Faithful in Past and Future

Today is the last day of 2012. That's a crazy thought.

Where were you twelve months ago? Isn't that an interesting thought to ponder? And I don't mean physically only, of course. Emotionally, spiritually, in your relationships, in your thoughts...where were you?

It's amazing how quickly we forget. Things that I thought at the time I'd never forget are now like a dream in the morning-as it hovers in the back of your mind, you can almost recall it, but not quite.

The past year has been full, it seems, with lots of change. I suppose that's always true, and perhaps every year it seems more true than before-again, how quickly we forget. I wonder how many times I have remarked, "That seems like a really long time ago," about something that happened this year. Things as close as September seem long ago. Hey, things as close as the beginning of this month...

Which makes written records fun and interesting.

Perhaps a few of you have read my blog and realized I am quoting myself. The first line actually originally read "Today is the last day of 2011."

Quoting yourself, or hearing others quote you, is an odd experience. It has happened a few times to me this year. It's quite interesting and rather strange.

But that has nothing to do with this post.

Like I said last year, it's remarkable how quickly we forget. I could write the exact same thing I wrote last year and it would be true. Which makes written records fun and interesting.

And challenging. I began this year, and other times throughout the year-indeed, last year as well-with so many good intentions. Yet I failed so much. It is disheartening, yet a happy thought to know that the only way I have changed or endured in any good thing has been the power of Christ overruling my natural tendency to revert to lazy indulgence, selfish self-love, forgetful ignorance.

This has been a year of growth, a year of many new experiences, both very good and very difficult, a year of new and deepening relationships. From simple growing up things like driving a few times, getting a bank account, taking the ACT; to Something to Smile About, to college, to the beginning of the answering of my prayers last year for a deeper love for the Lord, though I have begun to realize how unworthy I am, I have found the Lord faithful. I have been blessed in too many things to name in friendships, finances, schooling, family, possessions, wisdom, opportunities.

So many things I am beginning to understand that never quite made sense before. Things that adults say I begin to understand for myself.

I don't like it when people say generic things like that when you know they have something specific in mind, so I shall elaborate. That is one of the things I have come to understand better: having things that you don't really want to share all of the details. So often I wish people would just say it, because I am curious-I am a Beerbower after all, and I want to know. But having been on the other side, I understand better. Sometimes you want to say it, but it really is wiser not to.

Which relates to another thing I've begun understand. I see myself doing the same things that annoyed me in adults, things that confused me, like why someone would bother to swim for just a few minutes, or prefer watching the running around to joining in, not wanting to even get up from his seat. Things like not having enough time to write an email, even though few people take as long as I do, disliking the snow, or wanting to drive in it, or finding preparing for something a big deal. Many things, like church functions or having people over or taking pictures or getting presents, take a lot more work than you realize until you really see the behind the scenes and consider them.

I have found myself questioning. Questioning what I believe, and why. Questioning what I do, and why I do it. It has been a good experience, for questions are the way you learn. I have been challenged to believe things, not because that is what those around me have believed, or because I have reasoned it out, but because the Word of God says it.

It has been especially sweet this year to see the answering of prayers. As I struggled with certain things, I felt discouraged, and then I realized: God was answering my prayers.

I struggled with frustration over my sinfulness. Suddenly, I remembered last year, asking for a greater desire for holiness, a stronger hatred for sin, and a deeper love for the Lord. He was honoring those prayers!

I struggled with difficulties in friendships and drama, which was difficult because I could not remember having done that before. Yet God uses perseverance through difficulties to give us wisdom, something I have asked the Lord for many times.

I had struggled with my grandfather's death, and, though loss surprises us even after we thought it has gone so that I will probably have to deal with it again, He brought resolution and peace to my mind.

Last year I asked God to bless me with a mentor. This year, I have benefited from the wisdom and friendship of many older girls-and even some younger than I, yet whose fellowship and example have encouraged and challenged me. The blessing of God's people is amazing.

Considering the year ahead, I am excited to see how God will work.  He has given me the desire for wisdom and holiness, for joy and satisfaction, to be useful and encouraging, to bring Him glory, and though I cannot obtain those things on my own, He promises that those who ask receive, and those who seek find. Though I know that my idea of how it will go may be very different than what actually happens, and that many times I will fail in the visions I now have for the walk ahead of me, I smile at the future, knowing that God is faithful.

Things I love about Christmas

I love Christmas. There are many ways and many reasons. It starts long before Christmas, usually around October when we start playing Christmas songs. I love thinking of presents to give people and secretly securing or making them, though I did less of that this year. I love Christmas songs playing at stores and as we clean or whatever around the house. Within a week before Christmas, I don't like hearing any other songs. I love Christmas concerts and Christmas specials. I love caroling and Christmas parties. I love shopping and finding perfect gifts, even when I didn't have much idea. I love wrapping gifts, devising good disguises for easily-guessed presents. I love making Christmas cards, though I haven't done many the past few years.

All leading up to Christmas...

I love Christmas Eve almost as much as Christmas Day. What other day can you find four people secretly wrapping gifts at the same time? Well, that doesn't usually happen at our house either, but for some reason almost all of us left the wrapping until then. Maybe it's because we had a crazy, fun Christmas Adam (see last year's Christmas post if you don't know what that means-you know, Adam came before Eve) and on Christmas Adam Eve we celebrated Melody's birthday.

"Can I borrow the tape for a minute?"
"Are there any more sissors?"
"Got any scraps?"
"I'll have some after I wrap this."
"May I use your pens?"
 "GET OUT!"
"I'll get it. You can't go in there."
"What happened to Mom's present?"
"Did you take that marker?"
"Do you have Grandma's present?"

 I love the evening especially. Our first Christmas Eve service was enjoyable, and taking pictures was fun.

I was asked to take pictures for two families. Scarily, my battery died as I took pictures of the candlelight singing. I had forgotten it was almost dead, and as I had let my friend Parker borrow my extra battery on Sunday and forgotten to return it to my bag, I didn't have an extra. Thankfully, I had my battery charger in my bag, and a couple minutes of charging gave me plenty of time to take some precious photos.

This family has 27 grandkids, all twelve and under. It is also the first photo they have had as a group since there were 10 grandkids. Isn't that awesome? What a beautiful family.

