My family is a big believer in celebrating birthdays and major holidays. I've grown up always making a big deal about these annual events, and I think it's made my life happier. As humans, we have a need to celebrate, to do something out of the ordinary and have fun. I've come across people who don't put much effort into birthdays or holidays, and while I understand that sometimes it's just not part of their family culture, I still think it's perfectly reasonable to get excited and make big plans for those special days.
With that, I would like to share what I did for my hubby's thirtieth birthday. When planning something for another person, it's always a good idea to take into account what they like to do, what best holds their interest. With my hubby, I know he loves puzzles and strategy games. He also enjoys physical activities, like rock climbing and bowling. I figured I could either rent a couple lanes at a bowling alley, or I could throw a Magic the Gathering party at the local game shop. (I definitely knew I wanted to host SOME sort of big party. Thirty is a major birthday, after all.)
So then I had to decide which he would enjoy more. I would have enjoyed the bowling party more, but I am an extrovert at heart, whereas the hubby is an introvert. Then I had to decide if I wanted it to be a specific Magic party, which would limit who I could invite. I went with a board game night, since it would appeal to the interests of everyone I invited.
After that, I decided to make it a surprise party, and for the two weeks leading up to the party, I would give the hubby clues and riddles to solve. Since I put in a lot of hard work into this, I am posting all the clues here! (Feel free to use this as inspiration the next time you want to do something fun for your family or friends!)
First, I hid the starter clue inside his backpack.
"Thirty is a special year,
It comes just once, they say.
To celebrate, I'll rhyme, I fear,
Give tasks and clues along the way.
Two a day, for one fortnight
Leaves time for school and work.
IF you need help, ask, don't bite -
They're for fun. And me, don't shirk!
I'll do my best to make these varied;
they're harder to write than solve.
Hopefully my skills aren't buried.
Perhaps they'll grow, evolve."
Then, the first "official" clue:
Your next clue - a haiku!
Although you're older,
In the Twilight of your life,
You surely are not.
This led him to our copy of the book Twilight (yes, I own the books, and we BOTH enjoyed reading them - obviously enough to purchase and STILL own them, despite the heavy Meyer criticism. But that's a topic for another post...)
I had left a piece of paper inside the book, with a series of numbers written down on it as the next clue. It was a cipher! I wrote down a page number, a line on the page, the number word on the line, then the letter in that word. For example, I looked for a capital letter C and let's say I found it on page 234, it was on the 17th line from the top of the page, the 5th word in, and the 1st letter in that word. The code would read 234.17.5.1. There was a total of eight codes like that, to spell out a simple message, "Call E---" (one of his siblings).
I gave the next clue to his sibling, so they could give the next clue. Not entirely necessary, but it gave the hubby a chance to visit and chat (he's a guy, after all, and not all men are great at keeping in touch).
The next clue was supposed to be read with emphasis on the capitalized words, but the hubby figured it out anyway:
"Wish we were There, And we hope you can come Back Again."
Yes, this would lead him to our copy of "The Hobbit." Inside that book was another slip of paper, with this cryptic message:
100-25= ? , (27 & 28)
This one wasn't quite as clear as the last cipher; it was supposed to lead him to page 75, and read lines 27 and 28, which was the next clue, borrowed from Tolkien:
A box without hinges, key or lid, Yet golden treasure inside is hid.
THAT clue took hubby all of five seconds to figure out, since we both love that book and riddles in general. The next clue was hidden inside our egg carton in the fridge :)
This is what the following clue said:
"Not Indiana Jones."
This one threw him a bit, wondering if we had any family with the last name Jones, or if we knew anyone from the state, Indiana. Instead, it was a teacher on campus with the last name Jones. (Hubby was impressed I had involved his professor.)
I had emailed the teacher and given him the next clue, which read:
Here you will find a Link to your past.
Hubby loves the Zelda video games, and the hero's name is "Link," so it led him to our video games. Inside one of the game cases I hid the following clue:
Just "wing" your way over to this eatery.
Hubby and I had our first date at a restaurant called "Wingers." I left an envelope there with another clue inside, a youtube link. This link led him to a music video, the one where someone had taken a line from a Lord of the Rings movie, "They're taking the hobbits to Isengard!" and remixed it into a fun little song.
Initially hubby looked at our LOTR books, so I had to redirect him to our DVDs. Inside the second movie's case (since that line was from the second film), ther was another slip of paper, this time with a fill-in-the-blank:
J______ J______ helped to make "us" official.
We bought our rings at Jensen's Jewelers, a local ring shop. They had another envelope for him, and I had drawn a pictogram clue, breaking down the name of one of his other siblings into a few syllables that could be figured out with images. That sibling had this clue:
Find a friend whose last name rhymes, and you will have a clue in time:
"I love you a bushel and a peck, a bushel and a peck and a hug around the neck."
This one was a little harder - we have some friends with the last name Beck, so I had to point out that the word hubby was trying to rhyme was "peck." Once he got a hold of that friend, he was given a task:
To receive the next clue (this will be great!)
A high hit must be rolled - not just one.
Twice times twenty, divided by eight.
In the clue giver's presence, D---- son."
That was his dad's name, just to finish the rhyme, referring to hubby. He had to roll five "critical hits" with dice, which, if you're a gamer, you know that means on a twenty-sided die, you need to roll a 20. Then came the next clue:
He may often work in solitary,
Just like you prefer to do.
He is not head of a monastery,
But you respect him through and through.
Hubby has a boss with the last name "Abbott," so the clue was a play on the literal definition of "abbot." His boss then gave him this clue:
The next clue will not come, I'm afraid,
Until you Face the facts and make it known
Just how awesome your loving wife has made
Your whole life, and how much you've grown.
Basically I just wanted him to post on Facebook something simple and sweet about how he loves me. I mean, who doesn't want to hear that? :) After he completed this task, I gave him the next clue.
The redheaded kin studying south.
Hubby has a sibling going to college in the state directly south of us, and she has pretty red hair (they all do!). This was her question:
"What does the fox say?"
Right now there is a popular song called, "What does the Fox say?" and it's pretty ridiculous and funny. So hubby had to sing for her, the part of the chorus where it's supposed to be what the fox is "saying." I told her to put the phone on speaker - I hope she did :p - and then give him the next clue:
Hardware and software you play all day.
Some would call it work, you seem to think it is play.
Geeks only are allowed, it keeps regular people at bay.
You may find this place, just do it before it is all canned.
This clue was actually written by hubby's boss, and it was an inside joke about a big project they had worked on at the office for almost a year when the people upstairs decided to shut it down. The clue was at the office, and it read:
Run, swim, climb or bike,
This Don we both like.
We have an athletic friend that hubby likes to ride bikes with, and his name includes the word "don." (Fun fact: "Don" is a title or honorific originating from Italy and Spain - just think of the Zorro films with Anthony Hopkins and Antonio Banderas.)
This friend had the following clue:
It goes by chocolate or by Cocoa,
No matter how it's seen,
This place I often go-go,
But I'm not sure you've ever Bean.
There is a cupcake shop in town called the Cocoa Bean, and I go there a lot, usually to buy cupcakes for birthdays or to congratulate new moms. They had a clue in an envelope for hubby, along with a gift certificate for a cupcake. (You can't go to a cupcake shop and not eat a cupcake!) Extra sweet surprise: Instead of getting himself a cupcake, hubby use the certificate to bring one home for me!
