five minute friday: Pass

I remember the encounter well.

A friend and I were on the verge of missing the opening notes of a concert. As new drivers, we had survived the stress of Portland evening traffic, one-way-roads, and whereintheworldistheparkinggarage moments with surprisingly minimal befrazzlement. Dashing up the streets to the concert hall, however, we were suddenly accosted by a group of girls, nearly the same ages as ourselves, with baskets and signs in support of a cause our minds hardly registered.

"Can we talk to you for a moment?" they asked.

We barely gave a coherent answer; our eyes were shining for an evening of piano music, our feet sped us onward to the tempo of anticipated tunes.

"Well, here, take these - for your protection," they insisted, shoving miscellaneous somethings into our hands as we hurried past.

It wasn't until we were seated in the concert hall - having deposited our "gifts" in a trash bin without so much as a glance - that my friend turned to me and asked, "Were those girls representing Planned Parenthood?"

And I knew they had been. I had felt a flicker of conscience as we'd ignored them, a begging of my spirit to stop and talk with them. And I had hurried past.

There the details of our evening fade. I can't recollect who played, or which pieces we heard. I don't know if my friend and I stopped for coffee on the way back, or drove straight home to meet a curfew.

But I do remember how I felt once I was home, sitting in the quiet dark of my room.

I felt ashamed.

Ashamed to have rushed by, missing the opportunity to speak with those girls on the street corner. To learn why they were representing Planned Parenthood. To hear their stories. To show them love. To tell them of my Savior.

I felt ashamed for treating an evening of personal enjoyment as more important than the spiritual state of girls who actually tried to talk to me. For valuing the sparkle of an "evening out" above the terribly too-real lives of dozens of little ones.

Jesus once told a parable of a poor man, Lazarus, who sat outside a rich man's dwelling, hoping, begging, for food from his table. Daily, the rich man walked past, without so much as an inkling of sympathy for the sore-ridden, needy one at his feet. His life, his priorities, his comforts - these were of far greater concern to a man of the world than the life flickering on his doorstep.

In America today - indeed, throughout the whole world - we too have have lives to save on our doorsteps: the lives of the unborn, the future of women and girls facing unplanned pregnancies. Daily, lives flicker between being taken or saved, crushed or nurtured, thrown away or valued. Do you hurry past? Do you bemoan the deeds in word without a pause to help? Do you have a hurried, hardly-coherent answer for girls on the street corner?