Then I also got to take another family picture, all in red. They looked lovely, though I didn't do as well as I had hoped with them.

Kristen had taken a"wreath" of holly to wear, which was pretty cute. Melody pointed this out to me;  Mrs. Bayly was talking to Kristen as she stood beside her wheelchair. It was adorable.

I love Christmas Eve night. Playing games, commenting on the snow or lack of it, discussing what we'll have for breakfast, setting out the kids' presents and making initial comments, secreting things into stockings, heading to bed.

I love Christmas morning before presents.

Hurrying down as soon as you wake. Discussing who got up first. Finding the presents miraculously multiplied, the stockings filled to the brim (except for Mom's).
 

Listening to Glad playing in the background. Sneaking presents that have been forgotten in from the car. Wondering if we should wake Mom up.

"This is a ton of presents."
"Your stocking is stuffed this year."
"Is Deanna up?"
"Wanna play a game?"
"Is the bread rising?"
"I got up at three."
"Why did you wake me up?"

And then there's the inventory of the presents.

"Oh, here's my scrapbook paper!"
"I wonder what this is...there's coins in this side and something shakes on the other."
"Who is this for? I can't find a name."
"I wasn't feeling very creative. Eric got jipped on his fancy present."
"I know what this is!"
"Hm...this is like a cd disguised with some sort of ring thingie."
"I wonder what book you got Eric!"

Though we joked about just sticking our presents under the tree without wrapping them, this inventory is one of our most enjoyable parts of Christmas presents. Every year Dad decorates a present for each one of us. Melody's is the only one I seem to have gotten a clear picture of us. You can also see mine hidden behind the couch beside it. He wasn't feeling creative this year, though. Eric got a reuse from last year.

For breakfast, Melody made cinnamon bread like we did last year. It is simpler than cinnamon rolls and SO delicious. We also had leftover cranberry bread.

I love praying and reading the Christmas story before presents. Kristen wanted to pray as usual. She started out normally for her. "Thank You what we could open presents." (Like Paul before her, she has this odd habit of using what rather than that.) Then, "...and thank You what it's not about presents but it's about Jesus. Amen."

It was absolutely adorable.

Then Dad prayed and read the Christmas story. We have a book that puts some of the prophesies of Jesus, the story of His birth, the shepherds, and the wisemen, all together in one place which Dad has used the past few years.

I love opening presents. I love getting to see people's reactions to presents I've been waiting to give them.

Deanna seemed to like the headband I got her. At least she wore it all day.

Eric was excited about his hat. He wore it most of the day and called Grandma when he realized he'd left it at Aunt T's.

  

Amy liked her cover. How could you not? It's soft and warm!

Timothy actually did the magic sets that had been passed around for a couple years, so I got him another.

Our calendar wasn't unexpected, but oh well. It was still nice.

If you're having trouble making that out, the caption for October is, Insanity runs in my family. It practically gallops.

Kristen loved her glow in the dark constellations as I thought she would.

We had some (no fancy colors and just simple stars and dots, though) when we were about her age, perhaps a bit older. Some of them  are still stuck above my bed and Melody's, and Kristen has asked me about them in that inquiring sort of manner kids have that lets you know they're a bit jealous.

She told Dad they were her favorite present, because they were in her hands when he asked her, and even slept with some of them.

Melody liked her hat too. So did I; I almost didn't give it to her. ;-) It was the only hat of that type at Saver's and exactly what I wanted. It fit her perfectly, and she wore it all day too. And no, I wasn't trying to get everyone head gear. It just sort of turned out that way.

We finally got to show Dad our picture, and he liked it. We aluminyzed it, which means it was printed on aluminum. 

I love understanding finally why people acted the way they did.

For example, Deanna was wrapping my gift which she was excited about. Then she said, "I'm not excited about your present any more." I wanted desperately to know why, but she obviously wouldn't say why. It was a strange sort of present, like a CD shape but with some large ring thing. I kept asking someone to hand me Deanna's, but they didn't see it until near the end of opening presents. When I opened it, it was a headband she had tried to return but couldn't and a note on a CD. She had been giving me Keith and Kristyn Getty's Christmas CD, and apparently when she was going to wrap it, she went to put some music on...and found that CD, which I got for Christmas last year. So she's going to exchange it for another one.

I love Kristen's reactions.

When she saw me put my headband on, she put hers on. If you think the front is interesting, you should have seen the back...

We made her wait to open this one for last. She was patient, but judging by her look, she really wanted to open it.

It was a doll, and she was very excited.

There is much more that could be said, but we shall move on.

I love the goofiness and fun. Paul opened a cool pop-up book, and Dad tried to tell him he was starting in the back, even though that would have made the words upside down...

This is spelled wrong on purpose.

The idea was that it would be thought for the Beerbower girls, when it was really for the Beerbower grill. It was a new grill cover. But we didn't realize it at first, because 99% of the time, something in our family isn't really what the box says.

Speaking of boxes...Deanna opened a generic box and revealed some orange and black cords. "Why did I get this?" she asked.

It was a legitimate concern, considering that there were a number of mislabeled (or one unlabeled...) presents.

"Because you need one," Dad said.

"Oh!" she said. "I thought it was an extension cord!" Meanwhile, Eric had been thinking he needed some jumper cables for his car. Eric opened some later. Dad had taken Deanna's out of the box so they wouldn't know they got the same thing.

I also liked my presents. They decided as they sometimes do that they should take a picture of me, even though my hair was looking odd.

A few of my favorite presents: the snuggie above, in awesome blue tie-dye, the yarn I'm holding to make a scarf, the skirts I picked out at Saver's, the scrapbook paper I picked out at Hobby Lobby, and were given to Melody (we share anyway), tights, especially gray ones, some shirts, my beaded headband, though it made my head sore, a five-subject notebook from Eric for school...and I may just end up listing everything now. Yellow nerds...pens...

I love Christmas after presents. There's the going over of presents, cleaning up (or, in my case, a nap), and then crazy loading up and heading to Aunt T's. Then it's fun stuff: eating-not real eating, but snacking on sloppy joe, Grandma's crackers and dip, scotcheroos, frosting-and then finally eating-ham, corn, seven-up salad, marshmallow stuff in addition to the above-games, talking, more snacking, pumpkin pie, laughing, going to the park, singing (and bellowing and dancing) along with Grandma on the piano, giving Grandma presents.

