Two worlds eight miles apart

I’ve had unique college opportunities in these last few years. By the time I’m nineteen, I will have taken classes at four different colleges—two community, two Christian. Right now I split up mornings between two different college campuses.

Only eight miles separate the colleges, but they are worlds apart. At one campus, being a Christian is not only normal, it’s expected and “cool.” At the other, it’s rare to find another person who even cares about religion, let alone loves Jesus as their Lord and Savior.

On one campus, CCM music is played as often as pop. On the other, I’ve heard it only once. One day walking through the parking lot I heard For King and Country’s “Proof of Your Love” booming from a car, and I wanted to give the guy a high five.

The second term of ASL at community college, I discovered that the girl sitting next to me lived in Asia as a missionary kid for about ten years. Connecting with another Jesus follower on a spiritually dark campus was awesome. I realized how much more I appreciated meeting a believer in ASL class than the many Christians I sit with on a daily basis in writing class. It’s so easy to forget the bond fellow believers have in Jesus when we take our faith in Him for granted.

I’ve learned it’s a lost world out there, people. Curse words are everywhere, no matter the campus, but most of my community college classmates don’t get through a sentence without using at least one expletive. One of my closest ASL classmates is a single mom of two kids, and of all the students who are parents, I know of only one who is married. Another guy told me in a sign language conversation that he and his sister are both gay.

But I’ve also learned not to make assumptions about your classmates’ lives and backgrounds.

That guy in ASL class with the laidback smile who uses expletives in every joke he tells? He served as a medic on an Air Force helicopter, and now he’s the proud dad of a couple kids and trying to figure out his direction in life.

The girl sitting next to me in chapel at the Christian University? Jesus pulled her out of a life of Mormonism in Utah, and she pleads with God to help her reach her family with the truth of the gospel.

The guy who wears his hat backwards and plays baseball for the community college team? He’s not just a popular guy taking ASL to get second language credits. He’s completely deaf in one ear, 30% and counting in the other. Surgery can’t correct it, and he’s learning ASL because one day soon he’ll be completely deaf.

I’m thankful I’ve had both college experiences this year. They’ve taught me to appreciate peoples’ stories so much more. At the Christian university, it’s easy to assume that every student is born-again and become apathetic about talking about my faith. At the community college, it’s easy to think that I have nothing in common with a single mom or a homosexual classmate.

But if I just step back and look through the eyes of Jesus, I see them differently. I cry for my classmates who don’t know Jesus. I know I can’t save them, but I can be witness to them in my speech (or signs, as the case may be) and actions, and take every opportunity to tell them about Jesus’ work in my life. I may not agree with their lifestyle, but I remind myself that God is the Judge, not me, and I am just as much a sinner as they are.

Let my life be the proof,
The proof of Your love
Let my love look like You and what You’re made of
How You lived, how You died
Love is sacrifice
So let my life be the proof,
The proof of Your love.
–King and Country, “Proof of Your Love”

Home

Written for Lisa-Jo’s Five-Minute Friday.

I’ve lived in the same house all seventeen years of my life. My daddy was raised in our small town since he was a baby. We love our life here, and the memories that we’ve made.

I love going other places, too.  I enjoy visiting famous sites and drinking in the beauty of new scenery. I’ve been to over thirty states in the U.S., and I rarely spend summers at home. If I can’t travel somewhere physically, I read books to envision myself there. I never know whether to describe myself as a homebody or travel-lover, because I love both.

Home is the 1970s, brown plaid couch that we’ve never updated. It’s the couch we’ve laid on when we’re sick and the couch where we’ve watched countless movies together.

Home is my creaky canopy bed and our cozy wood fire. Home is our kitchen where we can name which drawer someone is opening just by the sound.

Home is also our small farming town with one yellow blinking light and a legendary town rooster. The place where Carhartts are just as fashionable as skinny jeans.

I won’t be living in this house, this town many months longer. So right now, I’ll soak in the sights and sounds that I love about our home. Like George Bailey and the loose railing post on the staircase, I’ll try to appreciate the odd quirks in our house. I’ll try to laugh rather than be annoyed by my family members’ idiosyncrasies.

Because I love my life, and the home where I’ve lived it.

A Baby or a Purse?

Between school and scholarship applications, this week has been hectic. But I did not want to fail my New Year’s resolution of a blog post per week, so here’s my ad analysis from last semester’s writing course. I never knew how many subtle messages one ad could contain, but our professor opened our eyes by showing us that even the smallest details have a purpose. Many of the details in this ad were pointed out by my professor, otherwise I probably would not have noticed half the hidden messages. Of course, people interpret ads differently, but this was my impression. 

A woman dressed in black, holding two purses, stands in front of a wall. An engraved message poses a question from Kenneth Cole: “Should it be a woman’s right to choose if she’s the one carrying it?” Cole’s advertisement demonstrates the tendency of marketers toward veiled messages that promote not only products but also social platforms.

