I found my motto!

Okay, so I've been shocking even myself with how much I've been blogging lately. Maybe I'm expanding my communication skills. Or maybe I'm on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Since my verge keeps getting swung past my rim absolutely, who could tell one way or the other?

Anyway, all of that to say that I heard my motto on TV today. It was so profoundly me, I scrambled for pen and paper in order to write it down while I still remembered it. The irony is that I never watch the show I'm quoting. Had I not been here in range of Armed Forces Network broadcasting, I might never have heard this. You can't tell me there's any such thing as coincidence. ;o)

So here it is:

Ray: You know that little part of your brain that doesn't think things all the way through before you say something?
Robert: That's not the little part of *your* brain.

~Everybody Loves Raymond

Friends and neighborinos, is that me or what??!?!??!?!?!!!!????!

*big grin*

once more, cheese badly goes

I thought that I struck something in mine blog to amuse myself just. I did not know how about that what to write, I decided to join to the request from Weakly and some things by this big translator in http: // www.online-translator.com/ to lead.

Apparently, nobody’s blogging a lot recently, like I note that mine has begun blog to suffer from this discomfort about which have already complained Weakly and Amy; since, the lack of remarks. Or commentors. Or annotators. Or such a thing. However, I have not come to the point completely to offer the kind of the bribe which Amy on hers blog offered whose challenge I submitted myself shamelessly. (Just so know, I write only like this to impress the on-line translator.) And why do I not offer a bribe in the way, did Amy act? Because I am decayed. They want that I write a post, that would require me to *think* really??? ;o)

I am in the house of my parents at this moment. Like normal people my parents observe and read the news. And because I am here, I also observe it. And this reminds me, why I do not observe in general the news. I bend often to too much cynicism anyhow, and I suppose the whole negative stuff in the news - and that on television generally! - would serve only to make my opinion worse.

Me reminds that I have one more positive list to write, to make up for the list of negatives in December. Maybe morning. ;o)


Translation into something we can all comprehend:

I thought I’d post something in my blog just to amuse myself. I didn’t know what to write about, so I decided to accede to Matt’s request and run a few things through that great translator at http://www.online-translator.com/.

Apparently, no one’s been blogging much lately, as I notice that my blog has begun suffering from that ailment of which Matt and Amy have already complained; namely, the lack of comments. Or commentors. Or commentators. Or whatever. However, I haven’t quite gotten to the point of offering the sort of bribe that Amy offered on her blog, to the challenge of which I shamelessly subjected myself. (Just so you know, I’m only writing like this to impress the online translator.) And why do I not offer a bribe the way Amy did? Because I’m lazy. You want me to write a post that would actually require me to *think*??? ;o)

I’m at my parents’ house right now. Like normal humans, my parents watch and read the news. And since I’m here, I watch it, too. And this reminds me why I generally don’t watch the news. I often tend toward too much cynicism anyway, and I suspect that all the negative stuff in the news--and on TV in general!--would serve only to worsen my attitude.

Which reminds me that I still have a “positives” list to write, to make up for the list of “negatives” in December. Maybe tomorrow. ;o)

(P.S. Matt, I’m really sorry that the translator translated your name as “weakly.” I promise you the most veralid promise I know, I had nothing to do with the translation!)

Debunking Darwinism

I just found this fascinating quote in Lee Strobel’s latest book, The Case for a Creator. This is great stuff! I highly recommend this book to everyone. I'm only through the first three chapters, and I'm already wishing I'd had this info at my fingertips countless times in the past. It's one thing to know, as a Christian, that Darwinism makes no sense...but it's a completely different ball game to be able to explain to people WHY. This book provides the academic tools for the task.

Anyway, the quote:

“My conclusion is that the case for Darwinian evolution is bankrupt…The evidence for Darwinism is not only grossly inadequate, it’s systematically distorted. I’m convinced that sometime in the not-too-distant future—I don’t know, maybe twenty or thirty years from now—people will look back in amazement and say, ‘How could anyone have believed this?’ Darwinism is merely materialistic philosophy masquerading as science, and people are recognizing it for what it is.

“…I believe science is pointing strongly toward design. To me, as a scientist, the development of an embryo cries out, ‘Design!’ The Cambrian explosion—the sudden appearance of complex life, with no evidence for ancestors—is more consistent with design than evolution. Homology, in my opinion, is more compatible with design. The origin of life certainly cries out for a designer. None of these things make as much sense from a Darwinian perspective as they do from a design perspective.

"…(O)ne of the main functions of Darwinian theory is to try to make design unnecessary. …So showing that the arguments for evolution are weak certainly opens the door to design.

“And then…when you analyze all of the most current affirmative evidence from cosmology, physics, astronomy, biology, and so forth—well, I think you’ll discover that the positive case for an intelligent designer becomes absolutely compelling.”

--Jonathan Wells, PHD, PHD
Senior Fellow with the Discovery Institute’s Center for Science and Culture, Seattle, WA
in Lee Strobel’s The Case for a Creator

Someday, our children will learn these things in schools. You know…TRUTH.

You're Not Wanted

Today, I ran across the following quote in Lee Strobel’s The Case for a Creator. Strobel writes about late evolutionary biologist George Gaylord Simpson, who said Darwinism teaches that “man is the result of a purposeless and natural process that did not have him in mind” (Simpson, The Meaning of Evolution, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1967, p. 345).

In conversations and discussions, people often ask me the rhetorical question of what is wrong with today’s society. They don’t expect me to give them an answer, of course—they’re only thinking out loud. But these questions plague them. Why are people so rude to each other? Why are people so impatient with each other? Why are people generally so angry? Why do school shootings happen? What ever happened to common courtesy?

