whoa nelly

I think most of us will celebrate the moment when the almost~universally unflattering fashion trend of clothing with perilously~low~on~the~belly waistbands, creating obscene "belly bulge spill" over said waistband, dies.

Until then, YIKES.

Inappropriate use for duct tape #17

About a month ago, our friend and dive boat Captain, Tyler, was enjoying a late night party with friends aboard a boat anchored off the shores of south Maui. As is usual, several lines were baited and cast, and the rods were in place in case the fish were biting. Sure enough, deep into the night, the line nearest Tyler snapped its' bands, indicating a fish on the hook. Tyler reeled it several times and then yanked the heavy catch up onto the deck.

Only it wasn't a fish. It was a shark.

A white~tipped reef shark, to be exact.

While trying to remove the hook from the shark and get him overboard and back into the sea, Tyler flipped him over onto his back. Apparently, this was not appreciated by the shark and/or he was just in a foul mood from his overall "fishing" experience, and he grouchily bit Tyler's arm. Tyler insists that the shark was small and that his teeth were so sharp that he did not even notice the bite until his arm began gushing.

The shark was tossed back into the ocean by some of the other guys on board and the boat returned to shore as quickly as it was able.

Tyler, whose job involves driving a boat and leading scuba trips for groups vacationing divers each day, did NOT go to the hospital, as on might expect a rational human being to do after being bitten by a shark. Instead, he caught a few hours sleep and then reported for work as usual at 6:00 am. He had DUCT TAPED his shark bite together. Duct tape, people.

After work, he ate lunch, did some errands and bought groceries, slept some more, and only THEN stopped by the hospital at about 9:00 pm, where his gaping wound required more than a dozen stitches and removal of ample infected tissue. The doctor was less than pleased. Imagine that. Hard to understand a doctor's annoyance with an infected shark bite wound closed with duct tape and then liberally doused in sea water all day long. Unreasonable hack.

Note to Tyler: We love you, man. But there is a moment when honorable work ethic does interfere with common sense. In your case, this moment can be tracked to the application of duct tape to an open shark wound. You are so lucky, my friend. This goes way beyond proper duct tape useage technique and is more of a "do not attempt this at home" moment. Even if your now~healed, otherwise assumably garden variety scar does bear a worthy story that you relate with unabashed jubilance and a hearty degree of "big~fish~war~story pride.

The Shark Count

The Official Shark Count Stands at 12.

As of today's vacation halfway point, we have so far dived with twelve sharks ~ mostly White~tipped and Black~tipped Reef Sharks, two huge Grey Sharks, and a beautiful Sandbar Shark. Each shark we count is one we have dived in personal proximity with, interracted with, and ideally photographed. Today, one was even petted. Copper and I are getting bold these days.

When relating this shark-petting business to my mother in law, I made sure to empahsize that it was a SMALL Black~tipped Reef Shark that was pet on today's dive and not to fret. I don't think she heard anything beyond, "Hey! We pet a shark today!"

Have to work on wording that a bit differently, I guess...

Who's really paying for my vacation

While on this trip, complex individual thoughts involving stewardship, our military, and freedom have been mingling in my mind a bit. Not only due to the fiery fight I, in concert with a bevvy of similarly devoted friends, are waging in effort to return one of our Iraq-deployed soliders home to his suddenly seriously ill, hopsitalized wife. But also because I am aware, particularly sharply from this vacation-induced-basking-on-white-sand-beaches perch, that I am actively relishing in the freedom that is afforded me by the wages of others lives.

Regardless of our individual opinions on the nature and worthiness of the current theaters of conflict and war our military is engaged in, when an American solider dies in battle, that loss is personal on a national level. Each solider's life should matter soberly to us all and be borne by our collective hearts, should it not? That men and women (often so young it makes the heart ache) are dying in combat right now, as part of the ongoing effort to protect and ensure the very freedoms I am enjoy every day, but am especially aware of on this holiday, humbles and moves me beyond expression. I struggle with how possibly to honor such a gift.

But the people in the small Texas hometown of this fallen solider (thanks to The Wife for linking to this story - see "If Only") come doggone close to honor, respect, and utter thanks as it should be expressed by us all on such an occasion.

My heart and heartfelt appreciation extends again today to EVERY SINGLE member of our military, all branches, all levels, at home and abroad. Thank you. Our freedoms are purchased with the currency of your lives and the courage of your character.

God bless you.

Overthrown

Our meandering lunch conversation today included our choices of what constitutes the very WORST commercially released movie of all time.

My vote has been the same since I was about fourteen: Raising Arizona. I watched the whole movie expecting to see microphones hanging down into the scenes or a disclaimer that this is, in fact, a test of exactly how bad a movie has to be before the audience voluntarily vacates the building. I firmly believe that the budget for this movie was financed by one guys' weekend beer run money and that it is based on a screenplay hatched and written entirely on a receipt on the drive back from late night trip to the 7-11 (see also, beer run). The movie is pointless and eye-rolling ridiculous. Copper thinks it is so ridiculous that it actually becomes brilliant at some point, and that I am failing to appreciate that it is a "parody/comedy", not Shakespeare. Even Shakespeare had a sense of humor and nothing he ever penned contained the line, "Boy, you got a pantyhose on your head". So, we agree to disagree on this one, allowing my dear Copper ample room for his delusions concerning this flick to continue unhindered.

However...

Lachen's vote for the worst movie of all time was overturned recently, after almost eighteen years.

A few months ago, we sat through the Hitchhikers Guide To The Galaxy.

Oh
My
Sweet
Dog
Sheila, that movie BLOWS.

It is the most randomly pieced together menagerie of sheer nonsense I have ever been forced to endure. I sincerely doubt it is intended for either sane or sober audiences. Copper (who has actually read the book) and I (who never bothered) both fell asleep during the flick, and I personally was glad for the moment of relief my catnap afforded me. I left the theater feeling oddly assaulted and in need of a shower and a Dr. Pepper, stat. There went almost two hours of my life I will never get back. That movie is horrible, squared. If "bad" were people, it would be the entire Asian continent.

You get it. It stinks.

And has officially overturned Raising Arizona as the WORST commercially released movie on the planet. I hope this changing of the guard for worst movie is the last one I'll ever have to do, as I would truly hate to imagine what could possibly set a lower standard than the likes of Trillion and Humma Kavula.

Barren Blooms of Beauty

We made the trek to Hana on Friday.

