The Day I Met Michael Farris or On the Parental Rights Amendment

As Dad and I walked out of a recent homeschool conference, he looked at me, smiled, shook his head, and said, "Only you....only you".

My reply? "But of course!"

(The incident under discussion being my question to Michael Farris in the previous seminar, in which he had expressed support for the Parental Rights Amendment, and I piped up, asking whether or not such an amendment would protect child abusers, and why or why not?).

For those of you who don't know, Michael Farris founded Patrick Henry College and HSLDA, and is somewhat of a really big deal in the homeschooling community - yes, we have our own celebrities as well, thank you very much ;) However, when one is surrounded by homeschool parents, and happens to be the only young person in the room, perhaps asking about parental abuse may not be the most inconspicuous course of action! And with all the controversy surrounding such an amendment, advocates of homeschooling almost universally support such an amendment, and it is only those who are opposed to homeschooling who are seen criticizing it. Anyways. 

His reply entailed an explanation of the difference between a non-fundamental right, a fundamental right, and an absolute right. A non - fundamental right, he said, was one in which the individual must prove that no abuses of such a right has occurred. A fundamental right was one in which the burden of proof rest on the government / prosecution. Therefore, it is up to the government to prove decisively that an abuse of said right has occurred. And finally, an absolute right is one which is, well, absolute and gives complete control to the one in authority without outside interference, checks, or balances. 

The right of parents to homeschool, he said, was a fundamental right. Therefore, if the government has reason to believe that it is being abused, the responsibility is on the government to prove the guilt of the persons in question beyond a shadow of a doubt, as opposed to the burden of proving their innocence resting on the accused. 

However, it is not an absolute right. It is one which parents have been entrusted with fundamentally as a result of being parents of a child. Under no circumstances is abuse ever okay, but if there is concern that abuse may be happening, it is the responsibility of the government to prove it, making the parents innocent until proven guilty rather than guilty until proven innocent. 

Now, if you're like me, you can pick out the loopholes..most notably, where would this proof come from? The testimony of children who may not speak truthfully due to a deeply instilled fear of social workers/the government? Governmental inspection of households which are expert at appearing perfect on the outside to mask the horrors which occur behind closed doors? 

But...then again, there is the risk of that in any household. However, homeschooled children may be at greater risk of protecting abusers due to the rhetoric of homeschooling which teaches that speaking ill of one's family is a capital offense, and cutting the net that holds you. 

In all, I really don't know. In a perfect world, sure, but we don't live in a perfect world. There's bound to be troubles, and bound to be problems, but I suppose the way to avoid them isn't to automatically assume the worst of every parent. 

That's like prohibiting men and women from ever being alone with each other because you've automatically jumped to the most negative conclusion. 

Which isn't right. 

But on the other hand, do we care to risk being too trusting? 

Because, ultimately, if this ends up being a negative thing, the parent's aren't really the ones who will suffer the most. It will be the kids who are abused under the cover of protecting parental right.

And while I realize that abuse happens to public schooled kids as well, if a kid goes to school, they aren't at home for the majority of the day, therefore ideally they have a respite and can tell someone in order to get help. Homeschooled kids may or may not have that freedom.

*shrug*

I honestly haven't done a whole lot of research on this, and it seems to me that most pieces on this are opinion instead of fact (not that this is any better, but....) ;)

On this particular topic, I'm currently leaning towards being in favor of it under the condition that it's a fundamental and not an absolute right, and that parents and the government realize that as well.

I mean, kids live with their parents anyways, parents are the God-given caretakers of their children, and I don't see anything wrong with it in a perfect world, but unfortunately we don't live in a perfect world. I'm still sorting through my thoughts on this, but I suppose for now, that's about where I stand.

Thoughts? 

Literary Heroes: Jesus

Alright, alright, I know what you're all thinking.. either that this is some cheesy attempt at Christian-ese and the Bible isn't really literature (it is, by the way..only..it's completely true). OR you're curious as to what I come up with.

