How Advent is Like Being Pregnant

“We as a society have it completely backward: In our impatient, instant-gratification culture, the idea of being patient and anticipating a big event can seem beyond us,” write Tom and Caroline McDonald on the subject of Advent.

I am definitely guilty of having this attitude. The kind of anticipation which asks me to deny myself or slow myself down is one I generally dislike, and eagerness is oftentimes something I celebrate as a virtue.

This year, I resolved to observe Advent more meaningfully, and it helped me to recognize the ways in which observing Advent—waiting for the coming of Christ with joy and reverence—is a lot like waiting five more months to give birth to my son.

The preparation aspect of Advent is unique. Advent asks us to prepare specifically for the coming of Christ, as St. John the Baptist did through his preaching of repentance. In this season, we are preparing to welcome someone in. If we really think about it, this kind of preparation must be active and intentional, and it cannot occur in a short period of time. The season of Advent lasts three and a half weeks, which is definitely a sufficient amount of time to transition our hearts from busyness and bustle to steadiness, patience, and hope.

I certainly don’t know everything about waiting for a baby to come. I’ve seen women who are nearing or at their due dates, and their attitude and manner is distinctly urgent. The baby could come at any moment for them, and they are keenly aware of that. When I compare the waiting of Advent and waiting for a baby to come, I refer to the longer waiting and preparation which comes in the nine months of pregnancy: for example, making dietary changes, buying clothes and equipment for the baby, saving money, learning the techniques and everything else one needs to know to care for a baby…the list goes on. To prepare effectively for a baby takes time. I’m just starting to make headway! Preparing for my little baby on earth takes time, and it makes sense that preparing for Christ to come—even as a tiny baby—can certainly take three weeks, or even a lifetime.

In a culture which often dismisses preparation as boring and unnecessary, every day of preparation becomes a new act of willingness for me.
I intentionally choose to prepare, and in doing so I mirror the choice that the Virgin Mary made to assent to God’s will (as told to her by the angel Gabriel): “be it unto me according to thy word.”

Mary’s response should be a goal for our lives as Christians. Our sanctification could not have a greater culmination than our complete willingness to assent unto the will of God. In my lifetime, as I’m being sanctified, I’m sure that parenting will, at times, be a test of my willingness. Am I willing to give a patient explanation to my child instead of a sharp answer? Am I willing to prioritize (and enforce) healthy habits of eating, sleeping, and playing, even when I’m met with vehement resistance? Am I willing to guide an older child along the right path of friendships and choices, instead of “letting them figure it out themselves?” My willingness will be key in parenting, just as it is key in Advent. We are willing to restrain ourselves for three weeks in order to fully understand and enjoy the twelve days of Christmas. We are willing to be patient (in a society which glories in impatience) because this preparation for Christ's coming is important enough to surpass our personal desires. I will try to be patient in pregnancy, because I know I am being prepared for something bigger and more important.

Advent asks hard things of us, and so does bearing and raising a child. I know that I am young, and in so many ways I don’t know the half of it. What I do know is that Advent, like parenting, gives us the opportunity to become more like Christ—and the God who asks us to wait and prepare is the same God who never forsakes us but instead gives us grace to walk the path of preparation.

As Advent draws to a close, and the season of Christmas begins, let us rejoice in the grace of God’s son, who came at exactly the right time to bring salvation to our fallen world.
“Rejoice in the Lord always; and again I say, rejoice!” (Philippians 4:4).

In the past two years...

by the grace of God, I have

- finished university classes, and graduated from the most excellent Great Books program I've ever encountered

- become engaged to the most wonderful man I know

- had the opportunity to fail something, and grow better from doing so

- married that wonderful man

- celebrated the new marriages of many close friends

- moved to a state which I had never visited before, and stepped into a new life as an Army wife

- become pregnant (due in May 2016)

Christmas Is Here

Christmas is here. I know this because I woke up to a "Merry Christmas!" text from someone I love, followed shortly by a similarly sweet text from my mom.