This typically three-hour-one-way car journey and back along Route 360 is almost always one of my most treasured days spent on each of our trips to Maui. The scenery is impossibly stunning: a truly untamed tropical rainforest liberally accented with raging waterfalls over 1000 foot cliffs into emerald pools, native and secluded black sand beaches, Jurassic Park Plants (as I call them) with leaves more than seven feet wide and flowers the colors of lifesavers candy. It overwhelms the senses to such a degree that I almost inevitably give up taking photos near midday. Not out of frustration, but a sense of respect that accompanies the realization that no amount of still photography, videography, or other means of trying to capture the reality which is Hana is even remotely effective at doing it justice. It is simply indescribably breathtaking.

The actual road that leads to Hana, however, is daunting and a bit risky. Along the smidgen longer than sixty-mile journey, there are more than 600 (six HUNDRED) hairpin turns and 62 one-lane bridges, always teetering precariously over a steep waterfall or unprotected rugged cliff leading straight down to the ocean below. Not a forgiving driving course, and certainly not suited for anxious drivers. They sell T-shirts here that read, "I survived the road to Hana". We bought one after our first journey eight years ago. Hey ~ don't snicker. If you drive to and from Hana intact, you deserve the shirt. And a very cold drink (Dr. Pepper, anyone?)

Most of this road has been carved naturally out of once molten lava rock which forms the structure of the island. And it is this lava rock ~ this unforgiving, most untenable substance ~ that miraculously gives rise to an incredible bounty of botanical wonder that is the rainforest I love so. On Friday, as we sat patiently yielding to an oncoming car passing over a narrow, one-lane bridge ahead of us, I took special note of an intensely vibrant purple-violet bloom just outside my window. This fascinating specimen was growing straight out of sheer lava which formed the edge of the cliff beside us. No bush, no tree, no soil ~ nothing supporting it. Just this gorgeous flower, growing straight up out of the lava, and blooming with abundantly fragrant, prehistoric looking purple petals.

From barren lava sprang this amazing blooming flower. It seems so unlikely, and yet it IS.

This flower experience merged meaningfully into an ongoing tangle of thoughts I've been entertaining. With the backdrop of quite possibly the most divinely beautiful place on this planet, I'm finding myself wondering WHY God has me here at this very moment. And what He intends for me. And how He can use me despite myself? The nature of these ponderings is not limited to this finite holiday period on Maui. This is an open-ended conversation I have had with myself since before I even thought to keep track. It has become part of my routine examination of my life for signs of its usefulness and worthiness to God and to others. I seek so ardently to live life at 'maximum capacity' ~ to give of myself entirely in the places and with the people who are divinely intended recipients. I struggle when inevitably encounter my own failings, flaws, and limitations. I pray continually for grace and pliable flexibility when the plans God has for me so obviously contradict my grand scheme of how my life is to be best spent upon this earth. I am getting better at it.

Well, inconsistently better, at least.

Thankfully, borrowed wisdom and courage now often overtakes the temptation to allow my nagging fears of inadequacy stall me into inertia. And increasingly, utter faith triumphs over the once tempting utter despair that I am too ill equipped and ill prepared to even attempt the tasks He so often thrusts me headlong into. I am coming to understand that neither preparation, confidence, or perfection is necessary to be who God has made me to be, and to step up when He clearly calls me to achieve something so clearly beyond my capacity. All that is necessary is a listening ear and a willing heart.

This concept was so beautifully for me as we drove along the Hana coastline of this idyllic island.

Beauty, when it is of God, can be born and thrive anywhere, like an enormously lovely flower blooming straight out of a craggly lava rock. And God can use simple elements, like people and plants, to illustrate His glory, love, and perfection, even when they are the least likely candidates, far from perfect themselves, and often amidst deeply inhospitable surroundings.

So often I am gravely limited by my perception of myself as I grapple with finding sure footing on barren lava in my own life. Without benefit of faith, it would seem hopelessly finite ~ a struggle for suvival in an untenable environment, more aware of my flaws than my potential. But faith reveals the unlikely truth that, out of nothing but barren lava, a beautiful flower can thrive. Surely we can be reassured that nothing can limit our ability to bloom wherever God plants us, as long as we are listening to Him with willing hearts of faith. And it is with that same faith that I trust that my life is where He means it to be right now. Even though I sometimes cannot fathom what He is doing or why, I take it on faith that God is transforming the vastly flawed person I am into something glorious for His purpose. Something miraculous ~ far and away beyond anything I could ever imagine myself to be. He can create beauty from even the most barren beginnings. If only our hearts are willing to bloom wherever we are planted.

I Spy

Have you ever played "I Spy?"

Our family's version of this old standby goes something like this: "I spy, with my eye, something....(insert color here)". And then we all take turns guessing what item has been spied until we figure out the mystery or arrive at our given destination, as this is an oft-used car-trip-is-taking-too-long distraction technique.

Tonight's rendition was classic.

LaLa: "I spy with my eye, something.... GREEN!"

"Is it the grass?"..."the trees?"..."that sign over there?"..."Mommy's shirt?".... and on like this for another seveal minutes. All of our guesses were met with increasingly giggly, insistent head shaking. Finally, I relented and asked for a hint.

LaLa thought about this long a hard and finally offered this gem, "It pees when it wants down."

It took us a good 20 minutes more before we figured out that she was referring to a FROG.

Not the Easter Bunny

I could not help myself.

And frankly, I am devastated that I was not relieved of this obligation by someone with far more rightful place.

Our visit tonight to an otherwise tranquil pavilion shopping center on the East Coast of Maui was marred by a small event. Very small. Eight year old child small, actually.

The little girl was accompanied by two friends, also well under the age of twelve. As our family walked through the shops and enjoyed our meal, we continued to encounter these girls who were apparently roaming around the mall in a fairly typical slack-paced loiter. My initial note of these girls was benign, but as they drew closer to us, my mouth actually opened in alarm which evolved into smoldering anger.

The tiny eight year old, you see, was wearing short jean shorts that revealed her belly and the fuschia sequined word "HOT" splashed across her bottom, topped off by a slinky, skintight black half shirt with the Playboy Bunny emblazoned boldly across the chest. Aside from her extremely provocative clothing, this tiny child was clearly a BABY ~ her innocent brown Hawaiian eyes, long loose island hair, and childlike gait all combined to create a fragile sense about her that made me want to instantly throw a protective arm up to protect her from the openly gawking stares of nearby males, young and old.

Being in the presence of this precious child, her lewd attire, and the responses it was evoking from passersby ignited a fire inside me whose ferocity is not easily extinguished.