“To live is to choose,” says Kofi Annan, a diplomat from Ghana. His words ring true around the world, and the American ad industry echoes a resounding confirmation. Using $173 billion dollars per year, U.S. companies promote their products at all costs, often employing less than ethical methods. Consumers face choices every day—approximately 3,000 of them.

The word “choice” is attractive. Whether choosing what college to attend or what cereal to eat for breakfast, choice implies power and individuality. From toddlers to teenagers to adults, most people crave more independence and less outside control in their lives. This leaves consumers increasingly vulnerable to ads that advocate personal choice.

Kenneth Cole took advantage of this concept when his clothing company released this handbag ad as part of his “Where Do You Stand” advertisement campaign. While it may seem harmless enough—after all, Cole is just asking a question—the underlying message is disturbing. On the surface, the main decision involves the two handbags the woman is choosing between. But in the twenty-first century, the buzz phrase “woman’s right to choose” is the well-known mantra of the pro-choice, pro-abortion movement. Few consumers would miss the double entendre.

Detaching emotion from the issue, the question itself is written in industrialized Arial font. All capital letters stress the importance of the question, one that women and governments alike must face. The picture is completely black and white, subtly signifying that the answer is obvious. For many women, a handbag is not just an accessory, but becomes a nearly inseparable extension of their own bodies. Of course women should choose their own purses, and according to the ad, a woman should also be able to choose whether or not to give birth to her own baby.

The background appears to be an alleyway, conjuring up images of back-alley abortions. Standing legs shoulder-width apart, hand on her hip, the woman’s body language expresses confidence. Black gloves shroud her arms like armor. Her short black dress and leggings are surprisingly unrevealing, showing that her body is not a slave to men’s desires, but she purposefully tilts her upper body at a provocative angle. She is the ideal combination of femininity, sexiness, and strength.

The handbags are black leather, adding to the overall impression of power. The woman holds the handbags so closely they appear continuous, looking like a bassinet or cradle—certainly spacious enough to hold a baby. Her arm positions the handbags below her abdomen, suggestive of the birth process. The wall behind the woman mirrors her shadow, which appears to be looking downward reflectively. She originally debated over her choice, but now she has decided. After all, she has complete power over her body; her decision is hers alone.

Despite all these symbols of power, several things suggest that the woman is somewhat in bondage. Her hair is tucked into a fur neck warmer, hinting that something attempts to stifle her femininity—perhaps the pro-life movement. Also, her hair partially covers her face, representing that some of her supposed “rights” as a 21^st century female are ignored. These components subtly condemn anyone who would dare infringe on her rights, specifically her right to choose.

Kenneth Cole said, “Every season I take the opportunity to convey a much larger message than just hemlines and trends.” His 2011 ad compares babies to handbags—a priceless human being to a $300 inanimate handbag. Cole’s message? “To live is to choose,” and the choice of life itself is held in a woman’s hands.

Direct link to image: http://www.jillstanek.com/wp/wp-content/uploads/2011/09/kenneth-cole-abortion-e1315509136461.jpg

Ad created by: http://www.awearness.com/#Page_IssuesArchiveCivilLibertiesPage

Gifts of January

• Spontaneous shopping and a movie with Mom.
• Resolutions.
• Laughing while watching Mirror, Mirror by myself.
• Losing myself in the life of someone else.
• Listening to One Direction.
• Downton Abbey Season 3!
• Giving blood.
• Cheering for an epic Broncos-Ravens playoff game.
• Coping better than expected when my Broncos lost because of Ray Lewis’ post-game interview.
• Late night quote: “A handshake is a promise, not a probably.”
• Frozen suds in the driveway from Caleb’s car-washing.
• Girl in preschooler’s church: “I’m washing my bones!”
  Boy: “Bones are on the inside, silly! Bones and blood keep you alive!”
• Winning a speech competition.
• Humphrey Bogart’s one-liners.
• Reading about Adam Brown, a true American hero.
• Meeting a fellow homeschooler at a community college class.
• Watching Rhett and Link. (Seriously, you have to watch some of their Youtube videos. Too funny.)
• The Creole alphabet.
• Stories that make me think.
• Laughing at my own blonde moments.
• Energy bites.
• Finished homework.
• Snowdrops popping up in our flowerbed.
• Falling in love with Rachmaninoff. His music, that is.
• The problem of having too many gifts to count.

Sore throats, speeches, and Philippians 4

Last Friday afternoon I felt it. The unmistakable tingle in my throat that no overdoses of Vitamin C could conquer. Sure enough, a few hours later my throat was raw and painful, a full-fledged sore throat.

By that evening we were at the coast, plopped in our beachfront hotel room provided by the wonderful VFW people. I had won our Veterans of Foreign Wars Voice of Democracy audio essay contest District level (a mouthful, you think?), and the state banquet was scheduled for Saturday night.

I had really looked forward to the weekend. I love the beach. I also love swimming, and the hotel had two—deux!—indoor swimming pools. My plan consisted of long walks on the beach, a fun morning with the fourteen other district winners, and a couple relaxing swims.