Christmas is here. In morning prayer, I read from Isaiah chapter 9, which contains prophecies about Christ's coming, as well as from St.Luke chapter 2, which actually gives an account of the Nativity.

Christmas is here. My fasting and abstinence from certain foods is over, and I am enjoying a cup of tea.

Christmas is here. Facebook is buzzing with every different Christmas status and photo one could imagine.

How do you know Christmas is here? What does Christmas really mean? The signs--if we could call them that for a moment--in my life that say "Christmas is here!" are good things, and they certainly do signify something. The externals point nicely to the reality, that December 25th has come, that stores are closed (thank goodness) for this holiday, that my fasting has come to an end and my Scripture readings are appropriately themed.

I propose that there are better signs than these, to show that Christmas really is here.

The Light Himself dwells among us. He enlightens us, showing us how we ought to live and why, guiding us through hard times, inspiring us to do good even when darkness threatens. The Light of the world has come: "the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not. He came unto his own, and his own received him not. But as many as received him, to them he gave power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name: which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God"(St. John 1:9-13). Indeed, the people walking in darkness have seen a great light (Isaiah 9:2).

Love has come into the world. We who believe in Christ are part of his Kingdom, which is a kingdom of love. And Christ gives us not just the example of love, but the power to love. We learn from the examples of the saints, the major figures in Scripture, and those we know who have lived a life marked by Love. How can they love so much, and so well? They can be different in every respect--in nationality, in gender, in wealth or means, in vocation, in age, in background and experiences, in talent, in renown--and yet they share Love as the distinguishing characteristic of their lives.

Truth is incarnate. Christ is the way, the truth, and the life; and in Him do justice and mercy, righteousness and peace, abide together. The truth of salvation has been brought--more than a mere set of teachings, but a new life. C.S. Lewis describes the transformation which comes from recognizing the Truth of the faith thus: “[To have Faith in Christ] means, of course, trying to do all that He says. There would be no sense in saying you trusted a person if you would not take his advice. Thus if you have really handed yourself over to Him, it must follow that you are trying to obey Him. But trying in a new way, a less worried way. Not doing these things in order to be saved, but because He has begun to save you already. Not hoping to get to Heaven as a reward for your actions, but inevitably wanting to act in a certain way because a first faint gleam of Heaven is already inside you.” We can only see Truth by beginning to undergo this transformation. Truth is incarnate, and not to be feared. Indeed, I have been working hard in the past months to remember that all truth is God's truth, and thus it ought not to be feared but fervently sought.

We live a new Life. Christ is the Life of us all, coming to a place of death and darkness and bringing new life. We might be tempted to despair at times, when we do not seem to see much except death and darkness. The world has, in a way, not changed all at once into the new, peaceful Life. Some things--quite formidable things--are still to be endured and overcome in each of our lives. But in another--and infinitely bigger--sense, the world has indeed changed all the way for the Good. We are "already finished works-in-progress," and so is the world we live in. The new Life has come and worked through everything, and we are witnessing that. Redemption is a present reality. Indeed, we cannot celebrate Christmas without thinking ahead to the work done at Easter. Christmas is the incredible seed, planted for the fruit of redemption borne through Easter.

Christmas is here. Light, Love, Truth, and Life are here. Look for them, and I pray that they become apparent to you through this season.

Advent Draws to a Close

Christmas is less than a week away, and in these last few days of Advent, I'm reflecting on the past month.

How am I no longer desolate, now that Christ has come?
In his epistle to the Galatians, St. Paul alludes to the prophet Isaiah in chapter four, when he writes about the Church before Christ came. He powerfully compares the Church before Christ's coming as the barren, desolate woman who had no children. These descriptions confused me before I took December to actually observe Advent. After all, Advent is the season we observe prior to Christmas-- to imprint upon us a small part of the experience of the Church before Christ came to redeem it. This period of waiting has shown me how frail I am as a human, and how sinful. I've had to rely upon the Lord to walk me through the days, learning each day that I cannot accomplish anything on my own.

