an·thro·pol·o·gy
noun \ˌan(t)-thrə-ˈpä-lə-jē\1. The scientific study of the origin, the behavior, and the physical, social, and cultural development of humans.2. That part of Christian theology concerning the genesis, nature, and future of humans, especially as contrasted with the nature of God
Tuesday, May 22, 2012
Monday, April 23, 2012
per·son [pur-suhn]
noun
1.
a human being, whether man, woman, or child: The tableseats four persons.
2.
a human being as distinguished from an animal or a thing.
3.
Sociology . an individual human being, especially withreference to his or her social relationships and behavioralpatterns as conditioned by the culture.
4.
Philosophy . a self-conscious or rational being.
5.
the actual self or individual personality of a human being:You ought not to generalize, but to consider the person you aredealing with.
Saturday, April 21, 2012
An Anthem About Being Alive
Everyone else seems to be taking a stab at poetry they hope will be unique enough to not remind someone of better- classic poetry like Keats or the Beatles.
Here's my effort:
This is not a love poem; it's a life verse:
An anthem about being alive
[life isn't an irredeemable curse]
I've heard that some people have a right not to ever see the sun.
Well, I read poetry by a boy whose life had been shattered, and he said he was thrilled to be alive.
I'm positive that that the "right to die" is a revolting lie.
Those choices I've made in the garden of my heart- glancing around, sneaking fruit out in my pockets- those never brought life.
All I got from them was strife, screams in a locked bathroom.
So the "right to choose" [the one we sinned to attain] well, I'm rethinking whether or not that was a gain or a dreadful loss.
Somebody Who always made the right decisions
Took a myriad of incisions
On sinless skin
That was His choice- crying out in a loud voice for us to be forgiven
of our free will abuse.
So I guess I'm pro-choice when it comes to my Creator's voice.
What He's spoken I'll do
That means thinking about you and your soul, whose choices you're gonna follow: will they be His or are you sticking with you?
That's the anthem- I was probably off key
So I'll leave it to the Saviour to compose the rest of the symphony.
This is not a love poem; it's a life verse:
An anthem about being alive
[life isn't an irredeemable curse]
I've heard that some people have a right not to ever see the sun.
Well, I read poetry by a boy whose life had been shattered, and he said he was thrilled to be alive.
I'm positive that that the "right to die" is a revolting lie.
Those choices I've made in the garden of my heart- glancing around, sneaking fruit out in my pockets- those never brought life.
All I got from them was strife, screams in a locked bathroom.
So the "right to choose" [the one we sinned to attain] well, I'm rethinking whether or not that was a gain or a dreadful loss.
Somebody Who always made the right decisions
Took a myriad of incisions
On sinless skin
That was His choice- crying out in a loud voice for us to be forgiven
of our free will abuse.
So I guess I'm pro-choice when it comes to my Creator's voice.
What He's spoken I'll do
That means thinking about you and your soul, whose choices you're gonna follow: will they be His or are you sticking with you?
That's the anthem- I was probably off key
So I'll leave it to the Saviour to compose the rest of the symphony.
Saturday, April 7, 2012
So Strong: An Ode to a Mother; I Took Step One
These are poems written by boys who had the roughest of blows dealt to them, that eventually led to juvenile delinquent centers. A man named Don Smarto went to their prisons and taught them poetry.
They are people. They are just like us. They are unfinalizable, redeemable, incredible human beings. They wrote poetry.
So Strong--
My Mother
I love her so
I apologize
I really do
The love
Well, stronger than me and you
I miss her so
Three years gone
More time uncounted
Such a bad son
I wish I could make things better
But how?
I cried
I lied
I hurt her so
Constant pain since my birth
A lady so beautiful
So filled with love
My Mother, so strong
-Scott, 18.
I Took Step One--
I took Step One, began to moan
I can't do this one on my own.
I took Step Two, began to pray
Restore me God, please now, today.
I took Step Three, gave up my will
Maybe God could love me still.
I took a Fourth, I looked inside
Nothing more would I hide.
And on the Fifth, I said aloud
I've done some wrong, and I'm not proud.
I took Step Six, and got prepared
To lose the defects, I was scared.
Now I'm at Seven, take them away
My God, for this I do pray.
And on Eight, the list was long
Amends to make for all the wrongs.
I took Step Nine, put down my pride
Amends made, I will not hide.
Step Ten I take, each day I pray
I make amends along the way.
And on Eleven I pray to know
Each day His Will, which way to go.
I take Step Twelve, I'm like a bird
To others now, I spread His Word....
-Juan, 16.
They are people. They are just like us. They are unfinalizable, redeemable, incredible human beings. They wrote poetry.
So Strong--
My Mother
I love her so
I apologize
I really do
The love
Well, stronger than me and you
I miss her so
Three years gone
More time uncounted
Such a bad son
I wish I could make things better
But how?
I cried
I lied
I hurt her so
Constant pain since my birth
A lady so beautiful
So filled with love
My Mother, so strong
-Scott, 18.
I Took Step One--
I took Step One, began to moan
I can't do this one on my own.
I took Step Two, began to pray
Restore me God, please now, today.
I took Step Three, gave up my will
Maybe God could love me still.
I took a Fourth, I looked inside
Nothing more would I hide.
And on the Fifth, I said aloud
I've done some wrong, and I'm not proud.
I took Step Six, and got prepared
To lose the defects, I was scared.
Now I'm at Seven, take them away
My God, for this I do pray.
And on Eight, the list was long
Amends to make for all the wrongs.
I took Step Nine, put down my pride
Amends made, I will not hide.
Step Ten I take, each day I pray
I make amends along the way.
And on Eleven I pray to know
Each day His Will, which way to go.
I take Step Twelve, I'm like a bird
To others now, I spread His Word....
-Juan, 16.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Hard to Read
There are a few instances in life where people tell us things we never forget. This week, for better or for worse, I heard such a statement.
I was told, "Caroline, you are hard to read." It was quite an intense situation--a tense conflict with the core issue being LIFE. It's kinda cool to be a little mysterious, eh? It's kinda cool to know you're more than meets the eye...or is it? Are Pro-lifers not called to be translucent, literally, just shining the light of LIFE with no silly obstructions? Or is it LIFE that is "hard to read" and when we are translucent the watching world cannot understand how we MUST LOVE the littlest among us?
I like to think the latter. I like to think that being a believer in an unbelieving world and being and lover of life is a world that hates LIFE is "hard to read." I like to think that being Pro-Life with no excuses or exceptions is just hard to read. People don't wanna read you so they ignore you. Just like the Bible.
If it's out of sight it can be out of mind.
If a little baby, only 9 weeks after conception, is out of sight than I don't have to realize it's real. And when I see it, I don't want to understand so I choose to believe it's just "hard to read."
Sometimes the simplest, brightest, and most translucent ideas are the ones that are most hated.
And I say, let's not hate our preborns and let's transparently tell everyone that our preborns matter. They matter a lot.
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Forgiveness.
Wish I could see this sculpture in person. It displays a woman mourning for her lost preborn. I think it's remarkable. http://www.lifesitenews.com/news/heart-rending-young-slovakian-sculptor-captures-post-abortion-pain-mercy-an
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Terri Schiavo
March 31st is the anniversary of Terri Schiavo's death. Ever since I met her brother Bob, I have been convicted that there are many who need our voices, born and preborn. I hope you can join me in honoring Terri's memory.
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