When I bumped into the trio again as we were preparing to leave, I could not be dissuaded. With LaLa in tow, I approached them and directed myself to her.

"Excuse me please. How old are you?"

"Eight."

"Are your parents here?"

"No, they're at home."

"Honey, I don't want to alarm you, but I asked how old you are because of what you are wearing. You see that man staring? And him, too? And that guy over there?"

"That guy?" (she pointed directly at one of the men to whom I was referring: a 4o-something, deeply tanned, beach "dude" openly leering at her while leaning on a railing. I stared hard at him until he redirected his focus and then stalked away.)

"Yes. Those men are looking at you and it is not in a good way, sweetie. It is because of what you are wearing. That bunny on your shirt is not OK - it is not appropriate for an eight year old. It means something very adult, and is not good for children to wear. It is not your fault, but please, please, please talk with your parents about that bunny and your "HOT" shorts before wearing them again, OK?"

"OK."


Honestly, it was a prickly, uncomfortable conversaton. I know I scared her, though I did not mean to. Even with gentle delivery and pure intention, some random blonde lady going off about a bunny on your shirt in the mall is bound to leave an unfavorable impression on an eight year old.

Which is, actually, OK too. I hope it did create some kind of lasting impression in the mind, heart, or psyche of that precious child. I hope our encounter and conversation remained with her long enough to share it with her parents, who are my actual intended audience. SOMEONE let her out of her home wearing that outfit, advertising raw SEX at eight years old. SOMEONE was not protecting her from the clearly directed raw stares of those she came into contact with at the busy shopping mall. SOMEONE was allowing the radically inappropriate, brashly overt sexualization of an eight year old. SOMEONE put their child at risk through inattentive nonchalance (I assume this, hoping desperately that no parent in their right mind would deliberately choose to furnish this clothing to their child) or simply not caring about their most precious of all responsibilities: their child.

And it is that someone to whom I fervently hope my message travels. And hits its target. And leaves a meaningful sting. And makes a difference.

This is not just any T-shirt, and I resist the temptation, determinedly clamoring for recognition within my conscience, that perhaps I overreacted. I decided to risk it.

That there are clothing manufacturers who actually produce a shirt with the Playboy bunny emblem on it which is sized for and marketed to an eight year old child is simply staggering. A healthy dollop of my wrath is directed at those sick and warped apparel industry minds who so brilliantly deduce that the 'hot new' trend involves combining elementary school aged children and raucous sex symbolism. Seems like complimentary match to me.

Not.

But we can only blame others for so long, until the arrow of blame points squarely back at ourselves. No matter the specific catalyst, our most vital role as parents is to stand between our babies and that which threatens to inexorably harm them, is it not?

Thus it is with the parents of this child that my anger and frustration most abundantly resides. And from anguished places within me, these unknown, unseen parents of hers are the subject of much heartfelt prayer from my soul tonight. I pray for better judgment on their part and a deeper commitment to noble stewardship of their precious child. I pray for my own judgment and protective instincts, my sense of right and wrong to remain freshly focused on purity and intact despite weathering the storms of secular America. And I pray that I will always be willing to borrow strength from God to boldly be brave in acting in the interests of a child ~ even when that child is not my own.

And I wonder, truly, where are the parents?

MMMMMMMaui

Can you feel the warmth of the breezes, wafting with thick scents of sweet plumerias and coconuts?

Can you hear the sounds of toucans and Tido birds, heralding each evening from their lofty perches deep within the blooming jacaranda trees?

Can you see the tropical suns' rays shimmer off the glassy surface of turqiose ocean waters?

I am not trying to rub it in, but to share the immense JOY and saturation of senses that greet me each and every time I disembark the airplane and touch Maui soil. This place forms the closest image, the most intimate association with heaven I can fathom. Jungles meet desert sands, crystalline white sand beaches meet towering fauna-laden, ragged tropical cliffs accented by waterfalls? It exists, and it is here. And so am I.

Filled with gratitude for this experience, beyond my capacity to describe.

Family is excellent, trip is awesome, weather is perfect, stress is blessedly beginning to ebb.

Wish you were here...

The Myth of Extinction

Another bold indicator that the inner workings of 4-a year old mind are gradually overtaking my home appeared just now in the form of a large plasticy-rubbery dinosaur occupying the bottom shelf of my refrigerator.

I opened up the door and he was just sitting there. Staring at me.

Curious.

Prior to having children, I generally did not expect to see rather grotesque greenish brown dinosaurs roaming about amidst my Tupperwared leftovers any more than I expect my flashlights, keys, and spare coins to invariably end up in the basin of my toilet. All bets are apparently, definitely now off.

Who knew that the dawn of the new Ice Age would apparently begin in my refigerator?

Six hundred and fifty-two pages later

I am to be congratulated.

Light applause, a knowing nod, a pat on the back ~ any of that will be gracefully accepted. Hopefuly you can share in being proud of me:

In a smashing display of utter restraint, I did not participate in the midnight madness rush to procure the sixth installment of the Harry Potter series the very instant it became available for consumption. Instead, I lazily, pseudo-casually picked it up mid-afternoon yesterday from the amply stocked shelves of Target.

And by the end of my marathon reading session at 1:46 am this morning, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince had been completely devoured in full. Over the course of six hours, interrupted by dinner, bath, and bedtime (you know, REAL life), I managed to digest the latest happenings in the wizarding world as seen from within the old-fashioned, hand-blown glass windows of Hogwarts. Admittedly, I was especially dedicated to this task. As we leave early Monday morning for a long-awaited three week holiday in Maui, I was not looking forward to toting this rather bulky hardcover book with me on the plane. My only solution was to read it beforehand, right?

So I did.

I was not disappointed in the least, and actually managed to uncover several of the plot twists before the course of their natural reveal in the pages, which was satisfying. But the ending deeply frustrated and twisted my thoughts, whetting my appetite for the seventh and final book in the series, which is now obligated to resolve the current state of disrepair permeating the manner in which this novel ends. I particularly enjoyed the deeper character development this time around, and found myself again wishing I weren't quite as smacking similar to Hermoine Granger. I often (and sometimes grudgingly, because she can be truly annoying) recognize myself in the eloquently crafted words which mold my understanding of her character.

Truly, another brilliantly enjoyable installment.

In all my life, I remember feeling this degree of investment and interest in a fiction series only twice before: the Chronicles of Narnia and the Frank Peretti triology. I am in debt to such gifted authors as these whose inspired talent manages to conjur elaborate worlds and happenings from thin air and lure us into stories of lives who begin their existence as we open the books and begin to read.