Just two weeks ago in nearby Zwickau, a married father of two was on his way to a job interview. He was dressed properly, in a suit and tie, ready to live his role as a good citizen of society. On the morning before his afternoon interview, he stopped his car on the street, got out, grabbed a six-year-old girl walking by, shoved her into the trunk of his car, and drove away. A witness got the license plate number of his car and phoned the police. An hour-and-a-half later, the police arrested the man. During that hour-and-a-half, the man raped the six-year-old girl and slit her throat.

Well, if society tells him that he’s only a highly evolved animal, and the girl is only a highly evolved animal, then why shouldn’t he rape and kill her? Animals don’t treat each other with kindness and compassion. The stronger kill the weaker all the time. Why should humans behave any differently?

When I consider these things, I think it’s no wonder that there’s something fundamentally rotten about today’s society.

Then I consider the quote from Simpson. Over my admittedly short lifetime, I’ve had contact with several people who grew up knowing that their parents didn’t want them. These individuals knew that they were “accidents.” They knew that they didn’t come into this world by anyone’s plan. Some of them knew that their parents were actively trying to prevent their conception. Can you imagine being a child and hearing your parents tell you that they didn’t want you? The two people in the world who should want you the most…and they tell you that you weren’t part of their plans at all. When they envisioned the rest of their lives, you weren’t in the picture.

What does that knowledge do to a child? It creates a lack of self-worth. It creates anger. It creates hate. If the two people in the world who should love you the most don’t love you, then why in all the universe should you love yourself? Why shouldn’t you treat yourself with as much contempt and disregard as you can muster? Why shouldn’t you lash out with anger and violence against everyone around you? (By the way, to parents out there: Even if you never wanted your children, don’t ever tell them that. There’s little you could do to them that would be more psychologically abusive.)

After all, you were just an accident. Something horrible that was never meant to be, which draws the revolted stares of the morbidly curious.

Humankind has evolved into such a child. Darwinism informed us that we were categorically unplanned, undesigned, and unwanted. Simpson interprets Darwinism to say that unfeeling natural processes did not have us in mind. We were not part of a plan; we are not part of anything greater than ourselves. We are nothing but an accident that was never meant to be.

Is it any wonder, then, that our race has no self-worth? Is it any wonder that more and more frequently and intensively, our race lashes out against itself with anger and violence and hatred? If we believe that we are nothing more than accidental animals, why shouldn’t we treat each other with as much contempt and disregard as we can muster?

People ask the rhetorical “Why?”
I answer with a rhetorical “Why not?” If Darwinism is fact, then why not?

Thank God for God, that it is not so.

It burns me to ash...

One of my favorite verses that Marion recently reminded me of, and I want to share it here:

If I say, "I will not mention him, or speak any more in his name," there is in my heart as it were a burning fire shut up in my bones, and I am weary with holding it in, and I cannot.

~Jeremiah 20:9

More fun with the translator!

Okay, so I found a new toy. I promise, I won't break it by playing with it too much. ;o)

So anyway, if you run this:

Ignorance is bliss. Knowledge is power. Power corrupts. Cheese corrupts. Therefore, knowledge is cheese.

several times through that online translator I mentioned in my last post,
you get this:

The lack of the experience is a bliss. Knowledge is power. Runs down goes. Cheese badly goes. Therefore, knowledge is cheese.

Modern technology totally rocks my world!

(Modern technology completely swings my verge!)
(Modern technology dangles my edge absolutely!)
(Modern technology allows to my rim to hang absolutely!)

...What???

Dream #74

Also, ich dachte, ich würd euch meinen neusten Traum schildern, und zwar auf Deutsch. Die englische Übersetzung findet ihr unten. Ich habe meinen Text durch die Übersetzungs-Maschine (heißt das so?) http://www.online-translator.com/ geschickt, die Leenda gefunden hat. Ich denke, die Übersetzung wird euch was zum Lachen geben!

Traum #74
10. Mai 2005

Ich Lasse Mir Die Lippe Piercen

Vergangene Nacht hab ich geträumt, ich hätte mir die Lippe gepierced. Das Piercing war in der Mitte meiner Unterlippe. Es war ein kleiner, silberner Ring, mit dem ich immer mit der Zunge spielte. Ich habe Ed das Piercing gezeigt, und er fand es echt sexy. Dann bin ich plötzlich (immernoch im Traum!) aufgewacht und merkte, daß ich gar kein Piercing hatte. Aber meine Unterlippe kribbelte, as sollte dort irgendwas sein. Ich hab’s Ed erzählt, der dann meinte „Jetzt willst du dir wohl die Lippe piercen lassen, oder?“ Ich sagte ja, also gingen wir ins Piercing-Studio, und ich ließ mir die Unterlippe piercen—wieder in der Mitte, und wieder dieser kleine Silberring. Und ich hab wieder mit der Zunge damit gespielt, und Ed meinte, es wäre echt sexy. Dann war der Traum zuende.

Als ich wirklich aufgewacht bin, hat meine Lippe wieder so komisch gekribbelt, genau wie im Traum! Diesmal, als ich Ed davon erzählte, hat er nur amüsiert gen Himmel geschaut und gemeint, ein Ring in meiner Unterlippe wäre keine besonders gute Idee. Soviel zum Thema sexy Piercings!

Translation:

Thus, I thought, I would describe my newest dream, namely in German to you. You find English translation below. I have my text by the translation-machine (is called thus?) http://www.online-translator.com/ skillful, which has found Leenda. I think, the translation will give to you what to the laughter!

Dream #74
10th May, 2005-05-18

I Leaves Me The Lip Piercen

The last night I have dreamed, I would have to me the lip gepierced. The Piercing was in the middle of my lower lip. It was a small, silver ring with which I played always with the tongue. I have shown the Piercing to Ed, and he found it really sexy.