I'm hoping the latter, but if not, let me assure you that this isn't just because people think if you're a Christian you're obligated to talk about Jesus, but because honestly the real Jesus - the one portrayed in the Bible - IS one of my heroes.

See, the thing about Jesus is that the media, literature, and even Christianity portrays him as sweet, skinny meek, mild, and always on the verge of tears. Now, don't get me wrong, He knew when and how to be gentle and tender.

But. He wasn't always.

He was also wild and untamed and furious and strong and majestic and powerful and He never shied away from scathing confrontation.

I mean, think about it.

Who walks - on water - in the middle of a storm!? Most people I know are terrified to even stand out on their front porch in a storm, let alone walk out onto the middle of a stormy lake - at night, no less!

Who chases moneychangers out of the temple with a whip! A whip! This wasn't just a nice speech asking them to please take their wares elsewhere. This was a whip and overturning tables and literally chasing them out.

Who looks at the most powerful religious leaders of the day and calls them hypocrites, whitewashed tombs of dead man's bodies? Not a coward, that's for sure.

And if you think about it further...

Joseph was a carpenter. Jesus grew up in a carpenters shop, and spent the first thirty - three years of his life working alongside his father.

So, forgive me if I find the idea of a weak pushover skinny Jesus somewhat laughable.

His hands would have been large, rough, and scarred, not soft and white.

His skin would have been tanned from hours working in the sun, and he sure as heck wouldn't be wearing pink lipstick! (*cough* Son of God *cough*)

The real Jesus...the true Jesus...He wasn't weak, measly, or effeminate.

He was strong and tender, kind and courageous, powerful and pointed and scathing and yet knew when to be soft. He loved children, loved the world His Father created, and loved humanity, and I cannot picture Him refusing to get His hands dirty in order to preserve His 'image.

The real Jesus...was the epitome of masculinity, and to close with a quote from Ezra Pound,

"No capon priest was the Goodly Fere / but a man o' men was He!"

Tale as Old as Time... On Beauty and the Beast.

I adore Beauty and the Beast. 

And quite frankly, always have. 

Ever since I was a wee thing, and discovered my first fairy tales, I've loved that story above all others. No matter that Cinderella was my first fairy tale, or that I'm secretly a mermaid (Ariel), and have been nicknamed Pocahontas more times than I can count, and when I wear Indian clothes I am instantly dubbed Jasmine.

I love Belle. 

After all, she's not even a Princess. She simply loves to read and longs for an adventure beyond her small world. 

Boy, can I ever relate! 

I can't count the number of times I've pulled a Belle - aka, nose in a book, completely oblivious to my surroundings, as I walk through either my house, school, church, the library, etc. Never mind that it usually ends in a rather loud crash...and bruise on my part... ;) 

She's also a bit more progressive than Gaston, who insists that her destiny is as his little wife...yet another similarity between the two of us. She loves to dance, is willing to look past appearances, and would do absolutely anything for her family. 

Plus, she sings ;)

My ideal romance went something along the lines of Beauty and the Beast. While I, of course, longed for a Prince, I didn't really care if he had a dark past, or was frightening, or caused others to run in terror, as long as there was something deeper, sweeter, underneath just waiting to be cultivated. 

Well, this lasted only until my first boyfriend. 

Within the first week or so of our relationship we had decided that we were Belle and the Beast. After all, I loved to read and adored adventure. He believed himself a monster, and had done unspeakable things, and I swore my love could save him the same way Belle's love transformed the Beast back into a Prince. 

A month into our relationship we had decided upon a Princess Bride themed wedding, and a honeymoon in Disney World disguised as Belle and Adam - which, if you don't know, is the Beast's proper name. 

A month and a half into the relationship, he sent me "If I Can't Love Her", from Beauty and the Beast Broadway, claiming that was the way he felt, and would always feel about me. I sent him "Something There", back. 