New spin on playing tag

My Metropolitan Mommy friend, Liz, has tagged me. Quite evidently, the "tagging" phenomenon is a blogger's answer to a chain letter ~ only nicer because it does not involve threats of death or dismemberment for failing to fullfil the mandated obligations. Since I love Liz, I am happy to oblige her tagging efforts and answer the series of (abbreivated) questions. I give you, the TAG:

1.) What I was doing ten years ago:
July, 1995 saw me finishing my fourth year of college and celebrating the 6-month dating milestone with the stellar man who would become my husband. Trouncing around in Ugg Boots, failing at continued surfing efforts, co-leading high school ministry at my church, recording back-up to Gospel Albums, doing voiceover work for Japanese video games and random extra work in movies, and writing my religious studies graduate thesis.

2.) Five years ago:
July, 2000 saw me readying for a vacation in Maui with Copper in to celebrate our 4th wedding anniversary a bit early. We eagerly hoped to return with a very special souvenir. Our plan worked, and our tiny little stowaway emerged nine months later as our cherished daughter, LaLa. I had gained professional confidence and excellence in the last 4 years of practicing Real Estate, and was thrilled to trade my 80-hour work week for parenting (168 hours a week). Still wearing Ugg boots, but not to the office. Traded the sufboard for scuba equipment.

3.) One year ago:
July, 2004 found me nursing my four-month old son every 18 minutes and gleefully learning the nuances of parenting a son as opposed to a daugther (diaper changes were a big difference, among others). Still not sleeping through the night, but nearing the point where "New Baby Exhaustion" is not so obvious to everyone you come into contact with on the street. Living the reality that "weight loss" after pregnancy should not be so heavily lauded ~ as the shape of your body forever changes and items that were once located north of the bodily equator somehow suddenly migrate south ~ no matter how quickly you see the numbers on the scale retreat.

I rocked my baby son a lot, usually in tandem with my still-baby girl. I read countless books and made up bedtime stories about frogs and kittens. I learned to be grateful for peaceful moments, and that shared naps are as refreshing as a cold Dr. Pepper in September.

I wore my Ugg boots on the airplane trip to Maui we took at the end of this month.

4.) Yesterday:
Yesterday I enjoyed being newly reunited with my family. I relished God anew and basked in the potent realization of miracles in my midst. I hugged and snuggled my children with abandon. I spent time on the phone and computer regarding my friend in the hospital. I stood in line at the DMV for a period of time that was almost unbearable. I practiced being patient. Our family savored an excellent dinner at a local restaurant and giggled at innocent jokes and antics. My heart took pictures. After the kids were tucked into bed, I pulled my Ugg boots over my stocking feet and sighed contentedly.

5.) 5 snacks I enjoy:
Dr. Pepper (this is not a snack, this is a staple! :), sunflower seeds, sour candy, pretzels, vegetables and dip

6.) 5 Things I would do if I suddenly had $100 million:
Try to become pregnant immediately (and several times over), Free my extended family from all debt, Move to Maui, Support Bridges of Hope and other God-based effective charities in a more monetarily powerful way, Go back to school to become an obstetrician.

7.) 5 locations I would like to run away to:
I don't want to run away. But I'd like to visit the US Eastern Seaboard, Ireland ~ England ~ Scotland, the Meditteranean, and revisit the Bahamas and Tahiti

8.) 5 bad habits I have:
Underestimating God, Overestimating what I can accomplish in 24 hours, Not showing my love and adoration of my husband and children nearly enough, Biting my nails, Eating absolutely horridly.

9.) 5 things I like doing:
Singing, Reading, Writing, Playing Poker, Organizing/Planning/Cleaning (yes, laundry falls into this category)

10.) 5 TV shows I like:
House Hunters, Bargain Hunt, Antiques Roadshow, WSOP, Law and Order

11.) 5 Biggest joys of the moment:
LaLa, Joy Boy, Copper, the release of the newest Harry Potter installment, and that my dear friend is going to recover from her stroke.

TAG!! Now it's your turn ~ I'm sharing the TAGGING love:

PAT

COCO

MARIA

AMITY

Twenty-Four Hours

If words like...

"Quidditch"
"Ravenclaw"
"Butter Beer"
and
"Animagus"

...fail to thrill you today, then you sadly do not share my deliciously passionate desire for this Friday to get a move on and END already, as Saturday cannot come soon enough for this devoted and delighted Muggle.

"Last Five Minutes" Resolution

You know how, in some artfully drawn suspense movies, there is inevitably some brilliant scene encompassing the last five minutes of the film which resolves a cliffhanger and all the loose ends in one fail swoop?

I feel as though I have lived just such a scenario this week.

Pursuing rather mundane business in Tennessee in a storm, I instead found renewed faith and fulfilled meaning as I unexpectedly played a supporting role in a quite real, bracing, emergent medical event in the life of a dearly loved friend. It was not my purpose, my story, my concerns that I ended up caring about on this trip: it was hers.

While on the phone with me on the very afternoon I arrived in Tennessee, my sweet friend suffered a stroke. For this twenty-six year old mother of a sweet four year old whose husband is serving his second year of a tour in Iraq, this stroke was completely unexpected. Thankfully, it was relatively small, and though she clearly has a battle ahead of her, she will emerge brilliantly polished from the efforts of this refining fire. And by the grace of God and the hard work of so many who love her, her husband is returning from the sands of the Middle East to be at her side imminently. As it should be. Tonight, finally, for my friend, the calm after the storm is dawning.

And so is the "last five minutes" resolution for me.

Sometimes I forget that every gesture, every decision, every moment we breathe and love and live on this planet has meaning beyond what we can see or tangibly experience. Often, we are not able to or capable of noticing - reaping - the seeds we sow among those we love or even perfect strangers we come into contact with each day.

The blessed tall, thin gentleman at the gas station near Nashville who gracefully held the door open for me in the rain ~ how that touched and comforted me as I drove, and drove, and drove to be with my friend in the hospital.

The delightfully rotund funny man at the Hertz-Rent-A-Car who made me chuckle by personally denoting the towns I should "definitely" visit on my map of Tennessee with a fluorescent marker. By the time he handed the map back to me, it was awash in color ~ he had marked almost everything. I told him I loved his hometown pride. I think I made his day. He blushed and said, "Thank you, Ma'am" and instantly, I became smitten with Tennessee.