The envelope had another youtube link, this time to a video of the song, "Wake Up, Little Susie." (Hubby's mom's name). I made sure he had this clue last, so he would call his mom on his birthday. She sent him a text with the last clue, a word scramble:
ylraedgnos smeag
That one didn't take long for him to decipher: Dragonslayer Games is the only game shop in town. He said I should have made it harder by spelling out actual words with the letters, since that messes with your brain more.
The hard part of all this was telling him he couldn't go to the shop until after 8 pm, something to do with their inventory and not having his final "gift" ready until then. Oh, no wait, the hard part was having to CANCEL the party since hubby got sick on his birthday! I had to move the whole thing to the following Tuesday and STILL keep it a surprise. Everyone I invited did a good job keeping the secret, but hubby said the way I made him wait until after eight was a bit obvious. Oh well. I was tired after all that clue-writing and hiding and party coordinating!
Anyway, I hope this helps give one of you some fun ideas for your next loved one's special day!
Thursday, October 31, 2013
Tuesday, April 23, 2013
Keeping the Unity in United States
I watched a commercial today for Target, one about babies and moms happily experiencing life - a pleasant enough, benign ad, except for one thing: It was half in Spanish. Now don't get me wrong, I appreciate other cultures (I myself am part Armenian, Filipino, and Spanish), but this commercial made me angry. I even wrote an email to Target about it. After the initial anger wore off, I realized there was something more to my reaction. Anger is a secondary emotion, after all. My reaction was one of fear.
I fear the deterioration of the English language. I understand that language evolves over time, and today's vernacular is very different from what it was 50 years ago. I even recall a time, fairly recently, too, when I was watching a television sitcom from the late 1970s (Mork and Mindy, fun show :). It struck me at how odd some of the dialog sounded. It seems this deconstruction of our language is somewhat inevitable, but I want to do what I can to preserve it.
I fear the subtle acceptance of illegal immigrants, as we in the United States bend over backwards to make every possible allowance for them, including printing documents in every language, especially the documents for welfare, and paying for all their medical care. I mean, where are all the tree huggers when you need them? If we only ever printed official documentation in English, we'd save so many trees! (I'm being facetious, but it WOULD save time and money to print stuff in only one language, and put everything else online.)
I fear big government inviting people to be completely dependent on them. If a government holds the purse strings, it also holds the newspaper (meaning they also control what information goes to the masses). Bottom line, the laws need to change, so people who are earnestly trying to come here, who want to contribute to this country, can do so in such a manner that it won't be as worthwhile to jump the line (or the fence). We need laws that make true independence more alluring than government handouts.
I fear losing this nation to another. In my religion, it teaches that the unrighteous will lose their land unless they repent. People have been taking God out of our country for decades, and now with families and overall morality deteriorating left and right, we as a nation are facing the natural consequences: Illegal aliens are going to end up taking this land from us, because we are no longer righteous stewards.
But I digress... What I really fear is the dissolution of this great nation. If we keep touting diversity as the underlying foundation, we will fall. The word "diversity" itself has its roots in the word "divide." I'm all for appreciating and celebrating different cultures, but what do we have in common anymore? Different languages, different religions, different cultures - a common language would easily bring back the unity this nation needs, without infringing on anyone else's rights. We obviously can't declare a national religion, and a lot of what makes this nation great is its "melting pot" essence, lots of ideas coming together to make the USA better.
A common language would help us work through our diversity. How many times have you tried to talk with someone whose native language was not your own? There's lots of smiling and nodding, simple sentences and short exchanges, for fear of the message getting lost, for fear of offending the other person. A lot of the time it's incredibly awkward, because you're not quite sure if the other person really understood what you were saying, and at worst you DO offend the other person. It's hard enough dealing with the cultural differences of someone who does speak English, who grew up on the opposite side of the country than you. Add a foreign language into the mix and it's no wonder we're all walking on eggshells. We don't understand each other.
We need one, declared national language to unify us. We can't let disasters like terrorist bombings and hurricanes be the only thing that brings us together, because people forget those feelings. Language is only one factor among many for what can determine the success or failure of a nation, but it bothers me to see how close we are to destruction, and how few conservative voices are speaking up against it.
I fear the deterioration of the English language. I understand that language evolves over time, and today's vernacular is very different from what it was 50 years ago. I even recall a time, fairly recently, too, when I was watching a television sitcom from the late 1970s (Mork and Mindy, fun show :). It struck me at how odd some of the dialog sounded. It seems this deconstruction of our language is somewhat inevitable, but I want to do what I can to preserve it.
I fear the subtle acceptance of illegal immigrants, as we in the United States bend over backwards to make every possible allowance for them, including printing documents in every language, especially the documents for welfare, and paying for all their medical care. I mean, where are all the tree huggers when you need them? If we only ever printed official documentation in English, we'd save so many trees! (I'm being facetious, but it WOULD save time and money to print stuff in only one language, and put everything else online.)
I fear big government inviting people to be completely dependent on them. If a government holds the purse strings, it also holds the newspaper (meaning they also control what information goes to the masses). Bottom line, the laws need to change, so people who are earnestly trying to come here, who want to contribute to this country, can do so in such a manner that it won't be as worthwhile to jump the line (or the fence). We need laws that make true independence more alluring than government handouts.
I fear losing this nation to another. In my religion, it teaches that the unrighteous will lose their land unless they repent. People have been taking God out of our country for decades, and now with families and overall morality deteriorating left and right, we as a nation are facing the natural consequences: Illegal aliens are going to end up taking this land from us, because we are no longer righteous stewards.
But I digress... What I really fear is the dissolution of this great nation. If we keep touting diversity as the underlying foundation, we will fall. The word "diversity" itself has its roots in the word "divide." I'm all for appreciating and celebrating different cultures, but what do we have in common anymore? Different languages, different religions, different cultures - a common language would easily bring back the unity this nation needs, without infringing on anyone else's rights. We obviously can't declare a national religion, and a lot of what makes this nation great is its "melting pot" essence, lots of ideas coming together to make the USA better.
A common language would help us work through our diversity. How many times have you tried to talk with someone whose native language was not your own? There's lots of smiling and nodding, simple sentences and short exchanges, for fear of the message getting lost, for fear of offending the other person. A lot of the time it's incredibly awkward, because you're not quite sure if the other person really understood what you were saying, and at worst you DO offend the other person. It's hard enough dealing with the cultural differences of someone who does speak English, who grew up on the opposite side of the country than you. Add a foreign language into the mix and it's no wonder we're all walking on eggshells. We don't understand each other.
We need one, declared national language to unify us. We can't let disasters like terrorist bombings and hurricanes be the only thing that brings us together, because people forget those feelings. Language is only one factor among many for what can determine the success or failure of a nation, but it bothers me to see how close we are to destruction, and how few conservative voices are speaking up against it.
Friday, March 22, 2013
The Night I Went to a Rave
Okay, okay, so it wasn't a REAL rave. In southeast Idaho the closest you can get to a rave is glow sticks, a goal to break a Guinness World Record, music with bass that vibrates you down to your bones, and black lights. Sure, there were some rowdy partygoers, but there was no alcohol on the premises and a DJ in tune enough to realize when he needed to calm down the crowd.
It was the hubby's turn to plan our date night, and he thought the chance to participate in a world record breaking challenge would be fun. Unfortunately, we showed up right when the doors opened - and we've been out of the singles scene long enough to forget that NOBODY arrives to a party on time.
