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.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
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.
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.
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.
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