But more than anything, this trip nudged my heart back where it belongs. Back to the important things. The critical elements in life. That which MATTERS. Back to listening to God even when what He is telling me doesn't seem to make much sense to my arrogant, befuddled mind. God had a clear and miraculous hand in my being in Tennessee at the exact moment of my friend's medical crisis. God knew it would seem strange to me to fly out there, alone, in a hurricane, just to complete one part of a business deal.

But He knew there was a far greater purpose. He knew there would be a far greater meaning. And that He used me, even in the teeniest of ways in which I found myself used for His greater purpose this week in my friends' life, elevated my soul even as it humbled the rest of me. I have never before felt so at peace as in the obvious presence of the Lord. And it was while praying and crying, alone in my car, pulled off onto a center median on Highway 40E ~ somewhere in stormy Tennessee, that His presence overcame my agenda, calmed my worries, and reminded me of the awesome power of God to work in unexpected and odd ways.

God knew, you see, knew how the last five minutes would wrap up and resolve.

It is quite phenomenal to be able to view the plotline of God's crafting from the vantage of hindsight and realize you are standing on the other side of a miracle that unexpectedly involved you. And here all you thought you were doing was foolishly challenging fierce weather for rather unsatisfying reasons. But what you were really doing was playing a part in the "Last Five Minutes" Resolution of a wholly unrelated storyline. One much more important than anything I had ever planned.

And one, I am filled with confident joy, will be a happy ending.

Who knew that Tennessee promised such precious lessons of life, love, loyalty, and purpose? Who knew that those things which motivated me to come were not the things which became my reason for being there? Who knew that I could be used for Christ's peace when I was least prepared? Who knew that miracles still happen right in front of your eyes? Who knew that love becomes more potent with trials? Who knew that flying into a hurricane was the price of admission into the powerful orchestration of God going on in the life of a friend?

Lest we forget ~ everything we do, everything we are, we say, we offer, we give ~ everything has the power to change hearts and effect lives of other human beings for the purpose of God if we seek His purpose over our own. Everything can be a blessing and work for the good of the Lord if we open our eyes and focus our hearts.

I am home. In awe. In wonder. In gratitude. And seeing the world with a quite crisply re-focused heart.

Into the eye and home again

Tomorrow begins a rather reluctant 3-day lull here in my corner of blogger land. I will be aboard a series of airplanes, accidentally (who knew a hurricane would be such an unfortunate party-crasher when I booked this trip 3 weeks ago?) headed smack into the eye of hurricane Dennis. Which should, reliant upon good faith and competent meteorology, be dissipated to mere tropical storm by the time I land in Memphis. Note the operative word, "should". I have high expectations. Well, anything above softball-sized hail and winds-so-powerful-they-loft-cows-through-the-air would be acceptable at this point.

If all goes as planned, I will be back in the saddle on Thursday. I know it's hard. A tall glass of Dr. Pepper may make my absence more bearable. Just a gentle suggestion. As Tennessee is currently reporting an average temperature of 89 degrees and 75% humidity at MIDNIGHT, I anticipate I'll likely be carrying at least one frosty can in my purse at all times. Never leave home without it. Even in a hurricane.

Though this trip is necessary and important, I will be going alone. I have never before been away from my children in this capacity and already miss them and my adored Copper with the kind of pangs reserved for military goodbyes or funerals, though they are asleep in the next rooms. Truly I am a sap. But truly these souls I am leaving, but for a brief while, are the meaning in my life. Anything I do outside their fellowship and presence is only treading water ~ waiting till I can return to them again. In the presence of God, my children and husband, I am at rest, at peace and contented to the depths of myself. I am home.

I am not a restless spirit, steeped in wanderlust. I know where my home is and long keenly for it when I am away. For in my soul, whatever the adventure, the experience, and the journey - my most anticipated and yearned for moment happens when I cross over my threshold and breathe in the knowledge that I am HOME.

Even before I leave, I ache to come back home.

Scary Giant Orange Fish

"We do NOT chase our brothers around the house in a giant orange fish costume! That is scary."

So said I this morning to my my 4-year old LaLa, who sent JoyBoy into hysterics while excitedly playing a rather one-sided version of chase while wearing her Nemo costume from Halloween, which has subsequently been banished to the high shelf of the closet in an indefinite time out. Copper and I both maintained a straight face somehow. But I am sure Joyboy will have nightmares involving clown fish for some time.

Finding Nemo gone awry.

Fraudulent Peace

At the risk of inviting criticism and open condemnation, these two elements of truth move me to speak in the wake of this week's events in London.

1.) The United States of America, England, the EU, the amoprhic "West", the 'War On Terror', capitalism ~ or any of the other typical scapegoats saturating the ramblings which inevitably emerge as "justification" for this kind of action by the deranged minds who perpetrate it ~ are not to be rightfully blamed for these terrorist attacks.

The culprit is Islamic terrorism. This is a collective assignment of blame, including both the individuals who commit these crimes against humanity AND the societies, nations, institutions, and religions which openly embrace and instruct this brand of HATRED and VIOLENCE. Be not mistaken, these bombings , beheadings, rapes, tortures, and targeting of innocents for death is openly celebrated, preached, and exalted as the pinnacle of devotion to Allah by the worthless lot of Al Queada and other same-minded militants, blaming others for their discontent. Their souls have not been poisoned by anyone else but themselves. These warped, twisted, evil individuals are a product of themselves.

Their evil is not our cross to bear.

THE ACTUAL PEOPLE WHO SET OFF THE BOMBS are responsible for this action and bear full and uncompromising weight of our penalty and wrath. We should not care why they did it. We should not seek to understand the dark, twisted recesses of their minds. We should not seek a reasonable answer to the inevitable question of "why"?

When you blow up innocent people on busses, trains, airplanes, and subways, I have ceased to care about your agenda. Your actions negate any legitimacy it may have claimed entirely.

You have become a murderous vacant soul. Nothing more.

2.) Islam is not a peaceful religion.

I am wholly convinced that Muslims who celebrate and embrace peace do so not because of Islam, but despite it. I continue to examine the Quran, the Pillars, and Islamic commentary and have for more than twelve years. I studied Christianity, Judaism, and Islam almost exhaustively in my final three years at University. I count among my friends decent, peaceful, noble, deeply-troubled-by-their-religious-association-with-terrorism Muslims. I continue to seek truth when combating the vast misinformation and slander of this religion, in tradition and practice. I do not wish to glorify my own wisdom, as my understanding of any given topic on any given day is surely pale by comparison to someone else's. And always subject to the truth of Jesus Christ above all.

But with confidence, I have come to this:

Violence is an inextricable foundation to the words of Muhammed and found permeating the texts and teachings of this religion.