What does Christmas mean to me, which it hadn't meant before?
Before observing Advent, I didn't fully understand the significance that Christmas holds in the narrative of the Church. I knew it was important that Christ was born, so he could eventually redeem mankind. What I hadn't considered is how monumental this was: Christ's coming marked the beginning of the plan of salvation. It was what the prophets and other faithful people had been awaiting. It was the beginning of the fulfillment of the promise. It was the seed planted, and Easter is the seed coming to fruition.

Both fasting during Advent and listening to Advent hymns helped me understand the meaning of this season. My church had an Advent Lessons & Carols event, and I was also blessed to attend one at another church. As I read the words to these hymns, I was struck by the poignancy of this season.

My favorite for this season has been "Lo, He Comes With Clouds Descending" (if you would like to listen to a fantastic version of it on youtube, I would recommend this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rYf4W5Fy_2w).

Here are some of the words:


Lo! he comes, with clouds descending,
once for our salvation slain;
thousand thousand saints attending
swell the triumph of his train:
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
Christ the Lord returns to reign.

Now redemption, long expected,
see in solemn pomp appear;
all his saints, by man rejected,
now shall meet him in the air:
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
See the day of God appear!

Yea, amen! let all adore thee,
high on thine eternal throne;
Savior, take the power and glory;
claim the kingdom for thine own:
Alleluia! alleluia! alleluia!
Thou shalt reign, and thou alone.


May your Christmas season be deepened by the knowledge of its significance, and may you be blessed at the coming of the new year!

Observing Advent: Suggestion #2

Advent is here, but it may not seem like it. Looking around, the rest of the world has jumped into Christmas. Part of me is excited for this, as I love Christmas and want it to come quickly. I love seeing the stores decorated, drinking holiday-inspired drinks, planning Christmas parties and thinking about which gifts to buy for my loved ones. All of these things really tug at my heart.

Yet there might be something valuable about pausing before we jump straight into Christmas. Indeed, I learned about this firsthand during Lent. One of the things I abstained from was tea, and I abstained from it six days each week. It might seem dramatic, but it's true: refraining from drinking tea during those days was a test of my faith. I learned, during Lent, that I tended to place a lot of comfort on having a cup of tea--to pick me up after a bad day, or to celebrate during a good day. While drinking tea is not a bad thing to do, it had become an obstacle for me. I relied upon it when I could have been in prayer, relying upon God.

Tea was not my kryptonite. But the comfort I derived from it was something that I needed to surrender to God. In Advent, we engage in fasting and abstinence as spiritual disciplines, in order to fully engage in the solemn and penitential season of Advent. As my priest said during Lent, we ought to think of fasting not only as abstaining from some things, but as "exercising our spiritual muscles" while we do that.

My Advent fast has been fruitful so far. I know this, not because the Lord has sent me a message in the clouds, or because I've suddenly become much stronger in my spiritual gifts, or because I feel better. I know my fast has been fruitful because I have been depending upon the Lord much more often than I usually do. When I am stripped of tea, I am stripped of my "pick me up," the treat that helps me stay awake and act more civilly than I feel like acting sometimes. As my dear roommate knows, the Jessica you get without tea is the Raw Jessica. There's no pretending. When I fast, I feel like I'm entering into a time where it's really just God and I--and I realize how grateful I am that He is with me.

Perhaps take some time to reflect on something you could abstain from for a few days each week of Advent. What do you turn to instead of the Lord?

The Beginning of Advent 2013

I’m probably one of the most enthusiastic Christmas fans you’ll meet. My parents suffered from my obnoxious pleas to please, please put up the tree and lights already; I’ve often begun listening to Christmas music (secretly, of course) shortly before Halloween (and then very publicly beginning on November 1st); much time and thought goes into the Christmas gifts I buy for others; I love caroling, snow, and cider. In terms of celebrating Christmas, I have spent the past twenty years following society’s prescription quite closely.