The venue did have a pretty cool vibe, though - a gigantic warehouse that doubles as a crossfit center during the day. You had to yell to be heard at the entrance, and that was with the speakers at least half a football field length away. There was a long line to get in, with sponsored booths promoting their services while you waited, and plastic tarps blocking the view of the rest of the facility, to keep an air of mystery to the club-like setting. Our hands were marked, our wrists were banded, and then we were admitted.
One side of the building had a dedicated bike run, with a stunt team doing flips and tricks on their bikes, and there was a photo booth set up on the other side. The bass was so loud I could feel the loose material on my pant legs vibrating freely, and I had never before felt a song pulse in my chest that way. There were the typical flashy, colored lights and fog machine, plus a large net of balloons hanging over the main dance floor for later in the evening.
During the party, the event coordinators threw out dozens and dozens of glow sticks. We collected enough to make several necklaces and bracelets. Soon people were busting them open and splattering themselves and others with the glowstick juices, fallen sticks crunching beneath our shoes. They also tossed out balloons that were four times larger than beach balls, for the crowd to bat around, as well as the skinny balloon-animal balloons. Some rectangular tissue paper confetti soon followed.
It was hard to differentiate between most of the songs - the bass was up so loud it completely overwhelmed any melody, unless the DJ happened to turn it down momentarily for the intro of a more popular or classic song. Other than the couple songs I recognized, I didn't like the music. But it was all part of the experience, so I stayed and swayed.
Being in a crowd is an interesting experience. You can't walk on to a dance floor like that and not expect to be jostled around. The more open you are to the experience, the more you realize everyone else is there to do exactly what you're doing - dance with some friends and do something fun - the better the time you'll have overall. There was shoving, there was typical bumping and pushing as other partygoers tried to reach other parts of the dance floor, and there was also the less expected thrusting of the more aggressive guests. If you risk entering the middle of the crush, you will be squished at times (events like these are not for the claustrophobic), and at best you'll be rhythmically bumping hips, butts and stomachs with complete strangers.
Still, as far as parties go, this was tame. The DJ even stopped the music a couple times to tell people to calm down (there was probably some hard shoving that he saw) and to "feel the love" instead. Really, though, the worst part was the body odor emanating from some of the male guests, the smell of pot, and when someone stepped on/scraped my ankle during a "jump" song. (I remembered smelling some farts, too - I guess all that dancing around got some people's systems going...) Oh, and there was some crowd surfing, too. Every time the girls saw someone headed towards them, they would duck their heads down and scurry in the opposite direction. I'm guessing they didn't want anyone to fall on them.
I felt completely safe in that crowd (despite the occasional threat of falling men); I even sent the hubby off to get me one of the free promotional shirts while I stayed and danced by myself. Sometimes I made eye contact with others, and they looked the same way I probably did - just watching what everyone else was doing and enjoying being a part of something bigger than themselves.
We did end up leaving early, since dances like that really aren't our thing. We had brought our own silly string, so we used up the cans on each other, took a picture, and left. The music was so loud that our ears were ringing and our voices sounded like we were underwater when we went back outside. I'm glad we went, though. It's good to try new things, even those things we think we wouldn't normally enjoy.
It was the hubby's turn to plan our date night, and he thought the chance to participate in a world record breaking challenge would be fun. Unfortunately, we showed up right when the doors opened - and we've been out of the singles scene long enough to forget that NOBODY arrives to a party on time.
The venue did have a pretty cool vibe, though - a gigantic warehouse that doubles as a crossfit center during the day. You had to yell to be heard at the entrance, and that was with the speakers at least half a football field length away. There was a long line to get in, with sponsored booths promoting their services while you waited, and plastic tarps blocking the view of the rest of the facility, to keep an air of mystery to the club-like setting. Our hands were marked, our wrists were banded, and then we were admitted.
One side of the building had a dedicated bike run, with a stunt team doing flips and tricks on their bikes, and there was a photo booth set up on the other side. The bass was so loud I could feel the loose material on my pant legs vibrating freely, and I had never before felt a song pulse in my chest that way. There were the typical flashy, colored lights and fog machine, plus a large net of balloons hanging over the main dance floor for later in the evening.
During the party, the event coordinators threw out dozens and dozens of glow sticks. We collected enough to make several necklaces and bracelets. Soon people were busting them open and splattering themselves and others with the glowstick juices, fallen sticks crunching beneath our shoes. They also tossed out balloons that were four times larger than beach balls, for the crowd to bat around, as well as the skinny balloon-animal balloons. Some rectangular tissue paper confetti soon followed.
It was hard to differentiate between most of the songs - the bass was up so loud it completely overwhelmed any melody, unless the DJ happened to turn it down momentarily for the intro of a more popular or classic song. Other than the couple songs I recognized, I didn't like the music. But it was all part of the experience, so I stayed and swayed.
Being in a crowd is an interesting experience. You can't walk on to a dance floor like that and not expect to be jostled around. The more open you are to the experience, the more you realize everyone else is there to do exactly what you're doing - dance with some friends and do something fun - the better the time you'll have overall. There was shoving, there was typical bumping and pushing as other partygoers tried to reach other parts of the dance floor, and there was also the less expected thrusting of the more aggressive guests. If you risk entering the middle of the crush, you will be squished at times (events like these are not for the claustrophobic), and at best you'll be rhythmically bumping hips, butts and stomachs with complete strangers.
Still, as far as parties go, this was tame. The DJ even stopped the music a couple times to tell people to calm down (there was probably some hard shoving that he saw) and to "feel the love" instead. Really, though, the worst part was the body odor emanating from some of the male guests, the smell of pot, and when someone stepped on/scraped my ankle during a "jump" song. (I remembered smelling some farts, too - I guess all that dancing around got some people's systems going...) Oh, and there was some crowd surfing, too. Every time the girls saw someone headed towards them, they would duck their heads down and scurry in the opposite direction. I'm guessing they didn't want anyone to fall on them.
I felt completely safe in that crowd (despite the occasional threat of falling men); I even sent the hubby off to get me one of the free promotional shirts while I stayed and danced by myself. Sometimes I made eye contact with others, and they looked the same way I probably did - just watching what everyone else was doing and enjoying being a part of something bigger than themselves.
We did end up leaving early, since dances like that really aren't our thing. We had brought our own silly string, so we used up the cans on each other, took a picture, and left. The music was so loud that our ears were ringing and our voices sounded like we were underwater when we went back outside. I'm glad we went, though. It's good to try new things, even those things we think we wouldn't normally enjoy.
Tuesday, February 26, 2013
If You Give a Man a Meal...
Sometimes there is a moment in life that, while it is happening, you know it is a test. Today just such a moment happened to me.
I made an excursion today with my kids to the local Target. Out here, that means an hour round-trip of travel, planned around naps and mealtimes. After our shopping was finished, I decided to stop by the local Panda Express to pick up some dinner to take home. Now, it's important to note that I don't eat out here very often, despite my love of "Americanized Chinese food," because we're poor. Some might ask how we can eat out at all, if we're so poor; everyone spends their money differently, so I'll leave it at that.
Anyway, as I pulled up to the takeout window, the girl leaned over and said, "Can I ask you kind of a strange question?" I said sure. "Do you like shrimp?" I nodded in the affirmative; I liked their shrimp, but I wouldn't usually order it because it costs extra. The girl then proceeds to tell me that the last guy through the line couldn't pay for his order, so there it was, all boxed up and ready to go, so I could have it for free! My guess is that once food is taken out of their serving dishes it can't go back, for sanitary reasons.