His nickname for me was angel, because he said that was the role I played in his life - that of an angel, encouraging him to keep fighting. I returned the favor by promptly nicknaming him alpha, playing along with our mutual love for wolves, and our Beauty and the Beast theme. 

He talked about our future together as though it was already settled, asked me to marry him, and we even discussed kids, where we'd live, what sort of wedding we'd have, where we'd have the honeymoon, and what to do with the in-laws. 

But, two months later, he went ahead and broke my heart after all. 

I spent hours trying to convince him he wasn't a monster, I loved him and would do anything for him, and that he wasn't irredeemable. He swore his undying love for me, promised he would wait as long as it took for us to be together, and that I was beautiful and worthy and he promised he loved me. 

I poured everything I had into him. Love, heart, emotions...soul, even. Because, after all, "a thing must be loved before it is lovable", right? He couldn't be expected to love me without me first loving him because he had never experienced true love before. His seriously abusive upbringing, his murder filled past, and the sordid things he had done all contributed to his "for who could ever learn to love a beast?" mindset. 

Well, silly, naive, little me thought I could. 

Boy, was I ever wrong! 

Because Beauty and the Beast is beautiful on screen, in animated characters, and far distant from reality. But in real life it doesn't work like that, and thinking your love can save a beast is such idiocy because when he leaves, you'll be broken. 

After he broke up the relationship because "it hurt too much" (whatever that means!), I was completely destroyed. Shattered. It was months before I could even genuinely smile again. It's been over a year since it all happened, and there are still days when the memories come around and knock me breathless with hurt, betrayal, and pain. I want to go back to my younger self, slap her soundly across the face, and tell her that Beauty and the Beast is just that. a beautiful myth. 

It's not true! 

There's a quote..."I cried over you, and I don't mean just shedding a few tears. I mean collapsing and screaming at the moon". That's about the adequate description of what happens when you're silly enough to think that your love can save a Beast. 

You don't save him. He ruins you. He destroys you. He breaks you. 

You become the very monster which you try to save him from, and internalize his pain, make it your own, and carry the staggering weight of it around with you for the rest of your life. And if you're unable to cope with the pain of his past, the betrayal he inflicted upon you, and the scars he carved into your heart, then what do you do? 

I don't want him to have ruined Beauty and the Beast for me forever, but I fear he might have. Instead of me saving him, I turned into a monster. The skills I used to cope with the pain he inflicted upon me both saved and destroyed me. It saved my life, and destroyed my future. 

And I don't know if I can ever look at that tale the same way again. Perhaps I'm just a foolish girl who doesn't know the difference between fairy tales and real life, but I hinged my entire future on the belief that Beauty and the Beast love stories could occur in real life, only to have it all dashed to pieces at a moments notice. 

I still adore it, but for me it will always be a bittersweet reminder that some things are not meant to be, and some loves are lies, and sometimes no matter how hard you try and how much you love, you cannot save people. 

You can't. 

You can only love them.

And pray to God it does not destroy you instead. 

Literary Heroes, Anyone? Oui? No?

I don't know about you, but my list of literary heroes is almost endless, and tends to grow at a rather alarming rate. 

Well, alarming to my siblings, at least, who are beyond sick of being forced to witness their sister obsessing over her latest literary crush - and yes, those are a thing.

So, while discussing the respective flaws and virtues of Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, today, with a friend of mine, it occurred to me that a series enumerating my most favorite literary heroes - and possibly even heroines, later on - might be a fun diversion. 

What say you?

I write, you comment your thoughts, and we work our way through some splendid works of literature, from ancient to classic to modern. 

Shall we? 

For a Storm of a Girl

"I am not a nice girl. 
I am not sunshine and flowers and clear skies.
Rather, I am thunder and lightening and pouring down rain. 
I am a hurricane, and sometimes I terrify myself with the mess that I so often become. 
I am not easy to love, for I will push you away and refuse to let you love me, rather than wake up one morning to discover you dead - 
struck by my lightening, drowned in my river, deafened by my storm.”

