to explain why evangelicals are not shocked about sin, why we take sin so seriously, and why we are so forgiving! It is both deeply moving and, at the same time, amusing, to read/hear people in the secular world actually defending and explaining our beliefs (e.g., "Few people seem to understand what the Christian faith is all about...")

Do you realize what a tremendous opportunity Governor Palin has given us? The opportunity that I believe God has given us through her?

The world is watching. They are watching her. But they are also watching those of us who they believe she represents.

Think of this, fellow bloggers. What is our message to the watching world? Will we join many of them in condemning Governor Palin? Will they discover that our main message to them is angry words about what women can't and shouldn't do? Or will they discover that, as followers of Jesus, as recipients of His saving grace, we are known for being serious about sin and yet forgiving and gracious...the people who rejoice in that truth, "There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus". Will we be known as those who make love their rule? Will we be known as those who stand for truth? Will our words be so seasoned with grace as to be able to be used of God to win hearts for Him?

Or will we be known as being harsh, strident, judgmental, hateful? Much of the world already thinks that about us. Now, perhaps, we can, prayerfully, try to become better ambassadors and representatives of Jesus Christ.

I write this as much for me as for my fellow bloggers. And yes, I know I fail in this. Constantly.

Most of us cannot capture the attention of a nation. Most of us will never walk in the corridors of power, or have the ear of our nation's leaders --- or even be one of those leaders ourselves. But we can pray for those leaders and for those potential leaders. And we can rejoice in this wonderful window of opportunity, in our much smaller worlds, to echo the messages of grace, forgiveness, the sanctity of life, and the blessings of motherhood.

And we can thank God for the powerful and unexpected way in which He is using Governor Palin's life and testimony. May we be faithful in the little things, in our small arenas, and pray for Palin to be faithful in the big things, in her big arena.

Updated to add:

Here is Governor Palin's testimony of her faith in Christ.

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God is good

It sounds like a Christian cliché, and it's often used that way. But that doesn't diminish the meaning or make it any less powerfully true.

God is good.

Even when things go terribly wrong...when all hell seems to have literally broken loose. And He is not only good, but faithful, merciful, and gracious.

The hymn that TulipGirl posted this morning is so wonderfully appropriate when circumstances overwhelm us and we don't know what to do next. Christ is the Solid Rock upon which we stand.

And when we're too weak to stand? He carries us.

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Sad anniversary

Recently I heard something on the radio about Terry Schiavo; apparently it was the anniversary of her death. I had written quite a bit about the controversy back in the beginning days of my blog. The post I'd like to most remember her by is this one.

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Blog games

As far as I know, there are no blog police, nor are there some universal regulations of blogging set down in some law book somewhere. Different blog hosts may have their own rules, such as whether their platform can be used for commercial blogs, for porn, etc. but other than that, we are pretty much free to do what we want, as long as we obey the laws of the land about speech in general.

And, of course, those of us who profess to follow Christ would do best to heed His Word regarding what we write.

It is my desire to live a life of integrity. I would hope my blog reflects that, even in its silliest and most mundane of posts. So, for me, I've established a few "rules" that I've observed being followed by some of the bloggers that I respect most:

1. I try to be very careful about honoring copyright laws. I may quote from someone else, but I make clear that the quote is just that. I don't take credit for something I haven't written. I don't repost entire articles written by someone else; instead, I link to them.

2. Since beginning my blog in May 2004, I don't think I've deleted a single post. I let my words stand. Usually I try to choose them carefully for just that reason. Sometimes I've had to edit a post after the fact --- either because I've let a host of typos slip by or because I've written something in a way that is not as understandable as I'd hoped. When I do an edit, I include a comment at the bottom of the post, explaining that the post was edited and why.

3. I've only moderated comments once, and that was when I was posting about kinism. I didn't want racists to use my blog as a platform for their vile filth. I do delete comments --- either those that are ads or those that are obscene. Also, I would never knowingly allow someone to use my blog for illegal, immoral, or truly hateful purposes. I would probably remove a comment at the author's own request but would indicate that I had done so. Oh...and I've deleted duplicate comments. Since I'm a big girl, I realize that not every comment will agree with me. Some of my controversial posts may even generate heated replies. That's OK.

4. I would never use a blog hosting platform that would allow me to edit the comments of others. I would not want my readers to wonder if I were doing so. I want everyone to know that their words are their own. I would certainly never alter them in any way. To do so seems quite dishonest to me.

5. If I were to adopt a "no comment" policy, I would be sure that I would never post anything that would frustrate people for not being allowed to comment. In other words, I wouldn't post things of a controversial nature. I certainly wouldn't mention anyone else without being decent enough to give them a chance to reply, on my blog, about what I'd written.

6. I don't ban people from my blog. Anyone may freely comment, as long as they are not trying to use my blog for free advertising or for spreading obscenity and hate, or for anything illegal or immoral.

7. I don't play blog games. Apparently some people do. For example, I've heard of "swarming" recently; although I have no idea what that is. But I don't use my blog, or anyone's blog, as a means of engaging in the sort of petty conflicts that we should have all outgrown back in our junior high days. I'd like to say that I take the high road on my blog, and that I hope my blog reflects the sort of maturity one would expect at my age, but then I'm sure someone would search the archives and come up with one of my silliest posts to use against me. After all, what is so mature about a picture of a boy with a kitchen towel over his head?