I was so excited I pulled into a parking spot to examine my prize. I immediately thought a quick, silent prayer of gratitude, as I opened the box to reveal two servings of shrimp, plus chow mein (I prefer the noodles over the fried rice). I then sent my husband a text message at work to share the good news, closing everything back up and settling it on the seat next to me.
Then the test arose.
A man was standing on the corner, next to the fast food restaurant, holding up a cardboard sign that I only partly read. As soon as I got to the word "hungry," I pulled over, put my car in park, and rolled down the window, handing the homeless man the bag of free food. "Do you like shrimp?" I asked. He nodded, reached for the food, and said, "God bless!" A shiny metal stud poked through his scraggly beard, the rough rubber of his gloves scraping my fingers as the bag passed from my hands to his through the open window. And we went our separate ways.
I've been thinking of that moment ever since.
It felt so good to give that man some food! Whenever I see homeless people, I wish I could do something for them, and today I did! It was no burden to me to give him the food; it was a bonus, a bit of extra that had happened to fall into my lap, and I have never been stingy with what I receive.
I really do think that moment was a true test of my character. I may SAY that I am always willing to share, wanting to give, but when faced with free food, food that I liked in particular, would I still be willing to give it up?
Sometimes I imagine having lots of money and being a "person of means," and I like to tell myself that I only want money so I can give it away, to help more people. One of my favorite television shows is "House Hunters International," although it's a love-hate relationship. I love "seeing" all the exotic locations; I hate listening to all the rich white people whining about every little detail that isn't up to their exacting tastes, for their SECOND homes. I have told the hubby that if we are ever rich enough to afford a second home, I never want to buy one. I would rather buy someone's FIRST home for them, instead. Sometimes I tell God these things, to see if He believes me and is willing to test my word. Today was that test, or at least one of them.
I think I have what's called a "bleeding heart." Whenever I make treats at home, I usually give away at least half (much to my husband's dismay). I love to share. (I'm sure when my boys are older I will have to make an entirely separate batch, and then guard it, if I want to give some away, but until then, my neighbors get lots of treats.)
I have heard that one cannot become poor by giving too much; I have also heard that giving is a luxury. I constantly do battle with those schools of thought.
My husband and I donate ten percent of all our earnings. I trust my church's ability to spend those funds wisely and help others through their specific means and experience. There are lots of charities out there that claim to do so much good, but they either turn a large profit, or the people running the charity really don't have good business sense and money is wasted. I also believe in making a difference at the community level. I've volunteered before to help clean a local women's shelter, and I've helped put in a new landscape at a community center. But for all that, I still wish I could do more.
Homeless people in particular make me uncomfortable. My "safety training" makes me wary of all strangers, especially vagabonds. Why are they there in the first place? Drugs? Alcohol? Mental illness? A willingness to be irresponsible blights on society? I just don't know. But I still feel guilty ignoring them.
I am a firm believer in the admonishment to teach others to fish instead of simply handing them a fish. As one that has had to receive "fish" on a number of occasions, accepting handouts is detrimental to one's self-confidence. I may have never been homeless, but I have come too close for comfort. Eviction notices are scary. If either of those experiences is remotely like what a homeless person goes through, I cannot imagine how they return to beg day after day. I pity them.
But what if the man you are feeding is putting on an act, willingly choosing not to work because it's easier on some level to feed off of others? I am more suspicious than the average person. It's something I learned from my mother, as a means of safety and self-preservation - I never did get into a car with a stranger who offered me free candy. The thought crossed my mind after I drove off, leaving that delicious free food with the unknown beggar. What if he just conned a gullible mother out of her meal?
Despite being more suspicious than average, I am still a fairly optimistic person. I believe there is good in the world, yet I am willing to accept the possibility that the man I "helped" today did not deserve it. I do not know his story. I do not know if he has a mental illness that keeps him from being able to care for himself, I do not know if that mental deficiency was of his own making. I do not know if he sells drugs to school children, I do not know if he once had children but lost them due to some tragedy and that drove him to his current state. I do know, however, that the moment I gave him the food, I passed a test, and maybe that's the only reason he was there.
I made an excursion today with my kids to the local Target. Out here, that means an hour round-trip of travel, planned around naps and mealtimes. After our shopping was finished, I decided to stop by the local Panda Express to pick up some dinner to take home. Now, it's important to note that I don't eat out here very often, despite my love of "Americanized Chinese food," because we're poor. Some might ask how we can eat out at all, if we're so poor; everyone spends their money differently, so I'll leave it at that.
Anyway, as I pulled up to the takeout window, the girl leaned over and said, "Can I ask you kind of a strange question?" I said sure. "Do you like shrimp?" I nodded in the affirmative; I liked their shrimp, but I wouldn't usually order it because it costs extra. The girl then proceeds to tell me that the last guy through the line couldn't pay for his order, so there it was, all boxed up and ready to go, so I could have it for free! My guess is that once food is taken out of their serving dishes it can't go back, for sanitary reasons.
I was so excited I pulled into a parking spot to examine my prize. I immediately thought a quick, silent prayer of gratitude, as I opened the box to reveal two servings of shrimp, plus chow mein (I prefer the noodles over the fried rice). I then sent my husband a text message at work to share the good news, closing everything back up and settling it on the seat next to me.
Then the test arose.
A man was standing on the corner, next to the fast food restaurant, holding up a cardboard sign that I only partly read. As soon as I got to the word "hungry," I pulled over, put my car in park, and rolled down the window, handing the homeless man the bag of free food. "Do you like shrimp?" I asked. He nodded, reached for the food, and said, "God bless!" A shiny metal stud poked through his scraggly beard, the rough rubber of his gloves scraping my fingers as the bag passed from my hands to his through the open window. And we went our separate ways.
I've been thinking of that moment ever since.
It felt so good to give that man some food! Whenever I see homeless people, I wish I could do something for them, and today I did! It was no burden to me to give him the food; it was a bonus, a bit of extra that had happened to fall into my lap, and I have never been stingy with what I receive.
I really do think that moment was a true test of my character. I may SAY that I am always willing to share, wanting to give, but when faced with free food, food that I liked in particular, would I still be willing to give it up?
Sometimes I imagine having lots of money and being a "person of means," and I like to tell myself that I only want money so I can give it away, to help more people. One of my favorite television shows is "House Hunters International," although it's a love-hate relationship. I love "seeing" all the exotic locations; I hate listening to all the rich white people whining about every little detail that isn't up to their exacting tastes, for their SECOND homes. I have told the hubby that if we are ever rich enough to afford a second home, I never want to buy one. I would rather buy someone's FIRST home for them, instead. Sometimes I tell God these things, to see if He believes me and is willing to test my word. Today was that test, or at least one of them.
I think I have what's called a "bleeding heart." Whenever I make treats at home, I usually give away at least half (much to my husband's dismay). I love to share. (I'm sure when my boys are older I will have to make an entirely separate batch, and then guard it, if I want to give some away, but until then, my neighbors get lots of treats.)
I have heard that one cannot become poor by giving too much; I have also heard that giving is a luxury. I constantly do battle with those schools of thought.