As always, I neglected to take pictures. Sometimes, I'm too tired, and I've started to realize why people are so thankful when I take pictures. It really does take time and energy, and you do miss things. I never quite understood before, because I enjoy it and didn't feel like it was a sacrifice. At any rate, I rarely feel like taking pictures at Aunt T's.

It's late and dark by the time we take Grandma down to her house and head home. We go into the cold house, looking like after Christmas-sort of empty living room, with presents in piles upstairs and stuff on the stairs, and stuff from Aunt T's soon stuck in the kitchen. Tired from a long day, we go to bed.

We celebrated Christmas Post (see last year's Christmas post) today with another thing I love, Les Miserables, the movie musical. Christmas Post is a sort of fun day, a recover from Christmas, a slow unwind on the good years like this one, crazy cleaning up while you don't feel like doing anything on others.


Christmas is over. Christmas day, that is.

But Christmas continues with Dad's side of the family and Christmas music and probably a few random presents that were forgotten or didn't come yet. It's not really over until January.

Which is good by me, 'cause I love Christmas.

Glimpses by Jeannette

Despite there already being fifty-six posts here, this is the first post on my "new" blog. Jeannette's Blog has morphed into this, and so I decided to take the opportunity to do what I have wanted to from the beginning: name my blog. I'm still not sure that's what I want to call it, but at least it's more interesting than Jeannette's Blog.

A few years ago, someone asked me what I wanted to do. I forget what exactly I said; probably that I wasn't good enough, but I would enjoy being a photographer. "What are you going to name your business?" he asked.

I didn't know. I'd never thought about it.

"Why not? You should have a name for it."

I have thought about it since then. I know what I want, but I don't know how to say it.

Photography is, for me, a record, a way of remembering the way things were. I think that is why, when deleting, there is an optimum time for me: long enough away that I don't remember little things that happened that make me want to keep a picture, yet not far enough away that people look vastly different and, especially in the case of babies, it feels like deleting history.

It is a way of remembering the way things were, but it is also a way of noticing the way things are. Things that otherwise would be overlooked. Taking notice of the beauty of the little things-which I have done as I do my photo of the day, since many days I haven't taken a picture before evening, so I have been forced to enjoy little things about the house. Though I don't usually succeed, if you get close enough or have the right light, anything's interesting.

I love taking pictures of people, especially kids. I enjoy nature as well, but there's something about people. And photography is good for appreciating people. Noticing the gorgeous eyes my little sister has, preserving that cute little Curious George smile my little brother is sure to lose at some point, causing my friend to give me that look of annoyed amusement.

I knew the feeling I wanted my title to convey. The idea of capturing in nature-and by this I mean the natural world, human beings included-a vision of glory. In the eyes of a child, in a group of kids, in a stuffed stocking (Christmas is on my mind, I guess), in a sun-bathed cat, even in a random object on the armoir, seeing a glimpse of God. His creativity, majesty, beauty, order, superfluous kindness. Finding the joy of photography to be because it is a way of showing God.

But what name would convey that? I can't quite explain it, so how could I capture that in one little phrase? Maybe I would just call it Jeannette's Photography. Or Photography by Jeannette, if I feel like switching it up.

I brainstormed. Vision...something with vision? Nah, too...something. Glimpses? Maybe. I considered things like Glimpses by Jeannette, dismissed them, went all the way around a couple blocks, and returned.

Glimpses was about what I wanted, but I wasn't sure how to even explain what I wanted. In a Wink? What I meant was that time is precious, and photographs help us to see that. In a Flash? Nice pun, but no. Just Jeannette's Tiny Glimpses?

I tried designing little logos, which is a fun thing to do. Later I tried playing around with a watermark for fun.

 

I enjoyed trying it out on different pictures.

In the end, I began to think of it as Just a Glimpse Photography. That, or Tiny Glimpses. It's not official, and it is subject to change. But it sort of gets at what I mean.


And as for my blog, it's the same sort of idea. It's glimpses of the heavenly in the earthly, as seen by me. Or maybe more often just a glimpse into my thoughts. I don't know if anyone else finds that interesting, but I always find it an interesting thing to think of. Which is why I like writing things like this, for I realize things I didn't really know I thought.

Some time ago, in an attempt to describe what I meant, and because it's one of the sort of things that is fun to write, I wrote something like what I might have on an about page. I couldn't think of any more puns to put in it, unfortunately.

Tiny Glimpses developed from the shutter-happy fingers of Jeannette Beerbower. Her propensity for snapping away has been pushing the buttons of family and friends since the first digital family camera she got her hands on in her preteen years. As she progressed from family photographer, her love for photography grew. It is her desire to use her photography to glorify God by focusing on, enjoying, exposing, and recording the oft unobserved and quickly forgotten blessings of beauty He gives us in the world and people around us before they flash by.

Happiness

Happiness is many things.

Happiness is a wonderful warm fire with homemade hot chocolate that almost burns your tongue and a soft, fluffy blanket. Actually, most anything is happier with a soft, fluffy blanket.

Happiness is holding a sleeping baby.

Happiness is being surprised by seeing a friend you didn't expect to see.

Happiness is cranberry bread, herb bread, homemade bread, and just about any kind of bread, especially hot bread.

Happiness is hearing Christmas music and the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen.

Happiness is finding out someone is going to have a baby.

Happiness is the feeling you get when you sit quietly back at a family gathering and observe the cheerful conversations and interactions.

Happiness is getting a present ready in time for Christmas that you didn't think you would.

Happiness is Christmas: Christmas lights, Christmas music, Christmas presents, Christmas smells, Christmas cookies, Christmas caroling, Christmas concerts, Christmas cards, Christmas songs, Christmas stories, Christmas ornaments, Christmas services.

Happiness is having a little kid want you even when his mother comes.

Happiness is singing a song you love that you haven't sung in a long time.

Happiness is expecting to have leftovers and finding your sister made something hot and delicious.

Happiness is giving someone something you have worked hard over and seeing their pleasure upon receiving it.

Happiness is nearing the end of an enjoyable and successful semester.

Happiness is getting a surprise letter or email.

