I will not soon forget one dinner conversation I had around a year ago. While discussing clothing, a girl made an off-hand comment about liking shorter dresses because they felt rebellious. Although not particularly approving of her rebellion in the first place, I felt that dinner was much too short to correct such a problem and focused instead on the idea of immodesty as rebellion.
"For me," I said, "dressing modestly is quite sufficient rebellion."
She did not understand what I meant right away, and I guess you might be wondering as well, so I will explain. By wearing very short skirts, she might have been rebelling against her parents. But she was actually choosing to look just like everyone else by doing so. Instead, I choose to dress modestly even if it is in rebellion against the standards set by modern fashion designers. It is much more satisfying, in the end, than merely rebelling against one or two individuals.
You see, it is not a bad thing to want change. But change is not a good thing in itself, either. Revolution is either good or bad depending on what we are overthrowing. If we uproot high standards and morality, we will live to regret it. Perhaps we should instead choose to exercise our independence in favor of feminine modesty rather than in favor of the mysteriously over-sexed androgynous figures drawn by fashion illustrators.
After all, conservatism is the most revolutionary option.
Thursday, October 9, 2014
Monday, October 6, 2014
What's the Difference?
I want to love people. I want to make people happy. I want to marry a good man and love him well. I want to have children and raise them to love God and obey Him. I want to be a part of a community of people who choose to love each other because God first loved them and not because their neighbors are all particularly lovely.
More than anything, I want to show people the love that God has for them. Perhaps, then the pain of the world would not seem so great. I know that pain and loss and grief for the things that we have lost can make us wonder whether the people around us care or whether God Himself cares. I know what it's life to feel that the pain of life is just all too difficult and perhaps it were be easier just to die.
I felt that way once. But then I remembered that God does not do things haphazardly, and He must have put me here for some purpose. I realized that giving up and surrendering to my own pain would only increase the difficulty for others around me. For a while, it did not seem that any good could ever come from the losses I had experienced. It seemed that all the hurt of the world was for naught. But then I learned to see my pain as a blessing that could help me to touch the hurting, dying world around me.
The world around me is dying for love--God's love. Often, I do very poorly at loving them the way God has loved me, sin and baggage and all. Sometimes, I wish that there were perfect people in the world for me to love and almost convince myself that then I could love more perfectly. But I know that I wouldn't, because I am still human.
So, I know I can't change the whole world. I cannot make everyone feel the love of God and understand His truth. But I can reach out to the girl I meet on the sidewalk, the one with deep pain in her eyes, and offer a simple hug. I can notice others' strengths and encourage them. I can share the joy God has given me through the multitude of colors and textures present in this world. I thank God He allows me to see beauty and invite others to join me in admiring it. I can spread love and joy where I am, knowing that the small difference it makes is enough.
What difference do you want to make?
More than anything, I want to show people the love that God has for them. Perhaps, then the pain of the world would not seem so great. I know that pain and loss and grief for the things that we have lost can make us wonder whether the people around us care or whether God Himself cares. I know what it's life to feel that the pain of life is just all too difficult and perhaps it were be easier just to die.
I felt that way once. But then I remembered that God does not do things haphazardly, and He must have put me here for some purpose. I realized that giving up and surrendering to my own pain would only increase the difficulty for others around me. For a while, it did not seem that any good could ever come from the losses I had experienced. It seemed that all the hurt of the world was for naught. But then I learned to see my pain as a blessing that could help me to touch the hurting, dying world around me.
The world around me is dying for love--God's love. Often, I do very poorly at loving them the way God has loved me, sin and baggage and all. Sometimes, I wish that there were perfect people in the world for me to love and almost convince myself that then I could love more perfectly. But I know that I wouldn't, because I am still human.
So, I know I can't change the whole world. I cannot make everyone feel the love of God and understand His truth. But I can reach out to the girl I meet on the sidewalk, the one with deep pain in her eyes, and offer a simple hug. I can notice others' strengths and encourage them. I can share the joy God has given me through the multitude of colors and textures present in this world. I thank God He allows me to see beauty and invite others to join me in admiring it. I can spread love and joy where I am, knowing that the small difference it makes is enough.
What difference do you want to make?
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| This color always makes me extraordinarily happy. I hope it brightens your day, too! |
Thursday, October 2, 2014
My Favorite Project
Only once have I had a project that made me love working--that kept me curious and enthusiastic through long, tedious hours. Somehow, I've not ever told many people about my favorite project. You see, most people don't seem to care at all about genealogical research.
So how in the world did I discover an unusual joy in such solitary work, seated in front of a computer for eight to twelve hours a day?
It was the evening of my grandfather's visitation when I first got my hands on a piece of extensive genealogical research. (I had been quizzing him for some time concerning his time in World War II and recording the details of every distant relative that he could remember. Their lives--both the everydayness of the births, the deaths, the marriages, and the more extraordinary event of three generations named Andrew Jackson because they were farmer Democrats.) A distant cousin gave me ten generations worth of research she had done. I was thrilled!
By the time we reached home, I had read the whole document and found an error in the chronology. And so the next morning was the beginning of my project to correct the record. I determined to complete the project in honor of my grandfather. The next morning, I sat down in front of the computer armed only with a single web address and began my search. It took me a full week to retrace her findings, then I began the more intensive process of searching further back.
Never had I been so focused. Never since have I been so focused. My zeal and focus for the project produced measurable results. Over a period of approximately six months, I researched approximately one thousand years worth of genealogical data on my dad's side of the family and another four hundred years worth of data on my mother's side. This has been my greatest accomplishment so far.
Yet the sense of accomplishment gained was only a bonus because the true joy lay in the research itself. Every detail--a date, the precise spelling of a name, especially the discovery of twins--each detail thrilled my soul. I should clarify that the details themselves did not thrill me, but the people did. Thousands of years worth of people--once-living people!--kept me company during those long hours at the computer.
So how in the world did I discover an unusual joy in such solitary work, seated in front of a computer for eight to twelve hours a day?
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| Ann Boleyn (father's side) |
By the time we reached home, I had read the whole document and found an error in the chronology. And so the next morning was the beginning of my project to correct the record. I determined to complete the project in honor of my grandfather. The next morning, I sat down in front of the computer armed only with a single web address and began my search. It took me a full week to retrace her findings, then I began the more intensive process of searching further back.
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| Pocohantas (mother's side) |
Yet the sense of accomplishment gained was only a bonus because the true joy lay in the research itself. Every detail--a date, the precise spelling of a name, especially the discovery of twins--each detail thrilled my soul. I should clarify that the details themselves did not thrill me, but the people did. Thousands of years worth of people--once-living people!--kept me company during those long hours at the computer.
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