And even if we were to make it more “Christian” (I mean, it is Christmas after all), I’m not half-bad at celebrating. I love helping churches and charities stuff shoeboxes for under-privileged children; I donate time and resources to organizations that help others at Christmas; I help out with nativity plays and holiday-inspired dramas about good cheer and loving one another; as a child, I used to watch an animated version of the Nativity Story that I’ve almost certainly broken, from watching it so much.

This year, though, I’m excited to finally celebrate Christmas. Looking back on my last twenty years of Christmas celebrations, I’m not ashamed of the way I’ve celebrated. Indeed, at times I’ve been really blessed by it. But I think in many ways it missed the point.

Let me explain—and before I do, let me add that I felt the same way about celebrating Easter this year. I hadn’t fully celebrated Easter until I’d observed Lent. The experience was so transformative—both immediately and long-term, thus far—that now I cannot really imagine one without the other.

Like Lent, Advent is an intentional period of time, set aside before the celebration of Christmas (in this case). Advent refers to a period of waiting; an anticipation of Christ’s coming into the world. Advent is actually the first season of the Christian calendar—the “seasons” of the Christian year are as follows:

Advent (always begins in either November or December) – the 4 Sundays and the days leading up to Christmas day
Christmas (this is actually a season—we’ll talk about that later) – 12 day season, beginning with the Nativity of Our Lord on December 25th.
Epiphany – up to 6 weeks, but always begins on January 6th*
Pre-Lent – 17 days (consists of the three Sundays before Ash Wednesday)
Lent – 40 days (not including Sundays), begins on Ash Wednesday, concludes with Holy Week – the week before Easter, including Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday)
Easter – 39 days (including Sundays)
Ascension – 10 days, beginning on Ascension Day, always falls on Thursday
Whitsuntide – 1 week, begins on Whitsunday (also known as Pentecost), which is 50 days after Easter Sunday
Trinity (referred to by a variety of names: “the time after Pentecost,” “ordinary time,” “Kingdomtide,” to name a few) – up to 28 weeks, begins on Trinity Sunday, the week after Whitsunday*
*the length of these seasons depends upon the date of Easter, since it varies every year

Living according to these seasons is interesting, to say the least. I hadn’t ever considered living according to seasons (not even seasons related to weather, since I’m from Arizona). It frames the experiences in your year, to say the least. If you live according to these seasons in conjunction with the church lectionary, you read Scripture and passages from apocryphal books in order to immerse more prayerfully into these seasons. Living according to the Christian seasons is intended to be a communal experience, involving the whole Church.

Why would I live in Christian seasons? Why, especially, would I choose to live in the Christian season of Advent, since it sounds like it will involve things like halting my celebrations and participating in a fast? To answer the second question:

To help put this season into perspective, remember that Christmas is the celebration of Christ coming into the world as an infant, born the way we were (which is profound, actually, when you think about it). Christ is the Messiah the Jews had been awaiting—and the Savior whom every one of us needs. Christmas, then, was preceded by a very, very long period of waiting.

Advent is one of the two penitential seasons in the Christian year (solemn, preparatory, involving denial to self). For me, that really puts it in perspective to realize that the only other time we are to be solemn like this is during Lent; you might also note that both penitential seasons precede the “coming of Christ” in some way—when He actually entered the world (Christmas) and when he went into it to teach, guide, and ultimately save us through His sacrifice and give us hope in the world to come (Easter).