Happiness is completing writing you were inspired to do and are satisfied with.

Happiness is finding someone commented on your blog.

Happiness is many things. I could go on, but you get the idea. This is happiness. It is not joy, which is not reliant on outward circumstances and can be had in very difficult times, as it is reliant on a right relationship with God. But God is gracious and gives us many lesser reasons for contentment.

As you may have guessed, I have a particular reason for writing this.

Happiness for me now is after thinking my blog was ended, finding it may continue.

Yes, due to the wonderful word, "export," I am beginning my blog anew. This is, probably, the last post I will put here, but Jeannette's Blog will continue in another spot, and A Photo a Day will as well, with nothing lost. Not the posts or the pictures or the comments or even, to my delight, the time they were posted. The only thing lost is the statistics, which will not even be lost completely, as I can still look at my old blog.

And exporting my blog does not put the pictures in my new space. And there's good news for all of you: knowing that my space is limited, and not desiring to be destined to starting a new blog (or getting a new email) on a yearly basis, I shall attempt to limit the photos I share on my not-quite new new blog. We'll see how it goes.

So, from now on until I fill up my space again, my blog is this: http://jbeerbowersblog.blogspot.com.
And my photo-a-day blog is this: http://jeannettesphotoaday.blogspot.com.

I am happy.

Pictures

Pictures.

You love them, or you hate them.

Very few attain neutrality, for it is only possible if you avoid them altogether (which is very difficult to do in our visual society), for if you do not love them, you will be annoyed by them. Even if you do. Maybe especially.

Pictures and I have a love-hate relationship. (I usually do not like it when people use that phrase. But that's okay. I'm using it anyway.) Obviously I love taking pictures, looking at pictures, manipulating pictures, some editing of pictures, and scrapbooking pictures. As far as I can think, other than that, I hate dealing with pictures.

You see, pictures are technology, and as you may know, as I have mentioned before, we don't get along. I mean, we also have a love-hate relationship. That is, I love to have technology (camera and lenses I have been wanting...) but it hates working for me.

That actually doesn't quite related to why I wrote this post, nor is it even really true. Give me a break. I wrote it last night when I was really tired and not feeling very well and recently saddened. (Yes, even that line I wrote last night. And this one.) Of course, I would have written the exact same thing even if I weren't tired and sick and saddened, but hey, it makes a good excuse. Kind of like my opinion of how giving kids sugar makes them hyper and being slaphappy. Kids would have been hyper anyway, and Beerbowers don't get slaphappy. We just allow ourselves to be unguardedly goofy in certain situations, which usually happen at night, when you're normally more tired, but it is not uncontrollable thinking that everything is funny.

Although, I actually wouldn't have written the exact same thing if I weren't saddened, for that is the topic of this post.

(You may be surprised to find there is a reason I am writing this. You may not be surprised that it is out of silly frustration, thus the rambling. However, like I explained before, that is just an excuse. Really, I just chose to write it this way because it was fun.)

So perhaps you're wondering what in the world could have prompted such a post. Well, there's news. Whether it's good or bad news depends on your view. As you may have guessed by words such as "saddened" and "frustrated", my opinion is that it is bad. If, however, you are already frustrated by my over-abundance of pictures, you may find it good. If, however, as is just as likely if you follow my blog (or would, if it didn't take so much time) you are frustrated by the overabundance of my words and are glad to have pictures to break them up, it is bad news.

I have run out of space for my pictures. I cannot put any more online.

Well, that isn't quite true. I could. But there is another thing I have a love-hate relationship with. Money. I won't pay for something I can get free. Of course, I can't get it free now, but the statement still stands.

Wait, I thought, I can ask my other blogging friends what they do. Then I realized: no one else puts 300 pictures in a post. No one else uses over 1 GB of storage space for two blogs in just over a year.

By the way, why did I write, "other blogging friends"? What does that mean? Other than my friend, me? Or other than my non-blogging friends? Isn't it obvious that I'm not asking them?

My brother said I could delete my old posts. The thought is horrible. You never throw away old writing (or in this case, delete old posts). "That is like burning an old diary!" I said. By his look, he didn't seem to realize what a tragedy that would be.

My mind turned to A Day Outside. (I am not putting a link to that post lest you are tempted to look at it.) If any post begged for deletion, that one does. Yet even that I hate to delete, if only to remember how stupid I was to post it. Besides, Deanna's comment makes it all worth it. "If someone actually read this long post, I would be like, "Wow! You must be bored!" or perhaps they were put in solitary confinement for 20 days with only this post as reading material." I love it. I mean, I always love comments, but that one always makes me laugh.

All that to say, I am sadly pondering the fate of my blog, especially the photo of a day one, and I may end up having to start a new one.

Just to be sure, let no one read this too seriously. It may be an interesting read for a psychologist. If you can figure out anything deeper than for my own enjoyment for why I wrote what I wrote, you're a leg up on me. Which is a rather strange word picture.

Thoughts of Faith and Thanks

Last Thursday I spent four hours in between classes at the University of Toledo with the college group, standing for the unborn. We had big signs with pictures of abortions and fliers for Created Equal, the organization we work with. We claimed a cross section of Centennial Mall's sidewalks and tried to engage the passersby, challenging their thoughts about abortion.

It is no coincidence that I am posting this on Thanksgiving. I came away from that event with a sense of gratefulness.

Though I have heard a number of presentations on abortion, this was the first time I had done this. As with many things, I wasn't nervous until I got there and I realized what it would be like.

We didn't get into a conversation for a while, but when we did, I forgot to be nervous at all. I didn't have a large number of conversations, but I had a few that were quite long. The first guy was a legal sort of guy. He argued that we shouldn't worry about abortion until we can take care of the kids, and didn't think the legislation could be changed. Another guy said that it wasn't murder to kill someone if they didn't have brain waves, and that they could measure them.

Those type of intellectual people I find harder to relate to and have any sympathy for than people like the girl who didn't really like abortion, but having many friends in the foster care system, she didn't want more children to grow up without a loving home. Thinking of the kids I know who could be in such a situation, I sympathized with her. "It is hard,"  I agreed, "yet who are we to use the quality of life a child will have as an excuse to kill? A child who is dearly wanted may, after some misfortune, end up in child services, and a child who is not may have a wonderful life in an adoptive family. We don't know." She said she would think about it.