Then I am sudden (immernoch in the dream!) woken and noticed that I had no Piercing. But my lower lip prickled, should be as there something. I have told it to Ed, that meant then " Now you probably want to allow to the lip piercen, or? " I said yes, thus we went to the Piercing studio, and I let myself the lower lip piercen—again in the middle, and again this small silver ring. And I have played again with the tongue with it, and Ed meant, it would be really sexy. Then was the dream catches fire.

When I have really woken, my lip has prickled again so funnily, exactly how in the dream! This time when I told Ed about it, he has looked only amused heavenward and has meant, a ring in my lower lip would be no especially good idea. So much on the subject sexily Piercings!

more communication

FYI, friends and neighborinos, I have updated my blog with my latest witty responses to comments. So if you've left a comment since February, my response is now posted beneath it.

In other news, it seems some of my recent posts have irritated or outright angered some people. Well, that happens. I never promised you a rose garden. Not that I desire controversy, not that I want to come across as an angry, hostile person...but I won't apologize for truth, either.

I welcome all corrections from anyone and everyone. If God's word is the foundation of your opinions, then I'll post a retraction of whatever I've written that irks you. ;o)

Hugs and fried locusts to all!

Ripley

June 22, 2002 - April 15, 2005

Also known as:

Ripleycat, Ripley Anne, Brat Cat, Miss Priss, Miss Brat, Baby, Babycat, The Kitty, She, Ripplecat, Psycho Cat, Crazy Kitty, Queen of Sheba, Sweet-Kitty-Good-Kitty-Fine-Kitty, Kampfkatze, and Biting Cat.

As Ed put it, “She lived randomly, and she died randomly.” She was one of the weirdest friends I’ve ever had, but also one of the best.

More Fun Quotes

Just something for your reading pleasure. Larry gave me these, so I thought I'd translate them into English and share them here:

"Ministers really have it hard. As in the past, they still have to fight against sin today. But they no longer remember what falls under that category."
--Author Unknown

"If you think you're a Christian just because you attend a church, then you're kidding yourself. You don't become a car simply because you walked into the garage, either."
--Author Unknown

"The church is often like a house that has been renovated too often. It would be good to remove some of the old paint in order to find out what was originally beneath it."
--Author Unknown

"During religion class, the teacher asks the student, 'What happens if you break one of the Ten Commandments?' The student thinks for awhile, then answers slowly, 'Then there will be only nine left...'"
--Author Unknown

"What the church cannot prevent, that it blesses."
--Karl Tucholsky, 1890-1935

"Science without religion is lame. Religion without science is blind."
--Albert Einstein, 1879-1955

"The time has come," the walrus said, "to talk of other things..."

“…of shoes and ships and sealing wax, of cabbages, and kings…”

…and popes.

I was going to refrain from commenting about the Catholic Pope’s demise…however, since the media are all in a frenzy about it, and I am in the middle of a church history course, I suppose I’ll deign to express some thoughts on the matter. ;o)

Okay. So, in my previous post, I told y’all about the church history course, for which I spent a week in Bremen. The details of that terrific week are too many for me to give now—suffice it to say that I enjoyed it immensely, I learned a lot, and I’m still trying to process all the information that Jim gave us. After I returned to Chemnitz, I promptly got sick again and have spent the past few weeks recovering and trying to get back into a schedule of sorts, so that’s why I haven’t blogged recently.

And now, the whole world is talking about nothing so much as the death of Pope John Paul II and who his successor will be. It seems that most people have expressed shock that he actually passed away, as though his dying was completely unexpected.

Friends, I have news for you. He was always going to die. How do I know? Well, he was human.

Now, before I go any further in what will probably be a diatribe, let me assure you that I don’t mean to attack John Paul personally. Many years ago, I read a biographical article on him, describing his thoughts and actions when he was first elected (named? commissioned? the correct terminology escapes me) Pope. What I read in that article caused me to have respect for the man, as he seemed to be a genuinely kind, caring, and generous individual. My opinion of him in this respect has not changed. Furthermore, I saw him in person (from a distance!) in Rome several years ago, and his frailty—coupled with the weight of his man-made responsibilities—caused me to pity him. He carried a burden no individual human was designed to bear.

Which, of course, is the crux of the matter. The heart of the problem. I hope some of you have steel in your boots, ‘cause I’m about to stomp all over your toes.

After learning what I have about church history, 33-500 A.D., I can say with absolute certainty that the Catholic Church really screwed up. I won’t give you a history lesson on it, but what basically happened is this: Christians started listening to human teaching instead of focusing on the word of God. They ignored II. Timothy (which describes the leadership of the church) and passages such as Ephesians 4 and Colossians 1, which describe Christ as the head of the church. In the 4th century, Emperor Constantine had the brilliant idea of making Christianity required by law. Of course, when you have an emperor running things, you gotta have plenty of pomp and circumstance. And with pomp and extra ritual comes the necessity of someone special to maintain the ritual, hence, you gotta have specially ordained priests and so forth. Never mind that I. Peter 2 describes *all* Christians as a priesthood.

Meaning, if you’re a Christian, you’re a priest. I’m a priest. You, if you’re a Christian, are priest. We’re all priests together. No more clergy vs. laiety. God did away with that when he gave us Jesus as our ONLY high priest (see Hebrews).

Anyway, back to the happy people of the first few centuries. When they started calling all these Rome-connected churches the “Catholic Church,” they had some great unity all right. You know what “catholic” means? It means “universal.” Basically, it means that instead of diversity, you’ve got lots of little churches that are carbon copies of the big one in Rome. Instead of individuals’ taking responsibility for their own salvation, you’ve got a bunch of people listening to priests and bishops interpreting scripture for them, while the people themselves don’t have a clue what the scriptures actually say.

And heading it all is the Pope, also known as “pontifex maximus.” This is a Latin term meaning “greatest bridgebuilder.” According to Catholic theology, the Pope is the bridgebuilder between humanity and God. He’s it. He’s the summit. He’s the one we should all be following, because he’s our only link to God.