My husband and I donate ten percent of all our earnings. I trust my church's ability to spend those funds wisely and help others through their specific means and experience. There are lots of charities out there that claim to do so much good, but they either turn a large profit, or the people running the charity really don't have good business sense and money is wasted. I also believe in making a difference at the community level. I've volunteered before to help clean a local women's shelter, and I've helped put in a new landscape at a community center. But for all that, I still wish I could do more.
Homeless people in particular make me uncomfortable. My "safety training" makes me wary of all strangers, especially vagabonds. Why are they there in the first place? Drugs? Alcohol? Mental illness? A willingness to be irresponsible blights on society? I just don't know. But I still feel guilty ignoring them.
I am a firm believer in the admonishment to teach others to fish instead of simply handing them a fish. As one that has had to receive "fish" on a number of occasions, accepting handouts is detrimental to one's self-confidence. I may have never been homeless, but I have come too close for comfort. Eviction notices are scary. If either of those experiences is remotely like what a homeless person goes through, I cannot imagine how they return to beg day after day. I pity them.
But what if the man you are feeding is putting on an act, willingly choosing not to work because it's easier on some level to feed off of others? I am more suspicious than the average person. It's something I learned from my mother, as a means of safety and self-preservation - I never did get into a car with a stranger who offered me free candy. The thought crossed my mind after I drove off, leaving that delicious free food with the unknown beggar. What if he just conned a gullible mother out of her meal?
Despite being more suspicious than average, I am still a fairly optimistic person. I believe there is good in the world, yet I am willing to accept the possibility that the man I "helped" today did not deserve it. I do not know his story. I do not know if he has a mental illness that keeps him from being able to care for himself, I do not know if that mental deficiency was of his own making. I do not know if he sells drugs to school children, I do not know if he once had children but lost them due to some tragedy and that drove him to his current state. I do know, however, that the moment I gave him the food, I passed a test, and maybe that's the only reason he was there.
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Woods in the Moonlight
Growing up, my family spent a lot of time together with extended family. I lived in the same town as my dad's brother and his family, another of his brother's lived just a few towns over, and my mom's parents were in the next city over. One of my aunts, my dad's sister, lived four hours away though, so we typically planned those visits over parts of summer or other vacations. I think that is where my love of nature began - on those hot, dusty drives through the Sierra Nevada mountains.
Whenever I hear cricket chirpings, I am immediately transported back in time, to dry, hot summer evenings in my aunt's home in Nevada. Their home didn't have central air, so those nights were spent on the floor in my cousin's room, the window open, a fan oscillating, the gossamer curtains fluttering in the occasional wind. Moonlight spilled onto my pillow, filtered only slightly by the thin fabric window treatment. The crickets would serenade for hours, the whole house asleep, extra full with all the visitors, and eventually the heat of the desert day would fade into the cool, yet heavy, night. I was probably only awake for a few minutes, but to me, those silver moments were long and mystical.
Moonlight paints everything in strange, alien shades, much the same way snow can transform any landscape into a glittering plain of diamonds. Foreign, yet still familiar, as certain shapes are remembered and compared to their day-lit counterparts. I loved bathing in that soft, white light. When I was younger I even used to orient my pillow to be in the moonbeams for as long as possible. Since then I have heard the old lore that sleeping in moonlight will lead to lunacy. That must simply mean most of us have spent at least some time in moonglow.
With all our modern conveniences of central air and heating, pest control and air filters, I think we tend to forget what it is like to be touched by nature. Don't get me wrong, I would just as soon forget about mosquitoes. When I was younger, I could wake up out of a dead sleep if I heard one of them nearby. One time in my high school science class, we were playing with tuning forks, and one of my classmates tried to sneak up behind me with a vibrating fork. My highly attuned mosquito-deflecting reflexes were such that I nearly smacked him in the face with my flailings.
I think those reflexes stayed with me for some time after my parents got central air in our house, though. I was bit by a deer fly once while hiking, and I was so ANGRY at the pain that when I swatted at my injured calf, I managed to kill the offending fly. I also smeared blood all over, but I did feel better for having slaughtered the pest!
Yet for all that, I still love pine and redwood forests. I spent at least nine weeks of summer, over the course of my life, in the woods. Most of my time camping was as a participant in my church's "Girl's Camp," for the girls ages 12 to 18. For most of the campers, this was their first time away from home, and it was very often their first opportunity to ask questions about God and their religion. I loved the program so much I came back as some sort of leader for three years past the norm, and I attended my cousin's Nevada girl's camp for at least two summers.
The best faith-building experience I recall at one of these camps involved a day hike, a mountain stream, and a pair of glasses. I was a youth leader for some twelve-year-old girls (the groups were called "nests" and each nest had an adult counselor with one or two teenage "junior" counselors), and part of our challenge that week included a day trek into the woods. Most of us wore swimsuits for splashing in the stream where we would lunch before heading back to camp, and the icy clear water was a welcome reward for our dusty hike. Unfortunately, in her excitement, one of the girls went all the way under the water, not realizing the current was strong enough to rip the glasses right off her face.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with us searching for the girl's glasses. She was so upset, fearing the reprimands from her parents for losing such an expensive item. But I, the expert in mountaineering from having read "My Side of the Mountain" so many times, I was determined to retrieve them. Keep in mind, however, despite the clear water, it was extremely hard to see the bottom of the rocky stream, even though it was just a couple feet deep at the most. Shapes and shadows get bent and distorted in water.
After some time of everyone searching carefully, but being tricked by the sun glinting on the moving water, most people gave up the search. It was almost time to start heading back. The idea came to me, however, to try and get a better idea of where the water would have carried her glasses. I borrowed another girl's glasses and firmly knotted them to some string, then stood where the girl thought she first stepped into the stream. I dropped the second pair of glasses into the water, keeping a tight grasp on the string, and watched as they drifted down into the current.
I reached my hand down, following the string, feeling around for any signs of glasses. Just as the last girls were leaving to get back on the trail, I felt something. I pulled out my prize, disbelieving but triumphant! I had managed to find her glasses! (And for the record, we didn't lose the second girl's glasses.) For that young lady, who I am sure was praying just as fervently as I was, she received her very own witness that Heavenly Father cares about one of his daughters retrieving her lost glasses.
There is a stillness in nature that we tend to forget, a largeness to life that makes one feel small and insignificant, yet still incredibly grateful to be alive and have the senses necessary to experience it all. The forest isn't necessarily less noisy than the city, however, what with all the animal activity in the day, and the rustling, rooting of the nocturnal creatures.
But if you are lucky enough to camp somewhere that has smaller hills in the area, and it is a clear night, you can hike up to some higher point and listen to a different sort of stillness. Imagine the tops of the tall, needled trees, swaying, shushing in a rhythm reminiscent of the vast ocean, all color washed out in the pale moonlight. It is a sound and a smell unlike any other (except, of course, for that of other, similar forests).
With flashlights dimmed, the Milky Way appears in stardust strewn glory, and the vastness of the night sky reveals itself over the stretch of sleeping giants, nodding and waving their needled arms in the rocking wind. It is a beauty meant to be shared, and those I have gone camping with will not soon be forgotten.
Whenever I hear cricket chirpings, I am immediately transported back in time, to dry, hot summer evenings in my aunt's home in Nevada. Their home didn't have central air, so those nights were spent on the floor in my cousin's room, the window open, a fan oscillating, the gossamer curtains fluttering in the occasional wind. Moonlight spilled onto my pillow, filtered only slightly by the thin fabric window treatment. The crickets would serenade for hours, the whole house asleep, extra full with all the visitors, and eventually the heat of the desert day would fade into the cool, yet heavy, night. I was probably only awake for a few minutes, but to me, those silver moments were long and mystical.