The most interesting conversation I had was with a guy who at said first that we were 19th century and needed to progress. But as I talked with him, he genuinely seemed to want to understand. He didn't like abortion himself, he said, but he thought that everyone should make their own decision. I asked him about killing other people, and he asked me what I thought about killing animals. I asked him what he thought of God. He said that he thought God was in everything. I told him what I believed (which meant that I thought animals should be treated well, but that humans have much more worth) and told him that, while I was glad he thought murder was wrong, in his worldview, it didn't make sense for him to do so. If we evolved, who's to say that killing someone is wrong? He said a couple times, "You seem to be making sense. I don't know. Maybe you are right." He also said he would think about it.

The last conversation I had was with a girl who said abortion wasn't wrong in the first trimester. She pointed to the picture of the baby at 13 weeks old, and agreed that it was definitely a baby and killing it would be wrong. But she thought that until later, when they have arms and legs they are not a baby. She pointed to the picture of a sperm and egg. "That's not a baby." She said she was a Christian, she goes to church, and she was emphatic that the Bible was the Word of God, completely true.

So I referred to Psalm 139, how God knows us before we are formed in the womb, and how in Leviticus it treats causing a pregnant woman to lose her baby as murder. She said that God knows that they were going to have an abortion and He forgives us. I agreed that God forgives us so much, so generously, but if we accept that Jesus died to forgive our sins, how can we knowingly sin? If He must forgive us, that means that it was wrong, and He calls us to holiness. If we love Him, we must not sin.

She had to go to class, but she said I was interesting to talk to and she would consider what I had said.

What I was left to consider as it ended were mainly two things.

First, the impression I had was sorrow. Sorrow over the complacency. The people who didn't want to talk, and said they had never considered abortion. "Have you thought much about abortion?" we would ask. "No," would often be followed by, "I've never been in that situation." Sorrow over the angry reactions. After an older lady was asked what she thought of abortion, she said, "I don't have an opinion, but-" and her voice rose high and angrily and she got into our faces- "I don't think people should PUSH their views on others!!" It was sort of shocking; we felt that an older lady should agree with us. "I wondered if she had grandkids," my friend asked. "I feel like anyone with grandkids should be against abortion."

That feeling of sadness influenced that other feeling that still comes when I consider that day. The feeling of gratitude.

Time and time again, at some point in every conversation, I felt I could say no more than, "I believe that God created the world, and made humans in His image, which means that murder is wrong. The Bible says it, so it's true." And I sometimes did. But they don't believe Scripture is true, and frustratingly I realized I could not convince them. No evidence against abortion, no testifying of the inerrancy of Scripture will change their minds.

dead in your sins

That keeps returning to my mind. Dead in your sins. Suddenly I understood that phrase in a way I never had before. Of course I knew we were dead in our sins, we needed Jesus to make us alive. But now I could see: we are dead. We cannot believe. "Though one were to rise from the dead" we would still not believe.

"And you He made alive, who were dead in trespasses and sins... But God, who is rich in mercy, because of His great love with which He loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses, made us alive together with Christ" (Ephesians 2).

I knew that we were dead and had no desire to live. But being impressed with how we cannot accept the truth of the gospel; imagining others' thoughts and seeing the gospel's foolishness to the world; finding that much as I wanted to, I could not convince them of the truth because the prince of this world has darkened their eyes; the greatness of the gift and how it is such a gift became more clear. I have not relayed these things very eloquently, but the distinction between how I knew that before and how I realized its truth afterwards is something that, like faith, you cannot understand unless you have experienced it.

What do I have what these people do not? They are presented with the same information as I; why do I accept it and they do not? I can reason, but I cannot prove. My beliefs are based on the evidence of faith. Why do I have faith in what they reject? How can I accept what I do not completely understand? Why, when I, as I have lately, question whether almost everything I know is true and why, do I choose not to reject what I cannot prove?

It is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. The peace given by the Holy Spirit. Faith, which cannot be worked up. You cannot be reasoned into heaven. Faith is a gift. And I am humbled and thankful for it like never before, realizing it is unearned and not to be taken for granted.

Salvation is miracle upon miracle. Not only must God the Creator die for the sinful creation, but the dead creature must have his eyes opened to even believe that he has been saved. Such grace is beyond belief, and to know that He has revealed the truth of His Word to you compels the giving of thanks.

The Best Reason to Smile

You may not realize it, but today is an anniversary. You may not remember what you were doing at this time last year, but what I was doing is strongly in my mind. One year ago, just after 2:30, I was on my email. My friend Grace and I had been emailing back and forth our usual nonsense, joking about sending emails to the wrong person, especially Ryan. At the time, unbeknownst to him, I was sending her a Ryan quote of the day.

When I got on, I saw she had replied to my last email. She asked if Friday morning still worked for me to get together to do scrap booking. I wrote a reply, saying Friday worked for me, and suggested we check out the neighborhood (go for a walk, that is) to cover up our activities. We knew Ryan would ask what she had done, especially if he knew she met with me. Grace isn't normally a scrapbooker, and her scrapbook was to be a surprise for him.

As I was about to send it, I realized had somehow missed an email from Ryan. The subject line said, top secret! Intrigued, I clicked on it. "Even in your family, you can’t speak of this," it said. I caught a glimpse of a few words following: D & E, and your parents...be CERTAIN...

Mom appeared behind me. "Let me get on for a minute." As much as my curiosity was aroused, I quickly logged off, lest Mom see whatever it was she wasn't supposed to.

 I wandered the living room, waiting for Mom to get off. Then Eric.

I could only think of one thing, but I made excuses to myself. If he was going to, why would he tell me? I got on as soon as I could, and finished the email. Even with these suspicions, I didn't imagine how what I was about to read would affect me. 

So I’m proposing on Friday!  Might you be available Friday night to possibly help with my proposal?  I’m thinking hidden photographer from afar for you.

I didn't reply. I ran outside and yelled like when I call the chickens, only without words. Running to the neighbors, I swung hard, grinning the whole time.

If it had been possible, I would have stopped mid-swing. Friday? I was meeting with Grace Friday morning to scrapbook, and going to the park for the proposal Friday evening! Would it be hard to act normal?