There’s nothing I can say to this. Someone else said it better than I ever could:

“I am the way, and the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” Jesus spoke those words. They’re recorded in John 14:6.

The writer of Hebrews says of Jesus: “The Lord has sworn and will not change his mind, 'You are a priest forever.' This makes Jesus the guarantor of a better covenant. The former priests were many in number, because they were prevented by death from continuing in office, but he holds his priesthood permanently, because he continues forever. Consequently, he is able to save to the uttermost those who draw near to God through him, since he always lives to make intercession for them. For it was indeed fitting that we should have such a high priest, holy, innocent, unstained, separated from sinners, and exalted above the heavens” (Hebrews 7:22-26).

The Catholic Pope is in no way qualified to be a bridge between me and God. Why? Because he is sinful. Yes! The Catholic Pope is just as much a sinner as you and I and any other human who walks this earth! He is sinful, he is stained, he is not separated from sinners, and he is not exalted above the heavens. He is prevented by death from continuing in office—this fact was obviated by John Paul’s death less than two weeks ago. THE POPE IS ONLY A MAN. Imperfect and impure, unqualified to be a high priest for anybody. “…(T)here is no distinction: for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:22-23). This includes every archbishop, every bishop, archdeacon, deacon, priest, preacher, teacher, every so-called “saint”…and every Pope.

According to the passages of scripture quoted above, only Jesus Christ is qualified to build a bridge between me and God. Only Jesus is qualified to intercede for me. Because he is the only one who is perfect, unstained, eternal.

As a side note, the Papal title “pontifex maximus” has interesting origins. History tells us that this title belonged to the Roman Emperors, who were considered the “high priests” of the Roman state cult. You know, the cult that worshiped the pantheon of gods, including Jupiter, Mercury, Mars, Diana, etc. As “pontifex maximus,” the Roman Emperor functioned as the high priest and bridge between his subjects and the gods. So, “pontifex maximus” was a pagan and political title. Eventually, thanks to Constantine’s gifting the head of the Roman church with so much power, the Popes took that title for themselves. It’s no accident that the pagan and political title “pontifex maximus” is nowhere to be found in the Bible. And neither is the title “benedictus papa” or “Pope.” “Papa” is Latin for “father.”

Jesus said, “And call no man your father on earth, for you have one Father, who is in heaven” (Matthew 23:9).

As I hear of the media frenzy over the Pope’s death, and as I read online that thousands have already visited John Paul’s tomb to pay homage to this sinful human, I can only shake my head in disgust and sadness. This is not what God intended! This is a perversion, a mix of politics, pagan beliefs, twisted scripture, and wishful thinking.

Today, I read in a Yahoo! news article that many people visiting John Paul II’s tomb believe that he is a “saint.” They are praying to him and asking him to perform miracles in their lives. If it weren’t so sad, I would laugh at how ridiculous this is. Why aren’t they praying to Jesus, as the above-mentioned scriptures command? John Paul II was a great activist for human rights and morality, but he was not holy. He didn’t sacrifice his life to save the world. He didn’t function as the bridge between God and one single human. He didn’t do anything to deserve all this attention. Frankly, he’s just not worth all the fuss.

In closing, allow me to pose the following. Think about it carefully, and try to answer yourself honestly.

If Jesus, the homeless, penniless, dusty, dirty, ugly, unpopular, simple carpenter walked into the Vatican today, would he be welcomed? Would he fit into the grandeur of the Catholic cathedrals? Would he fit into the splendor of the church buildings “Christian” religions like to build today?

Thousands of people are honoring the Pope’s grave, and they are praying to the Pope. Would so many thousands of people turn out to honor Jesus Christ?

I think we all know the answer to that.

Another Away Message

Dearest Friends and Neighbo(u)rs and Occasional Lurkers!

Well, it’s that time of year again, when a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of cleaning cars and slinging a baseball across a field….

Oh— …Wait a sec….. Wrong season. It’s still winter. And wrong gender, considering the fact that I’m female.

Okay, so, I’m writing this to let you all know that I’ll be without Internet access from tomorrow until next Saturday. Tomorrow, after worship service, I’m taking a train to Bremen, a city in northern Germany. Jim and Elsa Springer, who’ve worked with the church in Bremen for about thirty years, offer a Christian leadership training program in German, with one class in the spring and one in the fall. Ed and I took their introductory course last fall, and I’m now taking one of the advanced courses.

Every spring course is different; this year’s happens to be Church History of the First Five-Hundred Years. The class officially started two weeks ago, and we students have been working on assignments at home. During the coming week in Bremen, we’ll have class with Jim eight hours per day (probably about four hours on Saturday). It’s called an “intensive week.” Hmm, I wonder why. ;o) I’ll return back to Chemnitz on the train next Saturday evening.

So far, the at-home assignments have been challenging. For one thing, I’d planned to get a head-start on the reading (a 350-page church history book); on the 50-word glossary we have to compile; and the leadership interview we have to do. But when I was sick for two weeks in February, my brain just wasn’t functioning well enough to do anything intellectual. Thus, I’ve spent the last two weeks frantically trying to catch up, and I’m still not finished. Hopefully, I’ll be able to complete my glossary on the train tomorrow, provided reading-while-moving doesn’t make me sick at my stomach.

For those of you who are the praying type, I’d appreciate your prayers—not just while I’m in Bremen, but also for the duration of the course. Please pray for my health, which is a near-constant trial to me, and for my clarity of thought, so that I can make the most of this opportunity to learn. Over the last few years, I’ve discovered that I enjoy and covet the challenge of being a student, and I’d like to be able to learn this new material well enough that I can use it to help teach more people about Jesus and the truths in God’s Word.