I have written before on why I am pro-life, and others have written far more eloquently than I - but what I want to ask today is, What are you doing about it? There are countless options: volunteer at a pregnancy clinic, support your local CPC, or even simply take the time to reach out and talk to the women "on your doorstep". Don't hurry past the mission field with which God has surrounded you. These lives may not be dying on our front porches, but they are suffering in secret, just down the street.

~~~~~~~

I've recently signed up (rather last-minute) to run in a fundraiser race for a local Crisis Pregnancy Center. I'd love it if you felt led to support me! The link is here.

However, even if you are unable to financially support Pathways, please cover them - and all other centers devoted to showing Christ's love to women and mothers in need - in your prayers. 

Confession: it took me a bit longer than 5 minutes to write this, in between teaching today. Still, it was written, minimally edited, and posted all in the same day - which is an accomplishment for me!

Photo Credit:
szdl. Passing. 10 Oct. 2013. Flickr Creative Commons

St. Patrick's Day, Give-Away Ending, the Death-Of-All-Things-Battery-Operated, and Lessons from Anna

Inspiring title, no?

This is a post wherein I hereby bestow upon you a potpourri of such thoughts and happenings as have so defined my wee Monday.

*ahem*

Part I:

Happy St. Patrick's Day!! I almost forgot to wear green, had soggy iceberg lettuce instead of cabbage (apparently brothers don't tend to notice the differences between the two when shopping...I mean, the label "iceberg lettuce" and "cabbage" have at least 3 letters in common) and didn't even remember to watch this 'dorable tradition-of-a-video with the Littles:

Nevertheless, the sentiments expressed in this post (coincidentally one of the first posts on my blog) remain the same as I consider the day. Pray for Ireland!

Part II:

I realized there was rather a lack of information regarding last week's give-away! It officially closes Tuesday night (March 18th), at 11:59pm Pacific Standard Time. Wednesday's video post will reveal the winners!

Part III:

And now, for a sad tale.

Once upon a time there lived a girl (that's me) who had a job (that's music teaching) to go to upon a Monday morn (that's today). She ventured forth into the sun and cold (that's March weather), only to be rudely stopped dead in her tracks by a dead car (that wouldn't even start!). Said girl (still me) called upon her helpful bro (Mr. Doesn't-Know-Cabbage-From-Iceberg-Lettuce) to assist her, and since said brother was brilliant (despite some minor deficiencies in reading skills), he righted the aforementioned wrong (that is, a dead car) in record time. Thankful girl (who had only had to cancel the first two lessons of the day) drove off into the sunshine, sure of a happily-ever-after ending.

But it was not to be.

Several hours later, tired girl (that is, the first person) returned home and opened up her computer to check email (that is, paperless communication). No sooner had she loaded the page then said laptop (that is, Polly) "popped off as you might say" (who knows that quote?), never to be resurrected again. Aforementioned girl (SarahJayne) nearly cried with remorse that all things battery-operated were thus withering beneath her touch, and bravely called her father (on a battery-operated cell phone which did not die), who promptly reassured her all would be well.

And so she hopes for her happily-ever-after ending...

Part IV:

We were studying Anna this last week in our girls' Bible study, and I found these discussion questions particularly convicting. Too often, I am tempted to think merely that how I act around people is testimony enough to my Savior. I mean, with the Holy Spirit in me, how could the difference not be obvious? These questions challenged me to look for every opportunity to faithfully, verbally point to Christ. If I am the only one who could speak to them of Truth...what a tragedy for me to say nothing and wait to be asked.

We don't know what happened to Anna after the experience described in Luke 2. We can only imagine that she told everyone she knew about God's revelation. What do you tell everyone you know? If their encounter with you is their only spiritual encounter, what are they learning? - John MacArthur, Twelve Extraordinary Women

What are ways you speak of Christ, even when just having met someone?

The Heroes Among Us - Part I

Heroism. It is praised, sung, recounted, aspired to, and even worshiped, but how do you define the heroic?

Having grown up as children of this age, most of us would identify a hero as one who risked and sacrificed much - most notably his life - for the well-being of others. It's a definition deeply rooted in the Christian concept of love (John 15:13) and firmly fastened, even in non-believing American culture, by the weight of tradition - tradition that gave birth to our country as the founding fathers signed their death warrants to stand for the better future of coming generations. Of course, heroism as we know it today didn't begin with Declaration of Independence any more than the shifting definitions of our culture are original to the 21st century. Powerful deity-claimers, adept warriors, chivalrous nobles - all have, at some point in history, asserted this title. From whence have these claimants come, and have we begun, once again, to accept their less-than-worthy definitions?

In his fascinating study, The Book That Made Your World, Vishal Mangalwadi identifies three main phases of conceptual heroism: the classical hero, the medieval hero, and the modern hero. Classically, Mangalwadi observes, the Greco-Roman world lauded whoever held the greatest power. Requiring absolutely no moral guidelines or conscience, the "heroes" of this era (Alexander the Great, the Caesars, etc) were evil, self-absorbed, oppressive murders, able to claim deity and the right to be worshiped merely by virtue of their power. Evidence of this warped definition is further seen in the Greek mythologies, whose gods were good or evil as they liked (mostly the latter) and immoral, yet worshiped for the power they held. The classical era was a hopeless time for heroes.

Medieval heroism improved little upon the classical definition, the church's ornamental modifications failing still to address the heart issues of self-denial and elitist, upper-class superiority complexes. In exchange for power-hungry dictators, knights were the worshiped idols of the day. Exhibiting vast ability with a wide range of weapons, these "heroes" were those who could kill the best, and often did so with little regard of friend or foe until the Catholic church began to intervene. It was not enough, insisted the church, to be a nobleman who was good with the sword; thus the words "chivalry," "honor," "bravery," and "loyalty," began to embellish the peoples' definitions. Yet, in the end, these heroes were still the powerful upper class: those able to cut down opposition and threats one moment and turn to awe and flatter with words and courtly graces the next. The medieval era was a dignifying and adorning time of the classical hero.