—

s.v.

To Date or Not To Date...That is the Question.

I don't know about you, but I always find myself giving better advice to others than to myself.

For instance, I can help my friends navigate scenarios which daunt them, but when the same scenarios come my way, I am often at a loss for what to do, and spend countless hours agonizing over my faulty decision making.

I am also learning that all those books I read on how to deal with relationships, how to understand guys, and what to say and do in order to avoid a miscommunication are largely baloney.

They operate on the assumption that any interaction you have with males is limited at best, and assume that your sole purpose is to marry and have children.

Having never really dealt with my parents being willing to consider the possibility of me dating, the events of this past weekend rather took us unawares.

See, I'm not really sure what one does in circumstances where a boy who is three years older than you meets you because you sang at a fundraiser, and then the next day, asks you to prom.

I don't even know the kid!

The reactions from my respective family members, however, have been more than amusing!

My Dad poked holes in his story, and we discussed Prom and decided that since we don't know either him or his family, it's probably not the best idea....but he hasn't said no yet to a coffee date. After all, as Dad said, "At least he hasn't said God told him to marry you, yet!"unlike that last boy who asked me out. And Mom tends to agree with Dad.

My brother stalked his Facebook, of course, and decided that, well, at least he wants to ask my parents. I reminded my brother, though, that that doesn't mean a blessed thing. It could just mean that he's a good sweet talker.

My little brothers are positive that they want nothing to do with the whole idea of me dating anyone.

And my littlest sister swears that if I ever date someone she disapproves of - hint: she disapproves of him - she will never speak to me again. As she put it, "No guy could ever want to be with you as much as I do". Which I found immensely adorable, since she's exhibiting classic little sister behavior.

As for me? I'm afraid I rather don't know. My gut feeling is that something doesn't check out in the story he told me, but since I have no proof for that, I don't wish to be called a racist for not dating him. I have nothing against him personally, and couldn't care less that he's not white. Heck, neither am I!

But I am not sure I'm ready for a relationship. In moments of weakness, yes, I'm not insusceptible to wishing for a relationship, but if I do not know someone and they do not know me, and if they ask me out before getting to know me, it doesn't lead me to believe that they wish to get to actually know me - my thoughts, my fears, my hopes, my dreams - but rather makes me thing that they only want what they can get out of the relationship.

Additionally, I would have to know that whoever I dated could handle me, and I could handle them. I have no desire to make the mistakes I have made before, and get involved with someone who does not know what to do with me when I am not okay - and I am not okay quite often - or someone who refuses to let me help them when they are hurting.

I just don't know.

I wish I had the answers. And I wish the books I had read were of some use to me other than as kindling! ;)

Mum thinks I'm just trying to tell myself that I like him in order to avoid hurting his feelings. Which is quite possible.

Perhaps the most possible of all the options.

And I shall stop soliloquizing now ;)

Back to life!

A Worsening Sea - Fever

I've had what John Masefield terms "sea - fever" for quite as long as I can remember. I adore anything to do with 'ships and the open sea'. 

I am not quite sure how it came about. Perhaps from far too many readings of The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, perhaps from our trip to Maine when I was all of seven years old, or perhaps simply because the sea is stunning.

But I especially adore ships.

Not only are they an excellent metaphor for life in general, but they are quite simply...beautiful. They are wild and free, running the crest of the waves, chasing the wind, and dancing with the ocean. 

Therefore, when I came across this poem a few weeks ago, I'm afraid I rather fell in love all over again. 

Enjoy! :) 

Sea Fever: 

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and sky

And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. 

And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking

And a grey mist on the sea's face and a grey dawn breaking

I must go down to the seas again for the call of the running tide

Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied. 

And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying

And the flung spray and the blown spume and the sea - gulls flying

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life 

To the gull's way and the whale's way, where the wind's like a whetted knife 

And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover

And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over. 