See you on the other side of the week!

seasonal peculiarities

*deepthoughts by Courtney*

So, it's about one o'clock in the morning here in Chemnitz. That's 1:00 a.m., in case the previous wasn't clear enough.

I looked out the window a couple of minutes ago. It's 1:00 a.m., it's snowing, and a man just skied past our apartment building outside.

A man just skied past our apartment building outside.

Am I the only one who's weirded out by this?

*/deepthoughts by Courtney*

Flap your wings....see what happens.

Finally, after much wait and debate, I have found / made an opportunity to watch the movie “The Butterfly Effect.” Ed and I just finished watching it a few minutes ago, and I know it’s going to take me awhile to process all of my impressions. One initial thought is that I’m glad Ed and I watched this without anyone else present. There were some sex scenes in there that I sure wouldn’t want to watch in mixed company. Call me prudish if you will, but it just would have been weird. Plus, the language definitely made me wish we owned one of those TV-G (TV-Guardian?) devices, the things that bleep out whichever words you program into it.

However, I’m not trying to write an epistle on the rightness or wrongness of Christians’ watching R-rated movies. That’s a topic for another post, another day.

What I’m really trying to do is sort out my thoughts. The movie was pretty much what I expected—unfortunately, the previews give away most of the plot and the concept. (By the way, if you haven’t seen the movie but plan to see it, don’t keep reading. I’ll spoil it for you.) However, it still delivered quite a lot of food for thought.

Just to recap: Guy has blackouts as a kid; as an adult, figures out how to project himself into the past and change bad things that happened to him during those blackouts; ends up doing more damage than good; keeps going back over and over to try to fix things, but just ruins friends’ lives and his own life in the process; finally realizes that the only way to set everything right is to shut out of his life the one person who means the most to him.

So…of course, the question is: Could you ever change something for the better if you went back and altered something in the past?

We all have regrets, don’t we? I don’t think I know one person who has no regrets. I know at least one person who claims not to have any regrets. But that person has also told me of things in his life he wishes hadn’t happened, and that sounds like regret to me. Each of us has done and said things we wish we could take back.

But if you could take it back….what would it be?

What would I change? It’s hard to say, because I know that who I am and where I am today are a direct result of everything that I have done and said in the past. Were I to change something, it would be with the knowledge that I would be changing my present and my future as well. And that’s a frightening thought, because I can think back on a few choices that might have led me down different paths had I chosen differently—and some of those paths aren’t very pretty.

I’ve been sitting here, sifting through memories, wondering which one of them would be worth changing. Instead of a fistfight, a kind word to a younger kid when I was eleven? Instead of ignorance, giving a definitive answer for my faith when I was eighteen? Instead of passivity, a decisive “no” when I was twenty? Instead of criticism, a word of support to a friend when I was twenty-seven?

And my answer must remain: I don’t know. I don’t know if any of those incidents, altered, would be enough to change my life or another’s. Either for better or for worse. In the film, the main character made his life and his friends’ lives worse every time he went back and changed something. Each small alteration led all of them down a different, darker path than they would have walked had he left the past alone. Though he meant well, he entered a horrid, vicious circle that spiraled him and his friends down into despair and evil and madness. And the only thing that brought them out of it was his willingness to give up the love of the one person he loved the most. Hm. Somehow, loving sacrifice always ends up being the saving grace of every flawed hero.

Changing my past would make me a different person. And if I were a different person, I would have a different effect on those around me. Who knows what negative influence my smallest actions might have if I were a different person? Who knows what negative influence I have even now, without knowing it? Certainly, a change in the past might result in a better present Me, a better future Me…

…but then again, it might not. What are the chances that a change would turn out better? I’m no math whiz, but I’m guessing the odds are not particularly good.

God knew what he was doing when he gave us humans a linear, finite sense of time and the inability to move freely along the timeline. He knew what a mess of our lives and each other’s lives we would make if we could change our pasts. He knew that no matter how much we tried, we could never set right the things we’ve done wrong in the past. I’m grateful that he doesn’t expect us to.

Can the flap of a single butterfly’s wing cause a typhoon? One action you take, one word that you say, always leads to a reaction in someone else. You might never know about it…but that’s your influence on those around you. And your smallest action, your most insignificant word, could turn into something monstrous or something wonderful in someone else’s future. Your smallest good deed could turn into an heroic act of kindness by someone else somewhere continents away and years down the line. Conversely, your smallest meanness could turn into an atrocity by someone else, far away, far in the future. Either way, you’ll never know about it.

Either way, we’re all part of each other—all of us humans, who are butterflies causing typhoons.

If you could go back and change something…would you?

Church Couture

(Sorry, y’all, this is gonna be a long one. Watch—see what I’m doing? ….I’m draggin’ out a big ol’ soapbox. Hang on to your hats, kids.)

There comes a time in almost every woman’s life when she feels the driving need to confess. (Actually, if you ask Robert Heinlein, *every* woman has that need *all* of the time, but I think Heinlein, though an excellent and very enjoyable science fiction writer, was a macho, chauvinistic, over-sexed pig, so we won’t pay any attention to his opinion. If you want me to digress on *my* opinion of *him*, please ask. I’ll do so.)

Anyway…the need to confess. Ladies and gents, I’ve got it. And, so, I am going to confess. Brace yourselves.

…...

I wore jeans to worship this morning.

Breathe, people. Please. You’re turning purple.

Okay, all joking aside. Why am I being so silly about this? Why the sarcasm? Well, according to communication experts, sarcasm is merely a tool used by people who are passive-aggressive in their communications with others. When they are upset or angry about something, they don’t display their anger openly and clearly. Instead, they needle the issue in a roundabout, manipulative sort of manner. Sarcasm is their way of addressing the problem without having to stand up strongly for their opinions and without having to take responsibility for their own anger.