Then, suddenly, unsuspectingly, all the swirling facades of gallantry and heroism were cast aside as one truly heroic man stood before the culmination of all past professions of heroism. Mangalwadi points to Roland Bainton's Here I Stand as the most succinct representation of the moment:

"The scene lends itself to a dramatic portrayal. Here was Charles, heir of a long line of Catholic sovereigns - of Maximilian the romantic, of Ferdinand the Catholic, of Isabella the orthodox - scion of the house of Hapsburg, lord of Austria, Burgundy, the Low Countries, Spain and Naples, Holy Roman Emperor, ruling over a vaster domain than any save Charlemagne, symbol of the medieval unities, incarnation of a glorious if vanishing heritage; and here before him a simple monk, a miner's son, with nothing to sustain him save his own faith in the Word of God. Here the past and the future were met."

 Martin Luther, a lowly monk of no prominent family, with no merit save his faith in God and iron-will resolve to stand by the Scriptures, confronted head-on hundreds of years of heroic claims and proved them all wrong. He was the real hero of the moment, and the people, reformers, and ages to follow him would recognize and rally to this "new" depiction of heroism: one who stands for what is right, and for the rights of others, even at risk of his own life. The era of the modern hero, marked by Luther, was a time of imitating Christ's heroism.

to be continued...

{Hello all! I missed last week's post! (I claim illness.) To make up for this sorry omission, there will be two posts this week, the next one being on Thursday. :) }
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Seeking Glory

My hands covered my eyes, and I turned my face toward the floor.

"Oh be careful, little eyes, what you see."

Settled in beside my friends and brother, I had put up my feet and was all set to enjoy an evening in the ever-so-comfortable reclining theater seats. The first preview to our film was unnecessarily gross, but one at which  I shrugged through my shudder, muttering to myself about the sad state of entertainment taste held by so many in my world today. Then another preview, worse than the first blazed across the screen. And another. By the end of the revolting third, I was waging war in my brain to ignore the sounds coming from all around me, but it was a loosing battle. "Do you want to leave with me?" I whispered to my friend, as a momentary relief occurred, "I'm going out." She promptly agreed, and we made our hasty, yet purposeful, exit from the room.

Perched on a bench outside the theater, I couldn't keep back a shudder and gasp: "Oh, those are awful! Why would they play previews like that?" We were not alone. It took all of two seconds before we were followed by first one person, then another. Within 2 minutes, half of the auditorium exited en masse, declaring that the wrong movie was now playing on the big screen. That explained the bizarre, strange, and evilly supernatural trailers to which we had been subjected. But although we did get to watch (and enjoy!) our movie later in the evening, the trailers haunted my sleep that night.

"Oh be careful, little eyes, what you see."

My experience the other evening is not the first time my eyes and ears have observed scenarios I regret. Our culture abounds with sinful and unsavory words, actions, and entertainment. What's a Christian to do? To be shut up in convents, monasteries, or communes, shunning outside influences, is not the answer, for Christ has commanded us to be in the world. However, to avoid being of the world, we must be willing to stand - and leave - with courage. Courage to face not only the scorn and ridicule of the unsaved, but (which feels worse) the patronizing condescension of our brothers and sisters. Far more often than not, I have failed to flee evil because other Christians remained, either condoning or - at best - failing to condemn. "Oh, Sarah can't handle this. Doesn't she know it's just a joke?" Or "Just a trailer?" Or "Not real?" Thus, paralyzed by fear, I too stay, stamping a reluctant approval upon the wrong.

But it gets worse.

Because I do not expose my God-bestowed senses to unnecessary searing only when under the convenient excuse of peer pressure. No, no. Be it picture, book, song, or movie, I am guilty of observing - even reveling in - the quiet solitude of evil, as well.

"For the Father up above..."

"Actions speak louder than words." A weak resolve may flutter uncomfortably in the company of moral carelessness - or even mourn the delayed reactions: "should have walked out earlier," "should have stopped reading sooner," "should have looked away quicker" - but flimsiness of the will is, at its very root, a shamefully tragic lack of conviction. In his second epistle, Peter earnestly instructs Christians to give all diligence and "add to your faith virtue, to virtue knowledge, to knowledge self-control, to self control...godliness...." In other words, to conviction we must add character, knowledge of God's will, discipline to choose His will, and a fervent love for the good. "For if you do these things," encouraged Peter, "you will be neither barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ."

"Neither barren nor unfruitful"? I want that to be me! Conviction of right and wrong is not merely enough- it is like faith without works: worth nothing. Not because it is nothing, but because, like going to a movie and having the wrong one play, it is not the right type of something.

"...is looking down in love."

Oh, let us never forget that we have the power of the Most High God on our side! Let us flee from being so "shortsighted, even to blindness" that we do not see the dire consequences of thinking upon anything besides the True, the Noble, the Just, the Pure, and the Lovely. Regardless of how or when those around us respond, let us care ever-and-always only for the opinion of the One who gave us our eyes and ears! With all our senses fixed on Him - quivering, straining to discern His plan and purpose - we will have no regrets, no "should have"s, no "but what will they think of me?"s. With our sights set on eternity, we will see the beauty of our Savior.

And with the joy that comes will be the power of God to thrill our conviction, strengthen our legs, and crystallize our resolve. With the joy that comes, we will no longer desire what C.S. Lewis called the "mud pies in a slum," but will revel in the "offer of a holiday at the sea." With the joy that comes, we will no longer be so easily pleased.

Let our eyes seek glory of the LORD.

"Oh be careful, little eyes, what you see."

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