           -John Masefield 

Dressing Inch by Inch.

It has recently come to my attention that dress codes are eminently ridiculous.

Now, before you jump on the bandwagon accusing me of disrespecting myself, my brothers in Christ, and my authority, let me explain.

I don't have a problem with encouraging girls to dress in an appropriate manner. At all. In fact, I would advocate such a thing.

What I do have a problem with, however, is legislating inches.

For instance. The dress code at my co-op does not allow shorts above finger - tip length, or skirts and dresses shorter than four inches above the knee. Sleeveless tops are prohibited, as are tank tops and / or 'revealing clothes'.

I've dealt with dress codes which commanded that all shirts must be no lower than three inches below the collarbone, skirts must be no more than five inches above the ankle, etc.

But before you accuse me of picking a bone simply because this would rule out the cute dress I planned on for tonight - it doesn't, actually. The dress is only two inches above my knee. Yes, I measured it ;) - hear me out.

The problem with legislating inches is simply this.

Not all women's bodies are the same, or built the same way, or the same height.

And while this might seem dreadfully simplistic, I feel that too often it is drastically overlooked when determining dress codes.

For example.

I have cleavage. My friend does not.

Therefore, three inches below the collarbone on me would be far more revealing than it would be on her.

I am very short. My friend is very tall.

Finger - tip length shorts on me are not only impossible to find, but absolutely do not flatter me at all, yet they cover more than half my thigh and quite frankly it's easier to find Bermudas. By the same token, though, fingertip length shorts on her cover less than half of her thigh, and are rather easy to find since she has short arms and long legs, and she is constantly getting in trouble for immodesty.

And then, prohibiting dresses or skirts which are shorter than four inches above the knee?

My tall friend can wear skirts which are four inches above her knee without revealing anything. Me, on the other hand? Four inches above my knee is halfway up my thigh, therefore I get called out for dress code violations, when in reality, it wasn't me who was at fault at all.

The fault lay with the dress code.

Because each person is made differently, inches are really no good as a dress code measuring rod.

Debating inches - and believe me, I've seen people whip out rulers in order to enforce these dress codes - isn't really the point, and by making it a focal point, we miss the real purpose of modesty.

 The point of modesty isn't a competition of how many or how few inches of your body are covered by clothing. The point of modesty is to dress and behave in such a manner that God is glorified.

Because, as I am positive I've said before, that's the main purpose for our lives, and if the chief end of man is to 'glorify God and enjoy Him forever, then the way we dress should be measured against whether it brings us closer or takes us further away from that goal.

At least, that's how I see it.

For Those Who Have Loved Me

"My mother asked me today, 

With all the boys who have been drawn to me, as moths are drawn to a candle flickering flame, 

Why am I so certain that no one will ever love me the way I ache to be loved? 

What she fails to realize is that none of them are ships I care to attach my sinking anchor to. 

They are broken and so am I. 

From the messed up fighter with the broken past who drank to forget his insomnia and the nightmares of his abusive past - 

To the ex-druggie pervert who won my trust through claiming I was like a little sister to him and then shattered it all to ask for nudes and friends with benefits - 

To the manipulator who played daily mind games and chose to love me one day and detest me the next with mixed messages and scrambled signals - 

To the one who was convinced God had told him to profess his love to me, and refused to take no for an answer, claiming dreams where I died as reason for his stalkerish tendencies and his bizarre conviction that he had cast Legion out of his family - 

To the effeminate, depressed, shy, and awkward brainiac mathematician who turned to me for emotional support while breaking up with my best friend - 

To the initially sweet bipolar pothead, who refused to stop sending me shirtless pictures and manipulated me into talking to him by threatening to slice open his skin, and guilt tripped me extensively - 

To the self styled psychopath, who deliberately self harmed out of boredom, water boarding himself and refusing to allow me space -

To the boy who consistently invaded the girls dressing room, touching me, and ramming the handle of his gun prop into my side - 

To the one who had killed and tortured countless, tried to kill himself repeatedly, and whose version of self harm was slashing his arm open and stapling himself only to rip the staples out - 

To the completely clueless innocent whose entire life had been shrouded in comfortable Christianity and who refused to expand his horizons for to do so might shatter all he had known - 

To the pathological liar who manipulated me and countless others, and preyed on girls younger than him because they were the only ones clueless enough to accept his exaggerated myths - 

None of them would I be proud of. 