Because this is not, perhaps, the best venue fort an all-encompassing dialogue about the multi-faceted substantiation I use for my conclusions, I will instead offer these words, direct from texts of Islam, to help illustrate my utter belief in the violence, fraud, and depraved evil that saturates the Quran and the teachings of Muhammed, upon which Islam is based:

5:33 "Indeed, the punishment of those who fight Allah and His Messenger and who go around corrupting the land is to be killed, crucified, have their hands and feet cut off on opposite sides, or to be banished from the land. That is a disgrace for them in this life, and in the life to come theirs will be a terrible punishment. 34 Except for those who repent before you overpower them. Know, then, that Allah is All-Forgiving, Merciful." (Majid Fakhry, An Interpretation of the Quran, New York: NYUP, 2000, 2004)

4:34 Husbands should take full care of their wives, with [the bounties] God has given to some more than others and with what they spend out of their own money. Righteous wives are devout and guard what God would have them guard in the husbands’ absence. If you fear high-handedness from your wives, remind them [of the teaching of God], then ignore them when you go to bed, then hit them. If they obey you, you have no right to act against them. God is most high and great. (Haleem)

Zealots who aggressively move against Jews and Christians--the "infidels"--act out this command from Sahih Muslim I, p. l7: "The Messenger of Allah commanded to fight against all people till they testify to the fact that there is no god but Allah, and believe in me (that) I am the Messenger (from the Lord) and in all that I have brought."

Surah 8:39 of the Quran states: "And fight them or until there is no more tumult or aggression. And there prevail justice and faith in Allah altogether and everywhere. But if they cease, verily Allah doth see all that they do."

Robert Spencer in Front Page Mag (via LGF) quotes Ayattollah Khomeini:
"I enjoy sex with 9 year olds, just like Muhammed."
and, more to the point of this discussion...
"Those who know nothing of Islam pretend that Islam counsels against war. Those [who say this] are witless. Islam says: Kill all the unbelievers just as they would kill you all! Does this mean that Muslims should sit back until they are devoured by [the unbelievers]? Islam says: Kill them, put them to the sword and scatter [their armies]". Islam says: Whatever good there is exists thanks to the sword and in the shadow of the sword! People cannot be made obedient except with the sword! The sword is the key to Paradise, which can be opened only for the Holy Warriors! There are hundreds of other [QurÂanic] psalms and Hadiths [sayings of the Prophet] urging Muslims to value war and to fight. Does all this mean that Islam is a religion that prevents men from waging war? I spit upon those foolish souls who make such a claim."

And quoted from this site, I reference:

Quran tells Muslims to kill the disbelievers wherever they find them (Q; 2:191), murder them and treat them harshly (Q; 9:123), slay them (Q; 9:5), fight with them, (Q; 8:65 ). It tells followers to humiliate the Christians and the Jews and impose on them a penalty tax (Q; 9:29). It takes away the freedom of belief from all humanity and tells clearly that no other religion except Islam is acceptable (Q;3:85) and relegates those who disbelieve in it to hell (Q;5:10), calls them najis (filthy, untouchable, impure) (Q;9:28) and orders the Muslims to fight the unbelievers until no other religion except Islam is left (Q;2:193). Quran states that the non-believers will go to hell and will drink boiling water (Q;14:17). It asks the Muslims to "slay or crucify or cut the hands and the feet of the unbelievers, and expel them from the land with disgrace and stresses that they shall have a great punishment in world hereafter" (Q;5:34). It says that for the disbelievers "garments of fire shall be cut and there shall be poured over their heads boiling water whereby whatever is in their bowels and skin shall be dissolved and they will be punished with hooked iron rods"(Q;22:19). Quran prohibits Muslims to befriend their own brothers and fathers if they are non-believers (Q;9:23), (Q;3:28). It asks the Muslims to "strive against the unbelievers with great endeavor" (Q;25:52) and "be stern with them because they belong to hell" (Q;66:9). The holy Prophet demanded his followers to "strike off the heads of the disbelievers"; then after making a "wide slaughter among them, carefully tie up the remaining captives" for ransom (Q;47:4).

As for the women the book of Allah says that they are inferior to men and if found disobedient their husbands have the right to scourge them (Q;4:34). But their punishment for disobeying their husbands does not end there, because after they die they will go to hell (Q;66:10). Quran emphasizes the superiority of men by confirming that men have an advantage over the women (Q;2:228). It not only denies the women's equal right to their inheritance (Q;4:11-12), it also regards them as imbeciles and decrees that their witness is not admissible in the court of law unless it is accompanied with the witness of a man (Q;2:282). This means that a woman who is raped cannot accuse her rapist unless she can produce a male witness. Muhammad allowed the Muslims to marry up to four wives (although he himself had a score of them) and gave them license to enjoy their "right-hand possessions" (women captured in wars) as many as they can capture or afford to buy (Q;4:3), even if she's married before being captured,(Q;4:24).

The man who called himself the holy Prophet and a "mercy of God for all beings" did just that. Javiryah, Rayhanah and Safiyah were beautiful young girls captured when he raided the tribes of Banu a1-Mustaliq , Qurayza and Nadir. The prophet slaughtered their husbands, fathers and loved ones and slept with them in the same day he captured them.

For more information, please reference:

This site

This site

This site

And read it yourself. Study the Quran. Seek information. Learn the truth. Let us, through educating ourselves, cease accepting that we are fighting a rogue enemy, operating outside of the boundaries of Islam. We are NOT. Islam clearly supports the exact nature of the attacks we are seeing emerge now with random frequency. These terrorists are unapologetically using one of the world's largest religions as their rallying cry. And there is substantial argument to support their understanding of the source material they use to jutfiy their actions.

We need to wake up.

Though millions of individual Muslim hearts and souls are peaceful, Islam is most decidedly not. I love my Muslim friends and deeply ache and pray for and seek with them. While we embrace and love our Muslim brothers and sisters as Christ loved us, we must also open our eyes, recognize the truth of Islam, and stand against the evil it preaches and promotes.

TRUTH reveals the true nature of our enemy and casts him out of the shadows and into the light.

Bridges of Hope

Much-Needed Honesty: Africa and AIDS
By Chuck Colson
July 7, 2005
BreakPoint

When the heads of the world's leading industrial nations, known as the G-8, meet this week, one of the subjects will be Africa. Even if sub-Saharan Africa gets the economic aid it is seeking from the West, it still faces a monumental AIDS crisis.