Instead I spent Friday evening and most of Saturday laying on the hotel bed, feeling miserable for myself. You see, sore throats aren’t very nice to me—they make swallowing a dreaded task and talking nearly an impossibility. (We think I probably have bad tonsils—either that or I’m not as pain-tolerant as I think I am!) To make it worse, I felt nauseous all morning.

I skipped the morning activities with the other district winners, but I really couldn’t miss out on the banquet. Miraculously, my sore throat subsided more quickly than usual, and by that evening I could get my voice through my throat (or however that works). I plastered on makeup and a smile and we headed for the banquet.

I managed to converse with the girl next to me, a beautiful red-headed PK who loves Lord of the Rings and Tim Tebow, and hopes to help in the abolition of sex-trafficking in India. I wish I could have spent more time with her, and all the other winners, but I’m thankful for the time we did have together.

Thank goodness the speeches had been pre-recorded and pre-judged, unlike my other competitions. I didn’t expect to place this year—although I know my speech was good enough, I’ve never been able to quite figure the VFW judges out. Sure enough, I didn’t place, but a wonderful Christian girl won that I had met last year.

So the point of this whole post?

I don’t like getting sick, laying sick in bed instead of being with awesome people, going to the coast but never stepping on the beach. And my competitive side doesn’t like losing.

But before I went to the banquet, I read Philippians 4, like I do before every speech competition. Know what it says? “I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need.” Those verses are the best preparation for a speech competition. Losing is discouraging, but going into the awards banquet, I knew that being “brought low” is part of life, part of God’s plan for growing me.

I know that having a cold and not placing at a speech competition is absolutely nothing compared to what many people face, but the verses say “in any and every circumstance.” It is so encouraging to know that God gives these disappointments, whether big or small, to build our trust in Him.

The next verse in Philippians 4 is my all-time favorite: “I can do all things through Christ Who strengthens me.” I can work through disappointments because He strengthens me. I can conquer nerves because He strengthens me.

I can be brought low, and I can abound, because I know the secret: Christ strengthens me.

P.S. The beach? It was rainy and wet. And the swimming pools? They were only 10m long. Turns out I wasn’t missing much!  :) 

To the missing 2013 graduates

Picture from abort73.com/graphics/

To the missing 2013 graduates,

I’m writing this letter to you because I wish you were here. Most of you would be seventeen or eighteen right now, born around 1995, like me. There were about 3.9 million kids born that year. I’m sure not all of us are graduating high school this year, but we at least had the chance to do our best in school. You never got that chance.

This spring, the class of 2013 will graduate. But for every ten graduates on the platform, three are missing. According to U.S. government statistics, for every 1,000 babies born alive, 322 were aborted. I’m writing this to you, the 1, 210, 883 babies who died in 1995.

I’m sorry that you aren’t here, filling out college applications and trying to earn good grades your last semester.

I’m sorry you never got the chance to dream about the future.

I’m sorry that your mom gave into the fear telling her to end your life.

And I’m also sorry for your mom, because when she hears Pomp and Circumstance this spring, she’ll think of you. I’m sure the guilt weighs heavy on her, and I pray she lets God’s grace heal her heart.

The graduating class of 2013 isn’t the only class with empty places. From January 22, 1973, to January 22, 2013, 55 million babies in America alone have lost their lives. These last forty years have been the bloodiest in the country’s history, yet for many people, abortion is just a necessary surgical procedure, not murder.

Some people say you weren’t really a person when you were killed. Although all your DNA was in place on Day 1, and your heart started beating at Day 21, you weren’t a living human being.

Others say that your mom’s choice was more important than yours, that a woman should have control over her own body. But as Mother Teresa said, “It is a poverty to decide that a child must die so that [a woman] may live as [she wishes].”

I’m writing you because today marks forty years since Roe v. Wade. Forty years—and over 3,000 abortions each day. I want you to know you are not forgotten, would-be graduates of 2013. I know you are in Heaven, but I wish the world could have seen you down here first.

I hope and pray the remaining class of 2013 will see the end of abortion before another forty years have passed.

Because we cannot have 1.2 million missing high school graduates in 2053.

 

linking up with angietolpin.com

cherished

written for Lisa Jo’s Five-Minute Friday

I scroll through pictures of babies and they look back with huge, empty eyes. These Haitian babies lived in an orphanage infested with rats and void of love. There, they never knew what it meant to be loved, to be cherished. To their former caretakers, and unfortunately to much of the world, they have little worth.

Now the babies are in an orphanage that loves and cares for them, but these precious children may never know what it is to be cherished by a family. I long to go to them, cuddle them, somehow let them know how much I love them. Tell them that even though their biological families abandoned them, they have a Father in Heaven who cherishes them as priceless treasures.

Remember how Jesus prayed? “I in them and You in Me—so that they may be brought to complete unity. Then the world will know that You sent Me and have loved them even as you have loved Me.”

God loves us like He loves Jesus. How awesome is that?

 The babies in Haiti, the neighbors down the road, the whole world needs to know that they are cherished by God.