And I know I am no paragon of virtue, therefore who am I to judge? 

And I am not saying that those whom I have just listed are not worthy of love, 

But, to answer my mothers question, no one whom I could ever picture growing old with could ever ever love me. 

And I cannot again rush into a relationship with an aimless boy struggling with numerous unresolved issues. 

Mine are issues enough for now. 

If I ever love again, he would have to be mature…and well - read…and capable of understanding me without consistently dragging me down…and yet he must need me also, not just I him. 

But no one without major issues of their own could ever love the mess I am and have become, nor could they ever understand. 

And any pure man is justifiably justified in taking one look at me and fleeing for dear life. 

Which is why I say I shall never love or be loved truly. 

And although I occasionally mourn the loss of my hope, I am learning to come to terms with it. 

I am learning to be alone. 

I am learning to be lonely.”

-s.v. (via tumblr)

Ballad of the Goodly Fere

I don't remember when I first came across this poem, but I've loved it ever since. 'Fere' is Old English for companion, and it's told through the eyes of the Apostle Peter, but the descriptions are lovely, and it's depiction of Jesus is exquisite and really challenged my perception of Him.

Ballad of the Goodly Fere: 

Ha' we lost the goodliest fere of all 

For the priests and the gallows tree? 

Aye, lover was He of brawny men,

O' ships and the open sea. 

When they came wi' a host to take our man 

His smile was good to see. 

'First let these go' quo our Goodly Fere

'Or I'll see ye damned' says He. 

Aye He sent us out through the high crossed spears

And the scorn of His laugh rang free. 

'Why took ye not me when I walked about 

Alone in the town?' says He. 

Oh, we drank His 'Hale' in the good red wine

When we last made company. 

No capon priest was the Goodly Fere, 

But a man o' men was He. 

I ha' seen Him drive an hundred men 

Wi' a bundle o' cords swung free

That they took the high and holy house

For their pawn and treasury. 

They'll no' get Him in a book, I think 

Though they write it cunningly. 

No mouse of the scrolls was the Goodly Fere, 

But aye loved the open sea. 

If they think they ha' snared our Goodly Fere, 

They are fools to the last degree. 

'I'll go to the feast' quo our Goodly Fere,

'Though I go to the gallows tree'. 

'Ye ha' seen me heal the lame and blind

And wake the dead' says he. 

'Ye shall see one thing to master all. 

'Tis how a brave man dies on the tree'. 

A Son of God was the Goodly Fere

That bade us His brothers be. 

I ha' seen Him cow a thousand men. 

I ha' seen Him upon the tree. 

He cried no cry when they drave the nails

And the blood gushed hot and free. 

The hounds of the crimson sky gave tongue 

But never a cry cried He. 

I ha' seen Him cow a thousand men 

On the hills of Galilee. 

They whined as He walked out calm between 

Wi' His eyes like the grey o' the sea 

Like the sea that brooks no voyaging

With the winds unleashed and free. 

Like the sea that He cowed at Genseret 

Wi' twey words spoke' suddently. 

A master o' men was the Goodly Fere

A mate of the wind and the sea. 

If they think they ha' slain our Goodly Fere

They are fools eternally. 

I ha' seen Him eat of the honeycomb

Sin' they nailed Him to the tree. 

- Ezra Pound. 

Love?

Love.

What comes to mind when you hear that word? 

Perhaps, a vision of candlelighted romance, gauzy dress, and delicate dancing. 