It seemed like a long time I was out there, but it must have only been a few minutes. I replied to Ryan, my excitement uncontainable, and looked at the email I had been going to send Grace. Having them both sitting there was quite amusing. If I sent Grace's to Ryan and Ryan's to Grace, that would be amusing... Okay, it would be quite horrible, actually, but the thought of doing it was amusing. Smiling, I sent them both to the correct person.

Ryan had actually said I could maybe tell the older members of my family. I didn't, at first. I just enjoyed knowing what I knew as we worked outside that evening. That night when Deanna came home late from work, I was half-asleep. "Jeannette. Do you want to watch Little House on the Prairie?" I was tired, but I slipped out of bed and went downstairs with her.

As it started, I leaned back against the couch and said, "I didn't get up because I want to watch Little House with you." Finally, at the thought of telling someone, I couldn't suppress my smile, and she asked, "What?" It was so fun to tell her. "Ryan's proposing to Grace on Friday." (Excuse me. I probably said, "Ryan's proposing to Grace on Friday!!!")

"How do you know?" she asked. I told her and showed her Ryan's email. Tired as I was, it was worth getting up for.

My sisters told Grace later that I smiled whenever I heard her name-and being a word name, even when it wasn't necessarily referring to her. "Your sister's always smiling," she replied. "You just notice it then." We had a joke as to who would stop smiling first.

Doubtless you're wondering, if you've been aware of these happenings and read my original Smile post, what the point of this is. It did turn out to be more of a rewrite than I thought it would.

I wasn't sure what the point would be myself. I had thought of writing this, probably before they got married. You see, today feels like an anniversary to me, even though their anniversary isn't for over three more months, and even the month-anniversary and anniversary of when he asked her isn't until the 28th. The 25th probably means nothing to them, but like I said, it feels like an anniversary to me. So I felt like doing this...but what was the point? I wasn't sure I had one. I even thought of ending it with something like, "I don't have any conclusion for this, I just felt like writing it because I'm still smiling."

But over a month ago, I got a point.

Though it was challenging, I didn't know as I listened to a study last September 9th that it would affect me so much, just as I hadn't with that email. In like manner, this wasn't really the start; things had been setting up for this day for some time, and the more official anniversary-the 28th for Ryan and Grace, the 16th for this-came later.

After the study when my friend said she wanted to speak to me, I didn't know what it would lead to. We noted things that we saw in our associations with others that we knew weren't right. But we were picking at slivers, not realizing that to remove those slivers, we must first remove the plank, for until that was done, we couldn't see clearly, and more slivers would be produced.

So the Holy Spirit began working in our hearts, revealing our sin, making our desire to change our own hearts, to die to ourselves and live to God. We realized that if our hearts were right with God, if we truly loved Him above all else, then we would naturally desire to speak of Him, and these other things would naturally be resolved.

On the 16th of September, we prayed together to dedicate our new vision. In the wee hours of that morning, we began to speak of heaven, and we got this glorious view of what a truly eternity-focused life would be like. Our joy was unbounded, and for days I couldn't help but smile.

But we know that human beings are fickle and forgetful. We wanted to have fortitude, to not lose sight of that joy and glory. So we determined to keep each other accountable.

Like before, I wanted to share the happenings. It was so exciting, I might have had to tell people even if it had been forbidden. I relayed this exciting happening to Grace. "It's like at your engagement," I told her. "I just can't stop smiling!"

"But it's better," she said.

I forget if she said it's better, more exciting, or happier. Regardless, it stuck firmly in my mind. It's better. Obviously it is for me, but that Grace would think to say it made me wonder. It's better? Of course I have to say it is, but is it?

No Christian would disagree in theory, of course. But as Christians, realizing the goodness, joy and glory of marriage, we sometimes forget. Seeing how wonderful a picture marriage is, we forget that marriage is the picture, CHRIST is the reality. We know that our relationship with God is the most important thing, but I think we often feel that life begins and ends with marriage. It is marriage that gives us fulfillment, not Christ.

And marriage is just an example; it's like that with many things. You see, marriage is concrete to us. We don't have to exercise any faith to see that it is, and that it is good. Christ? Well, we have faith that we have a relationship with Him, but since we cannot see it except with eyes of faith, we often lose sight.

Growing up as a Christian, I know many things the world doesn't realize. Were I to completely abandon my faith, I still would not live outwardly as the world does. All those "terrible" sins-I know that they will not make me happy. But because of this, I can use Jesus as a supplement to my life. Instead of having a good marriage because of love for Jesus, Jesus becomes a way to make my marriage good. Instead of serving others because of love for Jesus, I serve others because I have the knowledge that life will be better that way. Instead of ministering to others so that I will please my Savior, I minister to others to impress those who see me.

In other words, Jesus is a way to make my life good, rather than becoming my life. I know God's way, but do I love it?

I laugh as I read over my Smile posts. I was glad to be a bridesmaid, because people excused my talking about the wedding. I thought about it often, and I was glad if anyone brought it up. Conversations about it caught my ear. People laughed at my silly obsession.

Why was it so exciting to me, I wonder? I have asked myself that multiple times, and I imagine I am not the only one. Regular interest in a wedding, even that it was the first one I could remember being involved in a lot, doesn't explain it. The only reason I can think of is because I love Grace, and I am interested in things that affect her.

It's a silly example, perhaps, but isn't this how we should be with our Savior? Wouldn't we think constantly of Him-and therefore want to speak constantly about Him-wouldn't His name catch our ears, if we truly loved Him? Shouldn't we be willing to look goofy and obsessive, even in the eyes of our family members and other Christians? I long to have that sort of love for the Savior, that others would see me as a little too eager.

But that is not something you can work up. I didn't try to love Grace. I never said, "Okay, she's getting married, so I'm going to be really excited." It even crossed my mind that maybe if it was just a mental choice, I'd choose not to be so much. So, to some degree, it wasn't my decision. And yet, if I had not already had that relationship established, had not already spent time with her and gotten to know her, I wouldn't have been excited about it. And if I had chosen to suppress it, I could have. Our relationship with God has that same tension. As we seek God, He does the work in our hearts. It isn't up to us--yet we can suppress His work or seek it.