To connect this back to my last twenty years of Christmas celebration: I’ve realized, through very real personal experience, that jumping headlong into celebration, without preparing for it, is less worthwhile. I can honestly say that, despite the vigor with which I used to celebrate Easter, I had never experienced it so fully as when it was preceded by Lent. On one hand, this might sound embarrassingly obvious: of course it meant more, Jessica. You’re obviously thirsty when you’ve been withholding water, and this is the same thing. Actually, though, it’s not entirely the same thing. Lent and Advent are not mere contrivances to make me appreciate Easter and Christmas more. They are not meant to be manipulative like that. They are intentional preparatory seasons, which place a person in the proper mindset in which to experience and celebrate Easter and Christmas. In the context of Christianity’s history, these fasts did precede these feasts. It’s kind of weird to reverse them—let alone do away with them altogether.
Advent is underappreciated, but you ought not to observe it out of pity. It is underappreciated because it is difficult, because society has taken us on quite a different path. I ask you to observe Advent with me, not because I need an Advent buddy (although I’ll happily take one), nor because it’s hipster or enlightened or something. I don’t claim to have come up with anything new here; on the contrary, I’m presenting the view of traditional Christians throughout history, and I am indebted to them and their articulations of these things.

The following posts will (in varying lengths, I’m sure) offer a few ways to observe Advent. To reiterate, Advent begins today and spans all the way up until Christmas day. Oh—and Christmas? In the Christian calendar, it’s a twelve-day season (the song makes much more sense now), full of joyous celebration and deep thankfulness for what Christ did for us—all of which began, really, with his coming to us in our human form.

A few ways to observe Advent…
Get your hands on a lectionary. I use the one in the Book of Common Prayer (U.S. 1928) (the BCP for short), which is in print, but you can also easily find it online: [instructions].
Whether or not you pray the daily offices from the BCP, the lectionary is a good place to start. The readings really help place us in the mindset of people who are awaiting the Christ to come.

More to come!

Humanity Lost—and Found—in Les Misérables

It’s kind of sad to think that this is a novel concept to me (no pun intended), but to some extent, we attribute a sense of humanity to each other in a meaningful way. It almost seems as though we can “clothe” a person in a blanket of humanity—or we can collectively perceive people in such a way that they seem to shed their humanity. Indeed, the term “dehumanized” is one we ought not to use recklessly; we must realize that we have the power to affirm the humanity within others, and we must take the responsibility seriously. The costs of neglecting it are devastating.

But enough of what I think. What does Victor Hugo write on the immortal pages of Les Misérables? He begins the story with the “honest bishop,” the man whose singular kindness is transformative, by the grace of God. The bishop operates out of a deep respect for others, initially shown to Jean Valjean every time the bishop calls him monsieur. Indeed, “every time [the bishop] said this word monsieur, with his gently solemn, and heartily hospitable voice, the man’s countenance lighted up. Monsieur to a convict, is a glass of water to a man dying of thirst at sea. Ignominy thirsts for respect” (67). A few lines later, the bishop claims to already know Valjean’s name, without having heard it or looking at his passport: “your name is my brother,” the bishop tells him. At this point in the musical version, the astounded convict sings

“Yet why did I allow this man/To touch my soul and teach me love?/He treated me like any other/He gave me his trust/He called me brother…He told me that I have a soul,/How does he know?/What spirit came to move my life?/Is there another way to go?” (“Valjean’s Soliloquy/ What have I done?”)

Of course, the bishop famously saves Valjean from imprisonment, the latter having robbed him despite his kindness. The catalyst for Jean Valjean will come after he leaves the bishop’s kind house, but nevertheless, the seed has been planted.

Valjean’s respect for every person is modeled after the bishop’s shining example, as we see later in his treatment of Fantine. Her death in the novel is slightly different—and in my opinion, more heart-wrenching—compared to the musical version. Suffice it to say that Javert’s presence causes Fantine’s final, fatal fit of terror. Upon observing Valjean’s kindness to her, Javert exclaims “Miserable country, where galley slaves are magistrates and women of the town are nursed like countesses!” (255). He cannot see Fantine for anything but her most wretched state.