So, I’m gonna drop the sarcasm. I’m upset. I’m angry.

I’m angry at those who would turn worship to God into a social event. I’m angry at those who use gimmicks—whether it’s in the seating, in the lighting, in the “order of worship” (and where in the world did *that* holy phrase come from, anyway?), in the technology, in the shape of the auditorium, in the clothing, in the decoration, in the song books, in the cool new Bible translation, just in the fact of constructing a building—gimmicks to enhance the worship artificially. I’m angry at those who turn worship to God into a staged event, something the audience can enjoy and admire and leave, feeling “pumped.”

This has been building up in me for a long time.

Right now, let’s put aside my anger about lighting, “order,” décor, etc. That’s all news for a future post. Perhaps, from my first outrageous remark, you have already deduced that tonight, my anger is directed at the so-called “clothing issue.”

Most Sunday mornings, I wear a skirt. Sometimes knee-length, sometimes ankle-length. I’ve given up wearing high heels because, let’s face it, in Chemnitz, it’s too cold. I get sick often enough already. So my black boots suffice. On rare occasions, when I’m feeling particularly classy, I might wear my black slacks. With the boots. A nice shirt or blouse to go with skirt or slacks, some jewelry here and there, and voilá, I’m fancy.

But what for?

Though I haven’t taken down any statistics—no head counts or anything—I would guesstimate that maybe a third of the Chemnitz church “dresses up” for Sunday morning worship. Skirts, slacks, ties, suits. Shiny shoes. What does the rest do? Take a wild guess. Yes. Jeans. Sometimes, not even “nice” ones. Ragged ones. With holes. And they’re low-rise, too.

And the thing is, nobody cares.

They’re not there for a fashion show. They’re not there to advertise their new clothes. They’re not there to look at one another and think, “Hmm…should she be wearing that? Couldn’t he have pressed those pants? What’s with the frayed pant legs?”

David danced naked. Now, I’m not advocating that we turn the church into a nudist colony. But Moses worshiped God barefoot. Philip taught a Bible study out in the desert—and you know he wasn’t wearing his Sunday best. Think dirt and hot sun and sweat. Peter was a fisherman, and though I don’t know much about the culture of Jewish fishermen in the first century, I seriously doubt he owned any item of clothing we would call “nice.” And Jesus wasn’t wearing a tie during his last supper with his apostles.

Recently, I was present for a “Bible class” in which the topic of clothing came up. I put “Bible class” in quotation marks, because that phrase would indicate that a study of the Bible was taking place. But—and I say this with no sarcasm—it wasn’t a Bible study so much as an exchange of opinions based on anything but scripture.

I won’t tell you who the people were, what city they were in, or even what country. It doesn’t matter. These kinds of attitudes are prevalent in societies throughout the world…and if you can find it in the world, you can find it in the church.

This “Bible class” carried the title “A Biblical Study on the Subject of Worship.” The study focused on Jesus’s conversation with the Samaritan woman at the well in John 4. The leader of the study pointed out that the Samaritan woman was focusing on the physical water, whereas Jesus was trying to show her the value of spiritual water. She was concerned with the place of worship (on a mountain vs. Jerusalem’s temple), but Jesus was trying to show her that true worship of God includes the attitudes of the heart, as well. In every aspect, her focus was on the physical, while he emphasized the spiritual.

I won’t digress with a point-by-point rendition of the class. But I was following along, agreeing with what was said, taking notes, looking up scriptures, when the discussion on worship took a turn that I just couldn’t believe. Long story short (yeah, right), the individual leading the study made the statement that people who “wear jeans and T-shirts to church” are not showing proper reverence for God.

I was floored. Flummoxed. Flabbergasted. (Yes, that’s a real word. And here’s the passive-aggressiveness coming out again.) People began speaking up all over the room, voicing their shock that their fellow Christians could be so disrespectful, so irreverent, so uncaring. Now, don’t get me wrong: the issue was not modesty. No, I don’t think mini-skirts and spaghetti straps and other major skin-baring items are appropriate for worship—some clothes are designed for catching attention, and a Christian should think twice before donning such. But modesty wasn’t the issue. Appearance was the issue.

Their point was, anything other than “Sunday-morning-best” just looks bad, and God doesn’t like it.

Well, I’d had about all I could take and was getting antsy, so I raised my hand. I tried to be diplomatic, I really did. I asked Ed later, and he said I kept my cool. But at the time, I wasn’t sure how cool I kept. Anyway, I made some remark about how interesting it is that culture varies from church to church, and I explained about the various styles of dress in the Chemnitz church. I finished with, “Many Christians there wear nothing but jeans and casual shirts, and their worship is no less reverent than ours is here today.”

The leader didn’t miss a beat. Without saying it outright, he communicated to me that I was wrong and that my thoughts on the matter were not welcome. I noted that during the rest of the class, he prefaced several statements about clothing with, “Well, I know the scriptures don’t say anything about this, but…”

Since when is it acceptable for a Christian to form ANY sort of opinion that’s doesn’t have its roots in the word and will of God?

I didn’t say any more. I grumbled and fussed to myself and wrote furiously for a few minutes. I wondered what this group of Christians would say to the African woman who, wearing the single, ragged garment she owns, walks four hours just to reach the church “hut” and then breast-feeds her baby during the sermon. You think I’m kidding. I’m not.

And I wondered what they would say to the couple sitting three rows up from me: The two of them were dressed in jeans and casual shirts. Wonder what those two thought?

If the focus is so trained on clothing, then what are “nice” clothes but a gimmick to enhance the worship service artificially and turn it into a social event?

Some of you, reading this, will think that I am being judgmental of that Bible study group. Perhaps I’m a little too angry. Perhaps I’m a little too vocal about it. But in return, I would ask… If I choose to be angry (and yes, I believe anger is always a choice)—then shouldn’t false teaching be something I choose to be angry at? And if someone is teaching that God cares about skirts and slacks and button-down shirts…doesn’t that qualify as false teaching?