A year from when I first found out about the engagement, I am not excited as I was then, yet when I think about it, the joy remains. In a year from September, I may not be jumping out of my skin, but I do not want to lose the joy that I have found in a thirsting desire to love Christ above all, especially self. I want to still be smiling over His glory revealed to me. Realizing that things of this earth don't matter, because I'm going to HEAVEN! These things are but a picture of the reality to come.

And I write this as a reminder to myself. (Which is a good thing, because it's way too long for anyone else to read!) Since we do lose sight and forget the reality of the spiritual, those moments when God reveals Himself to us in a special way are precious. Just as reading that first Smile post reminds me of the excitement I once had, and brings back a smile of remembrance, so I write this that I may not forget the excitement I once had in striving to follow after Christ and the longing to desire Him more than anything, and to call myself back to that joyfulness. "Restore unto me the joy of my salvation."


Thinking it over, I realize: it is better. Way better. Because there's no greater reason to smile.

My Blog and Its Statistics

Today I was working on a post, and decided to check when I first started my blog, knowing it was coming up soon, and realized it was a year ago today when I posted for the first time. I have posted 50 times-that works out to about once a week, which is interesting since I've posted three times in the past three months.

A while ago, I got on my photo a day blog to upload my picture of the day. Well, pictures of several days, as I was behind on posting them. I glanced at my statistics. I enjoy looking at my statistics for my blogs. But this time, it said "no stats yet". Confused, I made sure it was on stats for the week, not day. Yep. I clicked on all time. No stats yet? What? More confused yet, I went to my main blog. Jeannette's Blog, 2 Pageviews, it said. Two pageviews? The stats indicated that it had been viewed twice today, but never before that.

I was quite sad. I liked looking at my stats. In October, I had a little over a hundred views. In November, I had close to four hundred. This reflects my first Smile post, which is my most popular, at 372 pageviews. Things peak in January, with 582 views, reflecting a number of posts, including my second most popular, One Sunday Afternoon, with 84 views. It's up again in May, reflecting Eric's birthday post and the one about the church, and probably some from another more popular one, the spring break trip.

Another interesting study is that of pageviews by audience. Of course, the majority is from the US, but I've had 29 from Ukraine (Zach or the Thorntons), 8 from Taiwan (my cousin), 6 from Peru (Elizabeth). The mystery is who looked at my blog from India, 5 times. There's also one from Canada, which I assume is one of Ryan's relatives. I've also had some from ipads, iphones, Blackberries, and such.

I can also see how people were referred to the site: emails, my friend's blog, a few random things I don't know, and mywedding.com and Facebook, which are the top two.

As you can see, I have gotten my statistics back. I have no idea why they left, but I was happy to see them again. It's a sort of like a journal. As of right now, my blog has had 4,247 pageviews, which isn't much for a blog and is probably 2/3rds my own and my family. My Photo of the Day blog has, by its nature, a relatively large number of views, 3,479, peaking in May at 582, probably because of the Spring break trip. March 8, of the older lady and baby, one of my favorites, is the most viewed at 43, with January 15th and my toast poem coming in second with 23.

Anyways, that is probably the boringest post I have done yet except for the Day Outside one, and that's saying something. (For that reason, I'm leaving boringest. It needs something to spice it up, if only someone telling me that's not a word.) I was just tired of studying and thought I ought to post something today. Happy birthday, Blog! I shall now go do something useful.

The Sinful Children

Hello children.

This is Rebekah Zellers.

I have decided that Jeannette's Blog has become too flippant of late, and so have taken it upon myself to make it more serious. So, I have decided, for your good, and for the edification of your souls, to write you a series of poems to enlighten you and to inspire you to reflect on the meaning of life.

The series is called

THE SINFUL CHILDREN,

and I hope that you will gain much practical knowledge that you can apply to your own life.

THE GLUTTONOUS CHILD

There once was a sinful child

Who consumed too much dessert

He said one cookie was all he ate

My friends, there had been two on his plate.

So he felt something odd in his tummy

His belly swelled up so large

He turned into a pig, he didn't know what to do,

And his mother put him into a nice pork stew.

THE CHILD WHO PUT HIS ELBOWS ON THE TABLE

There once was a sinful child

Who had very bad manners at dinner

He always had his elbows on the table

Unfortunately, it wasn't very stable.

He was eating mashed potatoes one day,

And when he put his dear elbows down

The table flew up and hit his little head

The next thing he knew, he was dead.

THE CHILD WHO WENT TO BED TOO LATE

There once was a sinful child

Who did not heed her mother's word

She went to bed too late

And this, my friends, was her fate.

She slept through the night restless

She was chased by a bear in her dream.

She woke up rather scared and cried

She fell out of her bed and died.

As we do not want the ending of the poor little girl for ourselves, we shall now scuttle off to our beds. I hope these stories will greatly help you in your life. I hope to share more practical poems in the future.

Thank you.

Rebekah Zellers

Crash at the Curve

Late Friday night I sat beside my brother's bed. As it has gone, it seems, for some time, my plans for getting to bed earlier than usual that evening had failed. It was now past 1 o'clock, and though Eric had started saying every so often, "Well, I have to get up at 6 tomorrow," we still continued talking.

For once, Kristen was asleep before we were, and Dad and Amy were still up, though preparing for bed. Mom and Melody, who was not feeling well, were downstairs, having been watching movies. At the time, we weren't necessarily aware of these things.

I can't remember what we were saying, but whoever was talking was interrupted by a loud screech. I was about to say someone had taken the curve really fast.

The curve just down from our house is a bit treacherous; some people have even prayed angels around it. People are always turning around in our drive since the roads are a bit confusing as they merge into one road and emerge again, and taking that road too sharp, causing screeching, isn't uncommon. We've lost our mailbox more times than we can count.

But my words were cut off when the long screech was followed by a loud crashing sound.

Glancing at each other, we all suddenly rose and hurried downstairs. Dad was emerging from the hall, shirt in hand, as Melody and Mom opened the front door. We went out on the sidewalk, peering down to the ditch on the other side of the road where a vehicle had stopped. Unlike I had thought, there was only one vehicle. We suddenly noticed loud, rocky music, and an alarm started going off.

Dad was inside, calling 9-1-1. "Yeah, we don't know. No, we haven't gone down there. There's someone moving around. I don't know if anyone's hurt."