Hugo contrasts starkly different views of humanity through the eyes of each character: he paints Fantine, despite her fall from virtue and subsequent poverty, as a devoted mother; Jean Valjean is a noble defender of the ill and downtrod; and Javert is “a demon who had again found his victim [Valjean]” (253). He has become consumed with capturing Valjean, so much so that Hugo describes him as being absolutely imbued with “the deformity of triumph” (253) when he finally succeeds. Indifference is the only emotion he feels (if such a thing can be) when Fantine dies in front of his eyes—indeed, almost at the sight of him. Jean Valjean’s reaction is exactly opposite. He whispers some last words to Fantine, of which Hugo writes that “Sister Simplice, the only witness of what passed, has often related that, at the moment when Jean Valjean whispered in the ear of Fantine, she distinctly saw an ineffable smile beam on those pale lips and in those dim eyes, full of the wonder of the tomb” (256).

If anything, one would read the novel hoping that, even to Javert, people might become equally valued in death. Javert’s attitude toward Fantine does not change in the face of her death, showing that he was never going to ascribe humanity to her at all. Perhaps he is unable to do so because he lacks humanity himself. Hugo writes that Javert is so ecstatic at the capture of Valjean that his face showed “the fullest development of horror that a gratified face can show…nothing could be more painful and terrible than this face, which revealed what we may call all the evil of good” (253). He is a “wild beast” and a “mad-man” all at once, a creature incapable of compassion or even reason (254).

We cannot let ourselves make Javert’s mistake, even to a lesser extent. His path may seem distant to us. It may even strike us as absurd to think we could ever resemble him. Consider, though, how apt we are to assume the worst in others. Of course the homeless man on the street will use our money for drugs. Of course each and every poor person on the street has completely caused his or her situation. Of course they are beyond help, even if we try. So of course we shouldn’t even bother, right?

Back in January, when I visited Skid Row, I had versions of theoe thoughts swirling around in my head. I don’t have all of the answers, but I have learned a few things:
1. Jean Valjean and the Bishop were right to help others. They showed the light of Christ to others in very tangible acts of charity.
2. We cannot excuse ourselves for neglecting our fellow men, first and foremost in prayer.
3. As soon as we begin to dehumanize others, as Javert did, we become less human ourselves.

O GOD, Almighty and merciful, who healest those that are broken in heart, and turnest the sadness of the sorrowful to joy; Let thy fatherly goodness be upon all that thou hast made. Remember in pity such as are this day destitute, homeless, or forgotten of their fellow-men. Bless the congregation of thy poor. Uplift those who are cast down. Mightily befriend innocent sufferers, and sanctify to them the endurance of their wrongs. Cheer with hope all discouraged and unhappy people, and by thy heavenly grace preserve from falling those whose penury tempteth them to sin; though they be troubled on every side, suffer them not to be distressed; though they be perplexed, save them from despair. Grant this, O Lord, for the love of him, who for our sakes became poor, thy Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

Initial Thoughts On Les Misérables

A brief comment on the work, as I take it up daily to delve into the world of nineteenth century France: it is remarkable to read for many reasons, one of which is Hugo's treatment of humans as persons. He is deeply interested in the lives of the characters, sparing the reader no detail of their lives, no matter how small. His project seems almost round, as he takes pains to fill out the various details with short episodes organized into larger books by character; for instance, when describing the good Bishop, Hugo offers episodes ranging from describing the Bishop's frugality ("How Monseigneur Bienvenu Made His Cassock Last so Long") to showing us a rather private conversation of his with an old atheist ex-Revolutionary ("The Bishop in the Presence of an Unknown Light"). Hugo does the same with Jean Valjean, as he is introduced, and now with Fantine, who I am just beginning to read about. The lives of each are simultaneously treated systematically and haphazardly; Hugo organizes the book by character but seems to weave them together quite seamlessly, traveling from one to the other without apology or announcement.

Every character is a person to Hugo. Environment takes its toll on each character--indeed, this seems to be a subject with which Hugo is very preoccupied--but they are not mere products of the environment they dwell in. Hugo remarks on Jean Valjean's poverty, but does not omit his penitence. As I turn page after page, the genius of the structure becomes more apparent--of course he must begin with the Bishop, for it is through the Bishop's lens that Hugo views each character: with compassion and charity, not regarding his own discomfort in meeting them but solely their good.