Moonlight paints everything in strange, alien shades, much the same way snow can transform any landscape into a glittering plain of diamonds. Foreign, yet still familiar, as certain shapes are remembered and compared to their day-lit counterparts. I loved bathing in that soft, white light. When I was younger I even used to orient my pillow to be in the moonbeams for as long as possible. Since then I have heard the old lore that sleeping in moonlight will lead to lunacy. That must simply mean most of us have spent at least some time in moonglow.
With all our modern conveniences of central air and heating, pest control and air filters, I think we tend to forget what it is like to be touched by nature. Don't get me wrong, I would just as soon forget about mosquitoes. When I was younger, I could wake up out of a dead sleep if I heard one of them nearby. One time in my high school science class, we were playing with tuning forks, and one of my classmates tried to sneak up behind me with a vibrating fork. My highly attuned mosquito-deflecting reflexes were such that I nearly smacked him in the face with my flailings.
I think those reflexes stayed with me for some time after my parents got central air in our house, though. I was bit by a deer fly once while hiking, and I was so ANGRY at the pain that when I swatted at my injured calf, I managed to kill the offending fly. I also smeared blood all over, but I did feel better for having slaughtered the pest!
Yet for all that, I still love pine and redwood forests. I spent at least nine weeks of summer, over the course of my life, in the woods. Most of my time camping was as a participant in my church's "Girl's Camp," for the girls ages 12 to 18. For most of the campers, this was their first time away from home, and it was very often their first opportunity to ask questions about God and their religion. I loved the program so much I came back as some sort of leader for three years past the norm, and I attended my cousin's Nevada girl's camp for at least two summers.
The best faith-building experience I recall at one of these camps involved a day hike, a mountain stream, and a pair of glasses. I was a youth leader for some twelve-year-old girls (the groups were called "nests" and each nest had an adult counselor with one or two teenage "junior" counselors), and part of our challenge that week included a day trek into the woods. Most of us wore swimsuits for splashing in the stream where we would lunch before heading back to camp, and the icy clear water was a welcome reward for our dusty hike. Unfortunately, in her excitement, one of the girls went all the way under the water, not realizing the current was strong enough to rip the glasses right off her face.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with us searching for the girl's glasses. She was so upset, fearing the reprimands from her parents for losing such an expensive item. But I, the expert in mountaineering from having read "My Side of the Mountain" so many times, I was determined to retrieve them. Keep in mind, however, despite the clear water, it was extremely hard to see the bottom of the rocky stream, even though it was just a couple feet deep at the most. Shapes and shadows get bent and distorted in water.
After some time of everyone searching carefully, but being tricked by the sun glinting on the moving water, most people gave up the search. It was almost time to start heading back. The idea came to me, however, to try and get a better idea of where the water would have carried her glasses. I borrowed another girl's glasses and firmly knotted them to some string, then stood where the girl thought she first stepped into the stream. I dropped the second pair of glasses into the water, keeping a tight grasp on the string, and watched as they drifted down into the current.
I reached my hand down, following the string, feeling around for any signs of glasses. Just as the last girls were leaving to get back on the trail, I felt something. I pulled out my prize, disbelieving but triumphant! I had managed to find her glasses! (And for the record, we didn't lose the second girl's glasses.) For that young lady, who I am sure was praying just as fervently as I was, she received her very own witness that Heavenly Father cares about one of his daughters retrieving her lost glasses.
There is a stillness in nature that we tend to forget, a largeness to life that makes one feel small and insignificant, yet still incredibly grateful to be alive and have the senses necessary to experience it all. The forest isn't necessarily less noisy than the city, however, what with all the animal activity in the day, and the rustling, rooting of the nocturnal creatures.
But if you are lucky enough to camp somewhere that has smaller hills in the area, and it is a clear night, you can hike up to some higher point and listen to a different sort of stillness. Imagine the tops of the tall, needled trees, swaying, shushing in a rhythm reminiscent of the vast ocean, all color washed out in the pale moonlight. It is a sound and a smell unlike any other (except, of course, for that of other, similar forests).
With flashlights dimmed, the Milky Way appears in stardust strewn glory, and the vastness of the night sky reveals itself over the stretch of sleeping giants, nodding and waving their needled arms in the rocking wind. It is a beauty meant to be shared, and those I have gone camping with will not soon be forgotten.
Friday, June 8, 2012
Clean Freak
After about a nine month hiatus, I'm back! Let's see if I can get back into the swing of this whole writing thing.
I once read a John Bytheway book, one of the "What I Wish I Knew When I Was ___," (single, married, etc.) and something he wrote in there stuck with me. It was about how no matter what stage of life you're in, someone somewhere will ask why you're not taking the next step, or doing more with your life. When you're single, the question is always if you're dating someone. If you're dating someone, the question is when's the wedding. If you're married, when are you having kids; if you have a kid, when are you having more, and so on.
In response to all this pressure we experience, a plethora of pithy phrases have surfaced over the years, ones that usually end up crafted onto something wooden and hung in a prominent place at home, or at least "pinned" to a virtual board. One phrase in particular actually really bothers me, especially now that I am in charge of my own home. The sign I am thinking of says something along the lines of "Messy home, happy kids."
Ah, just found it on good ol' Pinterest: "Good moms have sticky floors, messy kitchens, laundry piles, dirty ovens, and happy kids." (In my head I just read that with a June-Cleaver-hyped-up-on-Valium voice... Ironic since the 1950s mom was supposed to have everything together, including both a clean home AND happy kids, which is actually going to be my point eventually.)
This sentiment bothers me for two reasons. One, it implies that those moms with clean homes have unhappy kids. Two, it feels like an excuse to be messy.
I value a clean, organized living space, and I value not having to do it all myself. It can be really irritating teaching a toddler/preschooler how to pick up after himself, but I have to remind myself it is an investment for the future. I am teaching him how to share responsibilities in the home, how to take care of his own temporal needs, and how to take care of and appreciate those things that are under his stewardship.
Recently I started watching a television show on Netflix called "Clean House," a show where contestants are viewed living in their cluttered, dirty homes and then given a home makeover. During the process they are forced to sort through all of their belongings and encouraged to give most of it up to sell at a yard sale in order to earn the money needed to re-do their home. And I can guarantee that the families with children in those sticky-floored, dirty-oven, laundry-piled houses are NOT happy.
Of course, that is the extreme, but it does mean the pithy Pinterest saying is losing ground. I'll even use my husband as an example. When we first got married, he told me he did not care or notice if the apartment was a mess. Eventually, as he participated more often and more willingly in the chores, (after much persuasion... :) his attitude changed.
He started to take pride in having freshly washed dishes, a swept floor, and a clean microwave. Having a clean apartment made him feel better, happier, and mostly because he was the one doing the cleaning. Like I said recently to a mom my age who was worried about liking her clean house too much: There is nothing wrong with taking pride in a job well done. And so it is with children.
Children are very sensitive to the mood in a room, and a clean, organized environment can make them feel better (not to mention we are taught in church that a clean home is conducive to inviting the Holy Ghost into our homes). Kids like to know they did a good job, with anything they do, and that they can make a real contribution in the home.
My mom always noticed two things about her kids when we were growing up: Fruit was only eaten when someone else washed and/or sliced it (meaning her); and kids only like to play (make a new mess) in a clean room. I have come to know for myself that those two philosophies are absolutely true!