8. I realize that I have chosen to make my blog public, and that anyone with internet access can read it. So I don't search my stats to try to find out which ten or so of you visit frequently and then accuse you of "stalking" me. In fact, I'd rather flatter myself by thinking that all sorts of people wake up every morning thinking, "Oh, how I hope that there is a new post up on Random Musings! I must check immediately!" The stuff that I don't want the public to read? That's the stuff that never even makes it onto my computer, let alone onto the internet.


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Easter in the Midst of Grief

I wrote this back in 1990, to be published in a church devotional booklet.

Easter...it has held a new, triumphant meaning for me since I discovered that you can't really celebrate the victory of Easter without being devastated by Good Friday; one is meaningless without the other. When I was 19 years old, my beloved Opa died, my mother's father, a man who had completely opened his heart to me and captured mine in the process. Even when he was a continent away, I felt his love.

A brutal, painful heart attack took his life not long after he had celebrated his fiftieth wedding anniversary. My mother, who had the privilege of being with him when he went home, told me his last words were a prayer of praise, ending, "Jesus is the victor! Hallelujah! Amen."

Grief is far more than emotional. It is a pain so intense that it is physical, devastating, exhausting, all consuming.

Easter came in the early days of our grieving. My mother and I stood together in church, singing the familiar Easter hymns, tears flowing down our faces. It was then that Easter became real to me--truly real--dynamic and immediate rather than historic. I was amazed that my heart could be simultaneously filled with such great joy and such aching sorrow.

Someday I too will be snatched out of this life. Someday I will stand before my Savior, along with all the saints who have gone before, and I will shout with my Opa, "Jesus is the victor! Hallelujah! Amen."

That is what I celebrate at Easter.

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HE IS RISEN!

He is risen indeed.

Wow...

It has been a long time since I have been so profoundly impacted by a sermon. My words could never do it justice. The sermon is called "Reviving our Hearts for Worship" and is dated February 24, 2008. Just listen to it. (If you don't have iTunes on your computer, I'm not sure where the link will take you. Sorry.)

Let me know what you think. I was blown away.

Edited to add this link for my poor readers without iTunes: the sermon can be found here.

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Someday I'll have it all figured out...

...but today I'll freely admit that I have a long way to go.

This is going to be one of those uncomfortable, self-disclosure sort of posts. Those who know me well have no doubt noticed that, to put it bluntly, joy has not been evident in any sort of abundance in my life for some time now. So what to do?

It just turns out that the pastor in the church we're attending has been preaching through a series on joy. They have been good sermons for the most part, but something has seemed to be missing. At any rate, try as I might, I just couldn't work up any joy in my life, no matter how I went over my notes and tried to apply them.

I'm not talking about happiness. It's not like I've spent the last few years walking around in some sort of permanent funk, without laughing or smiling. I'm talking about joy --- real joy --- the "restore unto me the joy of my salvation" sort of joy. It has just somehow left me.

Last Sunday I had the awesome privilege of visiting Eldest Son's church. I even got to hear him preach/teach. Wow. What a great group of people.

Another self-disclosure: I'm not the warm and fuzzy sort. I don't make instant friends. In fact, in new situations, I tend towards the stand-offish. I'm kind of lacking in the social skills department, and I tend to be awkward and shy around people I don't know.

When the little church service started, I felt immediately at home. It's not because this church was "familiar", or from my particular church background, or anything like that. It was something else, something far more subtle and yet profoundly powerful. It became so obvious to me that we were very much connected, very much a part of each other just as we were a part of the greater Body of Christ.

I was home --- as we all should be whenever we gather with our brothers and sisters in Christ. But it has been a very, very long time since I had felt that sense of home.

And then they prayed for me.

Forgive me if I don't describe the whole wonderful prayer time. (I will say this: while we were praying for someone else, I became thankful for the Asian tradition of removing one's shoes. I truly felt as if we were on holy ground and was glad I was already unshod.) But the part that fits in with this post is that at least one person felt led to pray that God would give me joy.

After more prayer and a time of fellowship with food, I left feeling loved, not just by my precious Savior and my loving Father, but by people that I felt as if I'd known forever. And then...well, hours went on. I had a great afternoon ended with a delicious dinner with some of my favorite people. My daughter and I drove home. And all this time, it became increasingly obvious to me that something was different.

It was joy.

And here's the thing I've been trying to figure out: why, as the modern American church, do we content ourselves with sermons that are little more than self-help lectures based on Scripture, and largely ignore the sort of simple prayer ministry that resulted in God so powerfully touching my life? Why do we expect mental solutions to spiritual problems? Why are we so unwilling to invite the Holy Spirit into our lives? Why do we point people in so many different directions, but forget to point them to Jesus?

Today, admitting that I don't have all the answers --- that I probably have only the smallest fraction of the answers --- I'd encourage my readers to consider what I'm beginning to think about finding the perfect church. Maybe, just maybe, what I really need is not a particular theology, not a particular church culture and practice, and certainly not another set of new and faddish programs (whether it's the latest Rick Warren fad or the less trendy but still faddish "Family Integrated Church" program). Maybe what I really need is a bunch of people who, while being committed to God's Word, are deeply committed to praying for one another. Maybe I need the sort of people who will unashamedly invite newcomers in their midsts to be prayed over and blessed. Maybe I need to find people who realize that a big part of prayer is listening. Maybe that's what is really important --- and the other stuff is just distraction and window dressing.

Maybe it is really is all about Jesus, and about being His Body and His Bride.