Besides killing millions of people, AIDS threatens to distort Africa's future in an almost unprecedented fashion. Because of AIDS, Africa's population now consists of a great many young people and a much smaller group of old people. What's missing, of course, are the people in the middle: the ones who raise children, care for their parents, and form the backbone of any good economy.

With this much at stake, it's time to get honest about AIDS.

An example of this much-needed honesty was a recent column by David Brooks in the New York Times. In it, Brooks wrote about his visit to Mozambique, a nation that has been devastated by HIV/AIDS. Among the places Brooks visited was a church that cares for the most heart-breaking victims of the epidemic: the orphans.

When asked about preventing AIDS, the pastor and parishioners initially spoke about condoms and "safe sex." Then, Brooks said, "they [slipped] out of the language of safety and into a different language": the language of faith. They told Brooks that it is "easier for those who have been touched by God to accept when a woman says no." This matters because, as Brooks writes, much of the AIDS crisis is driven by "predatory men who knowingly infect women by the score."

The wisdom regarding human nature that Brooks saw in "that church made of sticks," as he put it, is the key to preventing AIDS. The financial and technical assistance that the West can and should provide can only treat the disease. It can't prevent its spread.

The evidence is there for everyone to see: We've tried awareness, condom distribution, economic development, and much more. But the problem persists.

That's because the spread of AIDS is inevitably linked to the question of fallen human nature. Things like fear, weakness, and temptation do not respond to technical expertise or incentives. They only respond to "transcendent ideals and faiths" and the moral language they produce. As we've seen in places like Uganda, only when people regard faithfulness and chastity as normative will they stop engaging in the behaviors that spread HIV/AIDS.

Of course, you won't hear governmental and non-governmental officials saying any of this. In their estimation, Africa's problem is that it's too, well, African, and not enough like New York or London. Respect for tradition and belief in a transcendent ideal are things to be overcome, not embraced.

That's why Brooks came away from his trip "impressed by the level of medical expertise and depressed by the lack of moral, sociological, psychological and cultural expertise."

While I understand Brooks's "depression," his column had the opposite effect on me. It's so gratifying to see that someone like Brooks, an eminent columnist who is not a Christian, now understands why Christians have emphasized the moral dimension of the AIDS crisis: not because we're against sex, but because we're against suffering and death.

*end*
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

AMEN.

Without God, any tangible aid resulting from the G8 summit is akin to slapping a band aid on a dying cancer patient. Without God, the G8 summit accomplishes little more than a temporary feel-good respite from deep societal ills and screams of the African soul that CANNOT be remedied with the almighty dollar. No matter how many of them we throw at the problem, it persists. Because AIDS, suffering, death, hopelessness... are not concerns which can be healed without God as the primary ingredient in the prescription.

Without God, there is no meaning, no solution, no reason, no hope. All we do, een our best efforts, even our most well-intentioned collective attempts, will fall far short of crafing a soultion to the problems.

Without God, we fail ourselves, we fail Africa, we fail this generation and those to come.

Please join me in supporting the efforts of Bridges of Hope, working to heal the AIDS crisis from a Godly perspective in practical application, living and breathing the reality of Philipians 4:13 in sub-Saharan Africa.

Vitamins from the Lunatic Fringe

So, maybe Tom has a potentially valid point after all?

Or not. Whoops. Never mind. Forget what I said.
There is always the TRUTH of the utterly whacked cult of Scientology to contend with.

"When somebody enrols, consider he or she has joined up for the duration of the universe - never permit an `open-minded' approach ... If they enrolled, they're aboard, and if they're aboard they're here on the same terms as the rest of us - win or die in the attempt. Never let them be half minded about being Scientologists ... When Mrs. Pattycake comes to us to be taught, turn that wandering doubt in her eye into a fixed, dedicated glare .. The proper instruction attitude is `. . We'd rather have you dead than incapable. "' - L. Ron Hubbard, Keeping Scientology Working, 7 February 1965, reissued 27 August 1980.

Fruit of the poisoned tree suffers immovably from its' tainted source. Note to Tom.

Never mind my personal utter disgust at all that Scientology, the SEA ORG, Dianetics, Xenu, and the rest of the transparent but increasingly aggressive baloney-mongering. I am in a foul disposition over the audacity of this "religion" to assert as anything more than it is: pure tripe designed as a money-making endeavor from the drugged out, wasted mind of a fanciful science fiction devotee. Good grief, this stuff is nonsense from the lunatic fringe.

Forgive my grouchy tone. I must have forgotten to take my vitamins this morning.

An English Prayer

Senseless, shocking, horrific tragedy in London awakened us all this morning. In concert with all good people of the world, my heart hurts and weeps as though the loss were from within my own home. Because it is. Notwithstanding the intimate relationship of our two great nations, every death, every maimed life, every family who is so unexpectedly catapulted into mourning today is one of our own. An innocent life. A brother, sister, friend, parent, child.

We are one people sharing one hope, one humanity, one Lord, one planet. This is not only an English tragedy. This is a tragedy for all mankind. This barbary was inflicted upon all of us. I add my voice to the ringing condemnation of such actions against us and mourn the lives lost to such rancid, agendized evil.

We stand beside the noble people of England in the wake of these events and share your encompassing anger and painful sadness. We must not permit our world to be defined by the destructive actions of cowards and malcontents. May we sucessfully hunt them down and send them to God's ultimate justice where His wrath can be poured out upon them. May our harmonious endeavors, mutual love, and imovable resolve achieve for our children a far less dangerous world. Where innocent life is preserved and protected, not targeted for extinction.

To each and every good and innocent citizen of England, my heart and prayers and those of my nation, extend. May God Bless you and keep you right now and always.

Amen.

"Porky-Pine"

Some days, I wish I could freeze time and enjoy the moments just awhile longer. Today, I'd wish it just to be able to forever relish my 4-year old LaLa's sweetly high-pitched rendition of the word "Porcupine".

Jiggle

I have been a self-confessed exercise slacker over the last month. However, based on that fact that I am now noticing my rear end actually entering the room a fair bit after the rest of me, it is becoming increasingly appropriate to revisit my hiatus and anchor myself back into Pilates-land.

Not that I don't like Pilates. I absolutely love it and my body responds almost instantly to the DVD going into the machine ~ in almost Pavlovian fashion. But I go through these little rebellions about twice a year. I've learned that they are always short-lived, but do generally involve sour candy straws, Snickers Bars, and a stepped up relationship with the ever-fabulous Dr. Pepper. They are always enjoyable while they last, as it is not the fall that hurts us...it is the impact at the end of the fall.