So I strongly disagree with the idea that me taking pride in keeping my home neat most of the time is at the expense of my family's happiness. On the contrary, I believe keeping a clean home can provide the perfect grounds FOR happiness.
But in all fairness, everything we do needs to be in moderation. Maybe some of us "neat-freaks" are being a little too controlling and need to allow our kids the chance to make messes. And maybe those of us who strongly believe in messy homes need to acknowledge we can do better about cleaning and organizing on a daily basis, for the sake of teaching our children home-life responsibilities and how to invite the Spirit into our homes.
I once read a John Bytheway book, one of the "What I Wish I Knew When I Was ___," (single, married, etc.) and something he wrote in there stuck with me. It was about how no matter what stage of life you're in, someone somewhere will ask why you're not taking the next step, or doing more with your life. When you're single, the question is always if you're dating someone. If you're dating someone, the question is when's the wedding. If you're married, when are you having kids; if you have a kid, when are you having more, and so on.
In response to all this pressure we experience, a plethora of pithy phrases have surfaced over the years, ones that usually end up crafted onto something wooden and hung in a prominent place at home, or at least "pinned" to a virtual board. One phrase in particular actually really bothers me, especially now that I am in charge of my own home. The sign I am thinking of says something along the lines of "Messy home, happy kids."
Ah, just found it on good ol' Pinterest: "Good moms have sticky floors, messy kitchens, laundry piles, dirty ovens, and happy kids." (In my head I just read that with a June-Cleaver-hyped-up-on-Valium voice... Ironic since the 1950s mom was supposed to have everything together, including both a clean home AND happy kids, which is actually going to be my point eventually.)
This sentiment bothers me for two reasons. One, it implies that those moms with clean homes have unhappy kids. Two, it feels like an excuse to be messy.
I value a clean, organized living space, and I value not having to do it all myself. It can be really irritating teaching a toddler/preschooler how to pick up after himself, but I have to remind myself it is an investment for the future. I am teaching him how to share responsibilities in the home, how to take care of his own temporal needs, and how to take care of and appreciate those things that are under his stewardship.
Recently I started watching a television show on Netflix called "Clean House," a show where contestants are viewed living in their cluttered, dirty homes and then given a home makeover. During the process they are forced to sort through all of their belongings and encouraged to give most of it up to sell at a yard sale in order to earn the money needed to re-do their home. And I can guarantee that the families with children in those sticky-floored, dirty-oven, laundry-piled houses are NOT happy.
Of course, that is the extreme, but it does mean the pithy Pinterest saying is losing ground. I'll even use my husband as an example. When we first got married, he told me he did not care or notice if the apartment was a mess. Eventually, as he participated more often and more willingly in the chores, (after much persuasion... :) his attitude changed.
He started to take pride in having freshly washed dishes, a swept floor, and a clean microwave. Having a clean apartment made him feel better, happier, and mostly because he was the one doing the cleaning. Like I said recently to a mom my age who was worried about liking her clean house too much: There is nothing wrong with taking pride in a job well done. And so it is with children.
Children are very sensitive to the mood in a room, and a clean, organized environment can make them feel better (not to mention we are taught in church that a clean home is conducive to inviting the Holy Ghost into our homes). Kids like to know they did a good job, with anything they do, and that they can make a real contribution in the home.
My mom always noticed two things about her kids when we were growing up: Fruit was only eaten when someone else washed and/or sliced it (meaning her); and kids only like to play (make a new mess) in a clean room. I have come to know for myself that those two philosophies are absolutely true!
So I strongly disagree with the idea that me taking pride in keeping my home neat most of the time is at the expense of my family's happiness. On the contrary, I believe keeping a clean home can provide the perfect grounds FOR happiness.
But in all fairness, everything we do needs to be in moderation. Maybe some of us "neat-freaks" are being a little too controlling and need to allow our kids the chance to make messes. And maybe those of us who strongly believe in messy homes need to acknowledge we can do better about cleaning and organizing on a daily basis, for the sake of teaching our children home-life responsibilities and how to invite the Spirit into our homes.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Gay Television
What I am about to write will probably offend lots of people, simply because of the nature of my stance on homosexuality. However, I will do my best to not be outright rude about it. So here's your disclaimer/spoiler alert if you do not want to read about someone's strongly anti-gay opinions.
Right now what bothers me most is that my favorite television shows keep adding in gay or lesbian characters. These are tv shows that I purposely chose to watch initially because of their straight content, whether it was a "family" sitcom, a mystery, or a sci-fi show--stuff that has nothing to do with a person's sexual orientation. Usually it's to spike the ratings, to progress some political agenda, to make it seem perfectly normal and acceptable. (Poor Walt--he'd be rolling in his grave if he knew what the Disney-owned ABC "Family" network was airing these days!) It's like tv networks are throwing in token gay characters like they throw in token black or Asian actors in shows that are predominantly white. (The big, HUGE difference here of course is that people are not immoral for having different color skin.)
I bet Martin Luther King Jr. does not appreciate the gay and lesbian activists putting themselves on the same level as the African-Americans struggling for civil rights back in the mid-20th century. Your sexual orientation is NOT the same as having to drink from a different water fountain or ride in the back of a bus, especially since the color of your skin, your heritage, is not a choice.
That's right, I believe homosexuality is a CHOICE. Before we ever came to this earth, each and every one of us was created spiritually first. Our souls have an eternal identity that is directly linked with our sexual orientation. That means I was a woman before I came to this earth, and my husband has a distinctly male spirit.
So what happens when our imperfect bodies are born with missing parts, or sexually ambiguous organs? I used to think this wasn't possible, but since taking several biology classes, I can see that sometimes there are mistakes. I hope I am never in a position as a parent to have to choose the sex of my baby; if my baby was born with genital defects like that, I would spend many long hours praying and fasting for guidance, to know what gender the baby was truly meant to be. But aside from that very RARE exception, God puts us in the bodies that reflect our true gender.
I often feel quite sorry for the so-called gays and lesbians I have met; in a lot of cases, these kids were sexually abused and never had the chance to heal. In the case of lesbians, they feel they can never trust men again, and being with women is the only "safe" option. And because the rest of the world condones this behavioral choice, these girls never get the chance to truly heal and learn to trust again. They simply avoid whatever caused them the harm, missing an opportunity to grow as a person.
The other kids who simply choose a gay lifestyle with no sexual abuse as provocation are confused, having had no clear role models in their lives. This could be from a dad that was never there, who left the family to be with another woman, a mom who abandoned her kids to pursue her own interests; all these can contribute to why a person chooses to be gay. They are lost, and I feel sorry for them.
What's worse is there are very few resources left for those wanting to reorient themselves in the right direction. Where does a man go who starts to have sexual feelings for other men but wants to conquer those temptations? Back in the 1980s homosexuality was officially removed from all psychology textbooks and encyclopedias as a mental defect; one of Satan's bigger victories, I should think. I have also been informed that therapists and other trained psychiatrists can lose their license for attempting to help anyone with homosexual tendencies, including patients who are purposely seeking help to overcome said tendencies.