A daunting task indeed, to read such a comprehensive treatment of human nature. And Hugo's method of describing his characters is distinct--it doesn't quite resemble the propriety of Austen, nor the wild intensity of Bronte (or so I've been told), nor even the methodical style of Dickens. It is distinct in its balance, matter-of-fact yet pulsing with life. The prose is arresting, and thus worthy of its content.

Les Mis for Today

My last post--written at the beginning of a semester that has now ended--described my first experience on Skid Row, and my thoughts were left somewhat unresolved. Five months later, I finally have more time to process that experience, as well as experiences I've had since then. And, I now have a new context in which to investigate the issue of poverty: I am reading Victor Hugo's Les Miserables, which the author opens with the following lines:

So long as there shall exist, by reason of law and custom, a social condemnation, which, in the face of civilisastion, artificially creates hells on earth, and complicates a destiny that is divine, with human fatality; so long as the three problems of the age--the degradation of man by poverty, the ruin of woman by starvation, and the dwarfing of childhood by physical and spiritual night--are not yet solved; as long as, in certain regions, social asphyxia shall be possible; in other words, and from a more yet extended point of view, so long as ignorance and misery remain on earth, books like this cannot be useless (1862).

Thus begins the famous novel, which apparently Hugo himself labeled a religious work, and which I expect will shed valuable light on the questions my experiences have raised. Here begins, then, a short series offering snapshots of my journey through Les Miserables.

"Say Hi" on Skid Row

[Part 1]

I live in Los Angeles county for nine out of twelve months. In mild traffic, it takes forty-five minutes for me to drive to Skid Row.

Tonight, I accompanied my RD and my five fellow RAs to Skid Row and served meals to the homeless there by helping a group called Monday Night Mission. The closest I'd ever come to the homeless was a few day trips into the inner city of Phoenix, giving out Christmas presents and doing light landscaping for a nonprofit organization. The contrast between those trips and this trip to LA is difficult to describe; suffice it to say that my comfort zone is located far away from the dimly lit alleys of Skid Row, where trash and rainwater decorate the sidewalks and you get the feeling that you're always being watched because you are so out of place.

The group of volunteers we helped tonight is composed of both "regulars" and new volunteers, and the success of each night literally depends upon the number of volunteers that show up each night, Monday through Friday. We meet at a Burger King a few streets away from Skid Row (incidentally, a decent part of town) and consolidate our food and our workers; then we drive to the corner of San Pedro and 6th St, set up the folding tables and the food, and serve the line of people waiting. The "regular" men stand around the group in a sort of perimeter, and the volunteers inside of the perimeter rotate so everyone helps serve in some one of the tasks.

I learned a lot tonight. Although I cannot articulate much of it at present, below are a few thoughts.

A person is not human because he possesses things, has an education, or sleeps in a bed. There is actually a lot of debate about what makes a person human: productivity, cognitive ability, quality of life, fulfillment of a certain role or purpose.
I know that every human is made in the image of God. As one of my team members so eloquently said, "we are all image-bearers. We gawk at God's creation of mountains, but we forget to recognize that every person is a creation." I saw a lot of faces tonight that saddened me or-at times- made me uncomfortable, but the fact that they made me uncomfortable does not make them inhuman. The fact that they sleep on the street also does not make them inhuman. While we were serving food to the people, a volunteer at the front of the line was constantly yelling "Say hi to Joey. Say hi to Frankie. Say hi to Gomez. Say hi to Gabriela." People asked us why we'd shout names in unison; one man look concerned and asked if we were a cult. We had been told by the founder of Monday Night Mission that the residents of Skid Row do not often hear their names spoken to them. Lack of interaction does not make someone inhuman either.