"What," we joked, "he doesn't want to go out in his sweatpants?"

We could see some figures looking around at the car. Mom didn't think, judging by the music, the speed at which they must have been driving, and the time, that it was a good idea to go down there, since they seemed to be fine. We went back inside, and Mom went to look up the upstairs window.

"Keith!" she called. "It's on fire!" The smoking vehicle made an exploding sound. We hurried back outside, and the whole front was engulfed in flames. Every so often, another explosion sounded. Dad called again.

It was frightening to imagine someone in there, burning before our eyes with no way to help.

I got out my camera.

The fire was getting bigger, and right beside the woods. "If they don't get here soon, the woods are going to start burning," Mom said. It was a good thing it wasn't very dry, or they would have.

At last three police cars came. One policeman shone his flashlight into the truck to see if anyone was in it. Another guy looked at the situation and said something along the lines of, "Well, you guys got this? I'm outta here."

"'Kay. See ya," another said.

The first policeman noticed us standing there and started coming towards us. "Did you guys see what happened?" he asked. "Are you the ones who called?"

Mom yelled something from the upstairs window. The rest of us were standing at the end of the drive, ready to answer his questions. He brushed right past us. "I'm sorry, ma'am. I can't hear you. I have a head cold." He had a large, sort of bald head.

We told him what we had seen. He said that he had been afraid that someone was in there.

I had seen two people at the end of a drive down at the curve. They were walking away from the fire, however, so I assumed that they were just curious neighbors. Melody, from the upstairs window, had seen a guy walking away from the fire yelling, "Hey! Hey!" and then, "Billy!" before disappearing.

We don't know what really happened, but our hypothesis was that someone had stolen the car, so of course they didn't stick around and someone picked them up after the crash.

At last we heard the sirens from the fire engine briefly, and they pulled up. Some sort of inspection or preparation seemed to take a long time. Then a fireman had a hose and began spraying the fire.

The smoke billowed up in a great arc, though as I had the fifty on my camera, I couldn't capture the whole thing. With the police lights reflecting on it, the smoke looked neat, yellow and red and blue and purple.

We could now see that the vehicle was a truck.

The moon was very bright that evening.

We all stood on the drive watching the proceedings, despite the cold temperature. At last they managed to put the fire out. Mom and Dad went back inside. We were still standing there, and a policeman approached us. We looked at each other, wondering. When he came closer, he asked, "Did you guys see what happened?" We told him we had heard it.

"Who knows the most?" he asked. "I want someone to come back to the car with me and write a statement." We looked at each other. I glanced at the dewy grass and my socked feet. Hmm...

"Who saw the most?" he repeated. We all started saying what happened, but no one volunteered. "It's not a big deal," he said. "We just want someone to write down what happened."

When Melody said that she had seen the guy who yelled, "Hey!", the policeman said, "Yes, that's it. That's what I want."

She waited for Dad, and they followed the man down to the road. Soon Melody came running back along the road.

"What does she have in her hand?" Eric asked.

"Nothing," I said. "Wait, she does," I corrected myself as she entered the light of the police car parked at the end of the drive.

The policeman had given her a clipboard with the report on it and told her she could finish it up at the house.

So she sat on the porch and wrote while Mom, worried about her being sick, brought her shoes and Amy found her some unmatching socks.

We assisted her some, and went down to the drive, wanting to go where Dad was. So, Deanna, Eric and I crossed the cold, dewy grass, and my socks became wet and my feet frozen.

The first policeman was standing with Dad when we arrived, and asked if we had been smart enough to put shoes on. "Yep," Eric said. He and Deanna had.

"Oh, there's one," he said, indicating my damp feet. "So, are these your kids too?" he asked Dad.

"Yep."

"Wow." (His language was probably more colorful than that.) "How many is that-five?"

"Three more are asleep inside."

I don't remember what exclamation he made, but then he said, "I have one nineteen-year-old boy and one thirteen-year-old girl, and I would rather have five nineteen-year-old boys than one thirteen-year-old girl. The drama wrapped around that girl!" He started listing things-"she did this, and they hurt me" and so forth.

"They are a blessing," Dad said.

"Oh, she's not a bad kid," he said. "She's a good kid. I'm just glad I don't have to deal with it much. I work nights and I sleep in the day. My wife keeps me updated and I'm like, 'Wow, I don't know how you deal with it. I couldn't.'"

I hurried back, this time along the road so that I needn't get any more damp than necessary, stopping briefly to look closely at the truck. It was actually a black truck, Eric said, but it looked white after the fire.

Melody had just finished her report. "Why did you come back?" she asked.

"I thought you might like a picture," I replied.

She posed with it, and then I took a close-up, so she could remember what she said.

Then we walked with Mom back to the policemen. A tow truck had come, and they had attached a line to the truck to pull it out. Melody offered the clipboard to the policeman, but he asked her to hold onto it a minute.

We noticed that they had knocked over one of the arrow signs on the other side of the curve (to the left on the picture above) which meant they had gone a long way. They had entered the ditch and gone along it for quite a distance, and the crashing sounds we heard must have been going over the big logs in it. (Another thing that the policeman described quite colorfully. Dad said that they cleaned up their language quite a bit when we came down. They could have used some more...)

Then the man looked over Melody's statement. "This is a very good statement," he said. "If I have any questions I have your number, but that probably won't happen."

We think he looked like what you imagine a police officer to be.

The man with the tow truck pulled it out just by pushing something that drew it out by a cable. We could finally see it quite well.

The tires were in very bad shape-one was quite missing-and they didn't turn, so it scraped along the road.

The windshield was gone-probably one of the explosions-as was the hood, revealing the engine.

The tow truck couldn't pull it well on the one remaining wheel, so they ended up getting another machine to put the truck on top of with some difficulty. But we, having been out there for an hour or so, went in to put on pajamas and warm socks, drink hot chocolate in Melody's case, huddle under covers, and get to sleep.

Late the next day (really the same day) we attended a bonfire, and Melody gave a dramatic retelling of that morning's adventure. She drew it out as long as she could, emphasizing every exciting detail.

We're only surprised that they didn't manage to get the mailbox. It was quite an experience, the most dramatic of the things that have happened from living at the curve.