I remember one particular point the leader of that study made. He said (and I paraphrase), “If Jesus were sitting in a chair on the stage behind me, you would want to look your absolute best. You’d bring out the best of everything for him, and you’d want to look as good as you possibly could.”

I’m sorry, friends, but that is false teaching.

What would our reactions be if Jesus were physically present during our worship? As for me, various ideas come to mind. Most of them involve cold sweat and weak knees and crumpling into a sobbing heap on the floor. Honestly, my clothing would be the last thing on my mind.

And would Jesus ask me why I’m wearing jeans? No. He spoke to the Samaritan woman about living, spiritual water. He wasn’t interested in the appearance of her clothes; he was probing the condition of her poor, sinful heart.

She focused on the bucket and the H2O. The physical. “Clothing” would fit nicely into that category. Jesus focused on the living, spiritual water that he wanted to send flowing through her soul.

I’m not on this soapbox because I think I’m better than those Christians I disagreed with. No, I’m no better. I sin, so I’m no better. But I say these things because I choose to be angry about and speak out against false teaching. And because I’m concerned about false teaching in God’s church.

This morning, while I worshiped God with my fellow disciples, I wore jeans. I really don’t believe that God cared.

“…[W]e look not to the things that are seen but to the things that are unseen. For the things that are seen are transient, but the things that are unseen are eternal.”

-- II Corinthians 4: 18

communication

Well, friends and neighbors, I'm gonna attempt the heretofore unattempted--by me, anyway. Yes, indeed, in an effort to be more communicative, I'm going to go through my entire blog and answer all comments.

So, here I go, donning my pith helmet and strapping on my machete, ready to plunge into the dense undergrowth of the jungle known as Commentland. Be ye warned.

Later:

Well, I lost my trusty pith helmet somewhere along September, and the machete just broke right in half when I tackled mid-August, but......I made it! I have emerged on the other side of the jungle, victorious over The Daunting Task of Answering All Comments! I made it! I'm finished! Whoo-yah!

So, what does this mean for you, Dear Reader? It means that if you've ever commented on any of my blog posts, you can now turn back, face the jungle yourself, traverse the gnarled vines of blog-posts, brave the leech-infested pools of links and words and punctuation marks, and eventually arrive at Your Comment, where you will find My Reply In All Its Weird And Witty Glory.

And now, I bid thee all good evening. All this jungle-hacking and polite chit-chat has worn me out. ;o) Fare thee well!

Dream #70

Pythonpeople

recorded October 2, 2004

Last night, I dreamed that I was someone other than myself. I had been dating a guy who did a circus act with a green python. I think the python’s name was Cleo or something like that. My relationship with Cleo’s owner was about to end, because I had realized that I wasn’t really attracted to him at all, neither by his personality nor his physical appearance. He just wasn’t a nice person at all—for instance, I knew that he often partially starved Cleo, just to keep the snake aggressive so he would be more interesting for the circus act.

I went to the guy’s apartment building with the intention of breaking up with him and telling him he was no longer welcome in my life. When I opened the apartment door, I knew something was wrong. Furniture was overturned, glass was broken, the whole apartment was just in disarray. I stepped through the debris and headed for the livingroom, already sure of what I would find there. When I went in, what I saw confirmed my suspicions: There was my former boyfriend, sitting in his recliner, dead. Obviously squeezed to death.

I looked for Cleo and finally found him in his cage. Just a glance told me that he had grown considerably larger since I’d last seen him, and he was shedding his skin. Somehow, just squeezing his owner to death had given him nourishment enough to grow. I was afraid of how large he would become once he consumed his owner, which I knew he would do soon.

Before I could even think about being shocked or horrified or revolted, something even weirder began to happen: Cleo began to transform into something else. At first, I couldn’t tell what was happening—it seemed like the space around the snake became blurry, and I couldn’t look at it. Then, when details sharpened again, the snake was gone, and a man stood there in his place.

I couldn’t really determine what he looked like, but even so, he was very attractive and somehow seductive. He beckoned to me, and I found that I moved forward almost against my will. He was drawing me forward, toward him, and I couldn’t resist. And didn’t want to.

I suppose I would’ve walked right into his arms and let him squeeze me to death, but I tripped over something on the floor and broke eye contact with the strange pythonman. No eye contact, no spell, and I started backing away from him in a panic. I ran out of the apartment, and he came after me. He couldn’t move very fast, though: Because he changed from snake to man before completely shedding his skin, his skin was somehow still attached to his dead owner like a rope that bound the pythonman’s feet. While he was still struggling with the rope of skin and the dead weight of his former owner, I fled to the stairs.

Once outside the apartment, I realized my problem was more dire than I had thought: I not only had Cleo to contend with, but also Cleo’s mate. Apparently, circus man had purchased a female python without telling me, and she had undergone the same mysterious transformation that Cleo had. She came after me in the form of a woman, while Cleo changed back into a snake in order to complete his molting.

Somehow, it ended up with Cleo slithering up the stairs in human form, and his mate doing the same from the top of the stairs, with me in the middle. I vaulted the stair railing and made it out of the building, but the two of them were close behind me: first the female, then Cleo bringing up the rear of the chase. I ran through the streets, dodging people and traffic, but I wasn’t able to leave the two of them behind. I was starting to slow down, and I couldn’t breathe. I knew they were about to catch me.

I rounded a corner and saw a policeman halfway down the block. In a final burst of speed, I reached him and gasped out, “He’s after her, and he won’t leave her alone!” Then I kept running. When I looked back, the policeman had stopped Cleo and the female, since he thought the two of them were involved in some kind of domestic dispute. I knew this had bought me only a little time, so I kept going. Eventually, I reached a different part of town and slowed to a walk, safe for the moment but aware that I needed to find a good hiding place. Then the dream ended.