Or perhaps ecstasy and kisses. Sweet nothings whispered in the heat of passion by a fevered lover. 

Perhaps the first blush of young sweethearts, timidity and courage enchantingly mingled. 

Mayhap your idea of love melds with the souls of those, high and holy, who have forsaken all, even life itself, for the glories of martyrdom on some distant, shrapnel - wracked field. 

Or, perhaps, you think of the radiant glow of motherhood, the full to bursting heart as she caresses the new young life. 

Perhaps the bitter heart wrenching tears shed at midnight by those abandoned by the ones sworn to remain til parted by death. 

Perhaps the willingness to do what is in the other persons best interest despite personal cost. 

....Or perhaps........ just perhaps..........your view of love entails a bruised bloody, and broken body ruthlessly thrust to the ground as the brutal whip rains down blows on head and shoulders bowed as if in prayer. 

Perhaps it watches as that same body bends beneath the crushing load it slowly drags up the steep incline. 

Perhaps it jostles for prominence in the crowd surrounding the form, now raised high above the heads of those at the foot of the cross and breathlessly awaits his final words. 

Perhaps it joins the weeping once he is indisputably laid to rest, never to again grace the land of the living. 

But perhaps.

Perhaps perhaps perhaps.

Perhaps it stands in enraptured awe as you place your hand in the hand of the one who was dead and behold is alive forevermore, as the rising sun signals the dawn of a new life. 

And the words of the old writ echo in your ears while you stand on the shores of the cloud tossed sea to hear His whisper in the waves. 

"No greater love hath man than this". 

No 

Greater 

Love. 

Jesus Christ Superstar and Familiarity Breeds Contempt

I'm a church kid.

As in, I've gone to church since before I was born...was dedicated while I was still an infant, and my great uncle pastored a church in Syracuse before he passed away.

I've heard the Easter story every single year, and when I was seven, my favorite chapters in the entire Bible were Luke 22-24 - the story of Jesus' betrayal, crucifixion, death, and resurrection.

In addition, I grew up in a very strong Christian family, so I don't honestly remember a point in my life where I didn't know who Jesus was and what He did for me.

The problem with such familiarity, I find, is that sometimes it can dull the meaning of powerful truths. They say 'familiarity breeds contempt', and I grew so accustomed to hearing the Easter story that it lost most of its wonder and awe for me.

A few years ago, though, during Holy Week, we rented out the 1973 film version of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Ted Rice's iconic rock opera "Jesus Christ Superstar", and after I got past the initial shock of how different it was from The Passion of Christ, for instance, I'm afraid I quite fell in love.

I literally cried at the expression on Jesus' face when Judas turns his back on him. I got chills when Jesus defended Mary Magdalene, and flinched when the soldiers flogged him.

And to be honest, even though they neglected the resurrection, it left a much more powerful impression on me than Son of God, The Story of Jesus, or any of the assorted Holy Week movies I had seen.

I think much of its power is that it takes the greatest story ever told out of all its cultural trappings and presents it - in large - for what it is.

A misunderstood, innocent Savior who is torn between his love for the world and his desire not to have to endure the brutal death he knows is coming.

His right hand man,Judas Iscariot, whose conflicted passions vary between extreme judgmentalism and a willingness to sell out his Master in order to avert an anticipated catastrophe.

The ex-prostitute, Mary Magdalene whose life is radically changed by meeting Jesus, a man unlike any other she had ever encountered before.

And an entire cast of other assorted variables like the paranoid Pilate, the childish Herod, the cruel Caiaphas, and the cowardly Peter.

While I'm sure that some will disagree with me and hate the movie because of its faulty depiction of Jesus' emotions, and the extensive scripture tweaking and faulty theology which went on, I loved it because it brought home to me the drama and tragedy surrounding Holy Week, which, from sheer familiarity, had become trite to me.

Hence, it's still my Holy Week tradition.

And I think it will continue as such.