Television likes to tout homosexuality as a political issue, teaching our youth today that only backwards-thinking old farts, people "out of touch" with the "real" world would reject a gay lifestyle. But it is not a political issue, it is a moral one. And nobody talks about morals anymore. So I will. It is morally wrong for men to have sexual encounters with other men; it is morally wrong for women to have sexual encounters with other women. (And those that swing both ways... well, that's being extremely selfish, in addition to being morally wrong.) It is also morally wrong to have sexual encounters outside of marriage, but that is a whole other blog entry.
We are meant to become like God one day, and God does not have an ambiguous sexual orientation. He has many spirit children that He wants to give a mortal experience, but that can only happen when a man and a woman who are legally wedded and committed to one another procreate, giving a body to one of God's spirit children.
Satan, a being that is just as real as God, does not want God's plan to succeed, so of course Satan encourages immoral behavior like homosexuality. If he can make everyone gay, then no more of God's children can come to earth and receive a body, completely eliminating the possibility of taking the next step on our way to eternal life and exaltation! If Satan can destroy the traditional family unit by encouraging promiscuity in every direction, then even the children that do come into this life will be lost and they will make immoral life choices, ultimately damning humankind's progress.
But this stance only makes sense if you believe in God, if you believe there is more to our existence than this life alone. Our society is falling apart, and that is a direct result of immoral behavior which directly impacts the family unit. Babies born out of wedlock do not get the traditional father-mother support they need, and then they go and have premarital sex, perpetuating this broken pattern. The family unit is the basic unit necessary for any civilization's survival, whether or not you believe in a pre- and post-existence.
Despite all this, I still believe those with homosexual tendencies can be forgiven, if they repent and stop following those incorrect impulses. Our world does not encourage self-control anymore; just look at our nation's debt. (That's actually another reason I think some teenage boys claim to be gay--they might be less attractive or somewhat nerdy and haven't had any dating success with the girls. So instead of being patient, working on becoming a better person, waiting for the right girl, they claim it's the rest of the world's problem to deal with their gayness.)
But God does not give us any temptation in this life which is beyond our ability to resist and overcome. He is there to help us. He wants us to succeed, as any loving father would want his children to be happy and succeed in life. Happiness does not come without pain and struggle, though. Gays will often beg their less supportive family members to just accept them and be happy that they are happy, but no one can be happy in this life going against God and nature. It may be a huge struggle for someone to overcome their homosexual urges, but those people are all the better for it in the end.
Right now what bothers me most is that my favorite television shows keep adding in gay or lesbian characters. These are tv shows that I purposely chose to watch initially because of their straight content, whether it was a "family" sitcom, a mystery, or a sci-fi show--stuff that has nothing to do with a person's sexual orientation. Usually it's to spike the ratings, to progress some political agenda, to make it seem perfectly normal and acceptable. (Poor Walt--he'd be rolling in his grave if he knew what the Disney-owned ABC "Family" network was airing these days!) It's like tv networks are throwing in token gay characters like they throw in token black or Asian actors in shows that are predominantly white. (The big, HUGE difference here of course is that people are not immoral for having different color skin.)
I bet Martin Luther King Jr. does not appreciate the gay and lesbian activists putting themselves on the same level as the African-Americans struggling for civil rights back in the mid-20th century. Your sexual orientation is NOT the same as having to drink from a different water fountain or ride in the back of a bus, especially since the color of your skin, your heritage, is not a choice.
That's right, I believe homosexuality is a CHOICE. Before we ever came to this earth, each and every one of us was created spiritually first. Our souls have an eternal identity that is directly linked with our sexual orientation. That means I was a woman before I came to this earth, and my husband has a distinctly male spirit.
So what happens when our imperfect bodies are born with missing parts, or sexually ambiguous organs? I used to think this wasn't possible, but since taking several biology classes, I can see that sometimes there are mistakes. I hope I am never in a position as a parent to have to choose the sex of my baby; if my baby was born with genital defects like that, I would spend many long hours praying and fasting for guidance, to know what gender the baby was truly meant to be. But aside from that very RARE exception, God puts us in the bodies that reflect our true gender.
I often feel quite sorry for the so-called gays and lesbians I have met; in a lot of cases, these kids were sexually abused and never had the chance to heal. In the case of lesbians, they feel they can never trust men again, and being with women is the only "safe" option. And because the rest of the world condones this behavioral choice, these girls never get the chance to truly heal and learn to trust again. They simply avoid whatever caused them the harm, missing an opportunity to grow as a person.
The other kids who simply choose a gay lifestyle with no sexual abuse as provocation are confused, having had no clear role models in their lives. This could be from a dad that was never there, who left the family to be with another woman, a mom who abandoned her kids to pursue her own interests; all these can contribute to why a person chooses to be gay. They are lost, and I feel sorry for them.
What's worse is there are very few resources left for those wanting to reorient themselves in the right direction. Where does a man go who starts to have sexual feelings for other men but wants to conquer those temptations? Back in the 1980s homosexuality was officially removed from all psychology textbooks and encyclopedias as a mental defect; one of Satan's bigger victories, I should think. I have also been informed that therapists and other trained psychiatrists can lose their license for attempting to help anyone with homosexual tendencies, including patients who are purposely seeking help to overcome said tendencies.
Television likes to tout homosexuality as a political issue, teaching our youth today that only backwards-thinking old farts, people "out of touch" with the "real" world would reject a gay lifestyle. But it is not a political issue, it is a moral one. And nobody talks about morals anymore. So I will. It is morally wrong for men to have sexual encounters with other men; it is morally wrong for women to have sexual encounters with other women. (And those that swing both ways... well, that's being extremely selfish, in addition to being morally wrong.) It is also morally wrong to have sexual encounters outside of marriage, but that is a whole other blog entry.
We are meant to become like God one day, and God does not have an ambiguous sexual orientation. He has many spirit children that He wants to give a mortal experience, but that can only happen when a man and a woman who are legally wedded and committed to one another procreate, giving a body to one of God's spirit children.
Satan, a being that is just as real as God, does not want God's plan to succeed, so of course Satan encourages immoral behavior like homosexuality. If he can make everyone gay, then no more of God's children can come to earth and receive a body, completely eliminating the possibility of taking the next step on our way to eternal life and exaltation! If Satan can destroy the traditional family unit by encouraging promiscuity in every direction, then even the children that do come into this life will be lost and they will make immoral life choices, ultimately damning humankind's progress.
But this stance only makes sense if you believe in God, if you believe there is more to our existence than this life alone. Our society is falling apart, and that is a direct result of immoral behavior which directly impacts the family unit. Babies born out of wedlock do not get the traditional father-mother support they need, and then they go and have premarital sex, perpetuating this broken pattern. The family unit is the basic unit necessary for any civilization's survival, whether or not you believe in a pre- and post-existence.
Despite all this, I still believe those with homosexual tendencies can be forgiven, if they repent and stop following those incorrect impulses. Our world does not encourage self-control anymore; just look at our nation's debt. (That's actually another reason I think some teenage boys claim to be gay--they might be less attractive or somewhat nerdy and haven't had any dating success with the girls. So instead of being patient, working on becoming a better person, waiting for the right girl, they claim it's the rest of the world's problem to deal with their gayness.)
But God does not give us any temptation in this life which is beyond our ability to resist and overcome. He is there to help us. He wants us to succeed, as any loving father would want his children to be happy and succeed in life. Happiness does not come without pain and struggle, though. Gays will often beg their less supportive family members to just accept them and be happy that they are happy, but no one can be happy in this life going against God and nature. It may be a huge struggle for someone to overcome their homosexual urges, but those people are all the better for it in the end.
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