I give up

Well, I've tried to post something here three times in the last hour. Either through Blogger's inteptitude or mine, all three posts have managed to disappear before I could hit the "publish" button. Apparantly, I'm not meant to post any of my own thoughts in my own blog today. So I give up. I surrender. Cardinal sin, according to "Galaxy Quest," but I don't care. I've had enough, I tell you! ;o)

So here's a nice poem instead. Enjoy.

Warning

When I am an old woman I shall wear purple
With a red hat which doesn't go, and doesn't suit me.
And I shall spend my pension on brandy and summer gloves
And satin sandals, and say we've no money for butter.

I shall sit down on the pavement when I'm tired
And gobble up samples in shops and press alarm bells
And run my stick along the public railings
And make up for the sobriety of my youth.
I shall go out in my slippers in the rain
And pick flowers in other people's gardens
And learn to spit.

You can wear terrible shirts and grow more fat
And eat three pounds of sausages at a go
Or only bread and pickle for a week
And hoard pens and pencils and beermats and things in boxes.

But now we must have clothes that keep us dry
And pay our rent and not swear in the street
And set a good example for the children.
We must have friends to dinner and read the papers.

But maybe I ought to practice a little now?
So people who know me are not too shocked and surprised
When suddenly I am old, and start to wear purple.

Jenny Joseph

Reverse Reverse Reverse Culture Shock

Okay, so, as most of you know, Ed and I are in Oklahoma right now. And, as expected, I have been experiencing some weird culture shock moments:

The other day I was in Wal-Mart, and all I wanted to buy was a bottle of nail hardener for my fingernails. Doesn't sound all too complicated, right? Wrong-o, buddy! So, I'm standing there, looking at the nail polish section, and they have about three billion different kinds of nail hardener. Okay, so it wasn't three billion. Maybe more like twelve. Not twelve billion. Just twelve. And I'm thinking, "Who needs twelve different kinds of nail hardener? Why are there so many? Why can't there be just one? How long will I be standing here, staring at bottles of nail polish, while eternity approaches?" (Not "Eternity" the perfume, although I wouldn't have complained. I love that stuff!)

Yeah, so, back to nail hardener. They've got one kind with sea water minerals, one with acrylic, one with nylon, and one that says "Hard as Diamonds," and I don't know if that means it's got pulverized diamonds in it or what. So I stand there for a few minutes with my mouth hanging open, sweating buckets in my long, black coat designed for Chemnitz winter weather (and yeah, it's 20 degrees Celcius today, in JANUARY!!!), wondering how in the world I'm supposed to make a choice. I finally grabbed two bottles--the sea minerals and the acrylic, I believe--and harangued the girl stocking shelves into helping me pick one. She'd never used either one of them, but she recommended the acrylic. So I bought both. Go figure.

Okay, so I didn't harangue the shelf stock girl. I asked politely. I just wanted an excuse to use the word 'harangue.'

The most recent moment of shock came yesterday, when Ed's thirteen-year-old nephew Wes walked into the house. And yes, he was carrying a dead rabbit by its back feet. He'd just shot it himself, with a 12-gauge shotgun. Its little rabbit head was just wobbling back and forth on its little dead rabbit neck. Then Wes skinned it and cleaned it and stuck it in the refrigerator. I explained to Wes that I am a city girl, and that was probably the closest I've ever come to a freshly killed rabbit before. He grinned.

That raft in the middle of the Atlantic is looking pretty good right now. ;o)

a few things that tick me off

My wacky, inadequately functioning immune system. For my reasoning on this, see previous blog entry. ;o) [The smiley is to show you that I’m making *this* post in good humor, not in anger or bitterness.]

Snow is currently falling in Chemnitz but refusing to stick to the ground.

Undisciplined children. Actually, the parents of undisciplined children.

I ran out of vanilla flavoring today, so I can’t finish baking the last three batches of chocolate chip cookies I wanted to make this weekend.

The exchange rate from dollars to euros. It’s getting worse.

A friend in Texas seems to be mad at me but doesn’t have the guts to tell me upfront. Instead, I get ignored. This is both unfair to me and insulting.

The last batch of cookies I baked today got slightly scorched. The kitchen and I are grudging friends, at best.

I don’t want to admit how much time has passed since my last personal Bible study time.

“Religious Christmas songs” sung only at Christmastime. I guess I’m a stickler for being happy year-round that Jesus was born. ;o)

Otherwise excellent science fiction stories ruined by superfluous sex.

My white sugar addiction.

Email money-making scam forwards. And that’s all one noun phrase!

I can’t seem to rid my houseplants of gnats. On the bright side, though, they keep Ripley entertained.

Reactionary people who believe everything they read and attack before thinking. And without warning. And I’m talking about your “next-door neighbor,” not global terrorists.

Humans dislike coming right out and saying what they want. If you want me to do something, listen to you, shut up, hold forth, laugh, be serious, or make like a tree and get out of there, please tell me. Don’t make me guess, and don’t expect me to read your mind. My telepathy hasn’t developed that far yet. (But I’m working on it. See blog entry on August 8, 2004: “Telepathy; Or, Love: How Far Are You Willing To Go?”)

The nail of my left big toe is ingrown and hurts.

Our white curtains are no longer white and need washing, but I don’t really have time to do it. I guess I could do it now, while I’m sick, but… blech. :oP

I can’t find the “Peanuts” (Charlie Brown) comic strip where Linus counts up how many partridges in pear trees through twelve drummers drumming the guy actually gives the girl in the whole song.

I can’t decide what I really think of stem cell research.

Ripley won’t stop attacking Ed’s feet.

I’m gonna have to compile a list of positives to make up for this one. ;o)