Letter from a Therapist.

This afternoon I did what I usually do when I'm stressed about something... I browsed Pinterest.

And came across a stunning letter.

I'm reposting it here, because, not only do I need the reminder, but it's just a beautiful letter, and, well, it's truth.

Letter From A Therapist to a Suicidal Person

When you come to me for help, I want to help you

I hope you will let me. 

I cannot know your secrets without your words. 

I hope you will tell me. 

Tell me, please, your thoughts of suicide. 

You might feel scared to tell me

When I ask if you are thinking of suicide. 

I will try to help you feel safe. 

I will not judge you. 

I will not interrogate you.

I will not panic. 

I will listen gently as you tell your story 

In your own words, in your own way 

Suicide might tell you not to tell me. 

Suicide might tell you I am your enemy. 

Suicide lies. 

Suicide might tell you that no one could possibly help you, 

That dying is the only way to end your pain. 

Suicide might even tell you that you are a bad person

Defective, undeserving of life 

Or love, or hope, or compassion. 

Please, tell me. 

I cannot help you fight the enemy 

If you do not tell me about the enemy. 

The enemy that is trying to kill you. 

Do not trust your suicidal thoughts. 

They are not rational. 

They are a symptom, a cry from inside. 

Something inside you needs healing. 

Healing, not killing. 

Tell me, please, what suicide tells you. 

Does it tell you everything that is wrong with your life? 

Everything that is wrong with you? 

Suicide plays tricks with truth, 

Telling only the truths that make you want to die. 

Hiding the truths that make you want to live.

The pieces of hope. 

The pathways to healing. 

The possible. 

Tell me, please. 

Or somebody else. 

I am one of many people who can help you. 

But nobody can help you if you tell nobody. 

Thank you. 

One day, you will thank you too. 

For telling. 

For surviving. 

(© Copyright 2014 Stacey Freedenthal, PhD, LCSW, All Rights Reserved.)

On Governing Least and Governing Best

I seem to have been dragged into the whole realm of the melee that is politics, since I anticipate voting for the first time in the 2016 election. 

AAH! So much to learn and so little time!! 

*screams in frustration* 

Along those lines, though, in Western Civ this past semester, we studied - and evaluated - the belief that "the government that governs least, governs best", and, for the midterm, were obliged to write a short essay either arguing for or against the aforementioned statement. 

See the thing is...

According to the Bible, the government is given a great responsibility, not only to govern, but to govern well. According to the Bible, and Romans 13 in particular, the government is called to defend its citizens and maintain justice but at the same time, promote freedom and liberty for all. 

A government is charged with many duties in Scripture. Particularly, defending it's citizens from outside attacks, keeping the peace within its own borders, taking charge of complex social issues, and protecting basic rights and upholding just laws as found in Scripture.

However, "the government that governs least, governs best", while an admirable concept, fails to adequately account for the sin nature found in every human. 

The problem with blanket statements like the one above, is that, while in certain aspects - lassiez faire, and free market economics, for instance - they seem to be the best policy, they do not work in all circumstances. 

For instance, it is the duty of governments to uphold just laws, and punish wrongdoers, for they are not to "bear the sword in vain" (Rom. 13). A government that fails to govern in the area of law, and punish evildoers, in the interest of governing least, is failing to govern well and Biblically. 

With that said, however, I would generally agree with the principle that "the government that governs least, governs best", if only to avoid a dictatorial government, which oppresses the people, and the Bible clearly argues against, since God desires slavery for none, but freedom for all 

A limited government results in greater personal freedom, and, as the Declaration of Independence sums it up, a greater ability to pursue "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness", which is why, according to the Bible, governments are instituted on the earth. 

They are duty bound to protect the inalienable rights of their citizens - the aforementioned life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness - and therefore must not be too domineering, for that will defeat the purpose of freedom, and return liberated countries to the clutches of mercenary dictatorships, immoral monarchies, and careless demagogues.