Typically, these "rebellions" last about 5 gained pounds or one month, whichever occurs first. Then, I admit the error of my ways and embrace discipline again. Right about the time I begin receiving mail addressed to "Lachen's Thighs".

Yeah, that's always a good motivator.

Ill-fitting sheep costumes

This mornings' news reveals the wolf's nose ominously sticking out from under the sheep's clothing for yet another bunch of 'Christians'.

My soul aches. Why are we increasingly so anxious to reconcile God's truth and conform our faith to the clanging society which rejects the Lord we love? Homosexuality is a sin. Just as lying, murder, blasphemy, adultery are also sins. We are ALL of us guilty of sin and undeserving of our Lord's love and grace. We must not revel in sin. We must not allow God's gift of marriage to be polluted by sin while we stand by congratulating ourselves for being so open-minded in our "courageous declaration of freedom".

Freedom to sin is granted to each one of us by God. We can do any old thing we want to do with our lives. But to repackage sin as Christianity is to reject Christ's TRUTH in favor of our own failings. Christ died for our sins, not so that we could revel in them like banshees. Rather, that we could accept the gift and embrace his blamelessness by denying ourselves and picking up HIS cross, not declaring our brand of sin the ultimate barometer of truth. Rampant post-modern theological advent coupled with intense outside political, social, and ecumenical conformity pressure is giving birth to a new generation of wolves in sheep's' clothing. Like wild wolves, this trend seeks to destroy what is pure within the church itself, in the name of God, and under the guise of Christianity. The favor and acceptance of our peers is apparently more important to us than the eternal quest for righteousness at the foot of the cross.

God's truth remains. It is only our response to it which is so tragically modifying itself.

His word is truth and His truth does not bend to our wills. When the church takes it upon ourselves to try to "hedge" what is true for what is easier to live with, we compromise Gods' righteousness for our own flawed version. And thus, our souls take a sharp detour from the narrow path leading to heaven's gates to the widely traveled alternative, headed for destinations unknown.

An American Birthday

Happy Birthday to our beloved nation.

People, really. A conglomerate of people. Joined together towards the end of creating a more perfect union of us all. While we also live our lives in parallel and in mostly harmonious blending with one another. We manage, on the whole to live free, unhindered from God's purpose for our souls on this earth. And to survive and prosper. As people of a purpose.

As for me, this years' American birthday celebration was a relaxed event. My annual 4th of July cake was not as memorable as last years', which tasted better but looked so bad it was lovingly dubbed it the 'ghetto cake' due to an unfortunate aerosol icing mishap. Although my poor cake looked lie it had been tagged (albeit patrioticly) by neighborhood miscreants, it was still truly delicious if you could manage to eat it with your eyes closed. Ah well - next year I am aiming for the wicked combination of looks AND personality. Sooner or later, I will come up with a spot-on fabulous cake that does this fabulous holiday justice. I am open to all suggestions which do NOT involve the use of any color decorating products that come from a can.

We sang Happy Birthday to America. We bar-be-que'd with friends and family. We swam. We enjoyed too much food and listened to the booming and screaming sounds of bold law-breakers, as their illegal fireworks were set off nearby in brazen displays of the American independent spirit (or the inherent sin nature of man, you choose). We laughed and took pictures and wrote notes about what freedom we are most personally thankful for, saved carefully for the scrapbook. We watched portions of movies. And we enjoyed one another, thankful for our nation and ample reason to celebrate it today.

Fireworks have been a much missed Independence Day phenomenon for me lately. The in-person experience of these defining celebratory displays have eluded me for two years because Joyboy is still too young and in bed far too early to be able to attend our sweetly small-town annual show yet. But next year will end this short dry spell as Joyboy is introduced to the magic of pyrotechnics and Mom rejoins the ranks of the exuberant neighbors in the high school stadium, joyfully reveling in loud explosions of colorful patriotism.

As I waitied for Copper and LaLa and most of the other the neighborhood families to return home from tonight's fireworks show, I found myself reflecting on today from a place of deep hope and resonant gratitude.

I am thankful for this nation. For us. For the people who comprise America ~ past and present. I am sad for our troubles and internal strife and division. But so glad for the freedom to voice those struggles and to seek together to find the best possible solution. I am grateful for my freedom to love and worship God with my family and my church, and to live my life largely unhindered from the agenda of unaccountable entities.

I am grateful for all those on the front lines, here and abroad, who know the truth of the sacrifices needed to protect our freedoms. And our lives. And our nation. God bless you all and may He see you home to us safely.

Above all, I am hopeful. I see in my children's lives, hearts, and minds the promise of tomorrow and I am inspired and grateful. I am hopeful that as we raise and love and cherish each new generation ~ as we train up our children in the way that they should go and equip them with the internal structure and moral compas to be a beacon for our nation in tough times ahead ~ we thus collectively propel ourselves forward with pure intentions toward the goal of becoming a more perfect nation. Under God, with liberty and justice for all.

May our future generations honor the past, learn from the mistakes of the present, and with abiding love and integrity carve out an ever-refined future of American freedom and liberty for many more birthdays to come.

My God continue to bless our nation and people. Happy Independence Day.

first things first...

"To know even one life has breathed easier because you lived, this is to have succeeded." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

For me, this first day of this freshly arrived July, like each first of each month over the past four years, begins with a prayer for the children who are at critical risk to abortion. Right now. Those whose lives hang in the balance at this very moment.

I began this prayer after the birth of my daughter, as a way of honoring the Lord who blessed me with her tiny, miraculous life to shepherd but for a brief time. And through whom, all things are possible, no heart is unreachable, and no miracle is unattainable.

I believe there is no limit to what God can achieve, and that prayer is the most powerful mechanism for manifesting His divinity in the lives and world around us. And in our own hearts, always in need of refinement and humility, the desire to view each other through Christ's eyes.

Tonight I kneel and pray for each pregnant mother who today faces this question and is considering the abortion 'option' in her soul. I pray that God will equip her with the courage, moral conviction, raw love, and unyielding support she needs to be able to place the preciousness of the innocent life growing within her ahead of the personal obstacles that threaten to convince her to stop her BABY'S beating heart. I pray for changed hearts and saved lives.

Finally, I pray for those precious babies already lost. The Lord knows each of them by name.

I lift my voice in hope that my life, my words, my heart may intercede on behalf of the meekest among us whose lives hang in the balance. I pray for changed hearts and saved lives. I pray for the mothers. I pray for the babies. I pray for life and against death. I pray for miracles. And I believe in a God who answers our prayers.

So I pray.

Join me.