According to the founder of MNM, Skid Row has existed for the past eighty years because the homeless and mentally ill of LA are deposited there, for various reasons. When a police officer is called to pick up a homeless person, he does not arrest the person but drives him or her to Skid Row, where unimaginable perils await. Also, hospitals, after treating the mentally ill and keeping them for the required seventy-two hours, deposit them in front of Union Rescue Mission (located on San Pedro). A smaller group of us walked half a block to this mission, where we were told that it has six hundred beds. I glanced to both sides of me and saw more homeless people on the sidewalks, presumably the "leftovers" who hadn't come in time to get a bed at the mission. Around the corner was the Midnight Mission, which also gives beds daily to those on Skid Row. I hadn't been under any illusions that every homeless person magically ended up with a bed each night, but I had no idea that so many had to be turned away.

All of this, despite its complexities, boils down to the simple truth that Skid Row doesn’t have to exist. This is the most heartbreaking thing. It’s easy to think that places like these are inevitable and can never change. I’ve often rationalized their existence with the basic idea of human sin—that their bad decisions landed them there. What I hadn’t considered was that human beings are deposited to Skid Row, sometimes from a hospital where they were battling a mental illness, and left there with no friend to call, no family member to ask for help, no idea of how to survive in that dark place, and the threat (and reality) of violence permeating the air.

After wards, I came back to Biola (an island of peace in a sea of insanity, it seemed now), put on a sweater, pajama pants, and warm fuzzy socks. I poured myself a tall glass of ice cold water and used a restroom with perfectly functioning plumbing, running water, and soap. One of the paper towel dispensers didn’t work—an inconvenience at which I frowned.

Do not mistake me. I do not believe in validating the reality of hard situations by lamenting the comfort of good ones. God does not hate me for my comfort. Satan, on the other hand, knows that he can use my comfortable life to cause me paralyzing guilt and even despair. God tells me that as I have been given much, of me much more will be required, and as I have been entrusted with much, more will be demanded of me (paraphrased from Luke 12:48). God does not want to guilt us into doing good things. He wants us to be thankful for all we have, and from that place to offer it back to him by sharing with others. I daresay God is above “guilting us.” I don’t think he will settle for that. What we can give to God is ourselves, our souls and bodies, in obedience to Him. And while we’re doing that, we can love our neighbors.

I hope to offer more ways, in subsequent posts, that we can love our neighbors in LA. For now, we must spread awareness about the tragedy that is Skid Row and the fact that it is not necessary. While we do this, we should pray.

O GOD, Almighty and merciful, who healest those that are broken in heart, and turnest the sadness of the sorrowful to joy; Let thy fatherly goodness be upon all that thou hast made. Remember in pity such as are this day destitute, homeless, or forgotten of their fellow-men. Bless the congregation of thy poor. Uplift those who are cast down. Mightily befriend innocent sufferers, and sanctify to them the endurance of their wrongs. Cheer with hope all discouraged and unhappy people, and by thy heavenly grace preserve from falling those whose penury tempteth them to sin; though they be troubled on every side, suffer them not to be distressed; though they be perplexed, save them from despair. Grant this, O Lord, for the love of him, who for our sakes became poor, thy Son, our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.

Ducks + Graham Crackers - The Recipe for Happiness

I spent one day last week in the company of a very animated two year-old boy, and our morning mainly consisted of feeding an entire package of graham crackers to some very grateful ducks swimming in a pond. Having gone quite a few years without feeding ducks, I had forgotten the inherent happiness in it. When you've surpassed your early years, you begin to recognize some drawbacks- the gooey, soggy graham crackers floating in the murky pond, the uncomfortable position of kneeling in the wet, muddy grass beside the pond, and the chill in the air as you work to disperse each cracker in the water; and yet, the little boy's enthusiasm fueled me despite my complaints. Perhaps he believed that without our help, the ducks wouldn't have eaten all morning- or perhaps he merely enjoyed watching the ducks race each other to get the cracker pieces. Regardless, I realized that sometimes, age clouds our ideas about happiness. We forget that there is contentment in simple things; indeed, we look to insufficient- and sometimes wrong- means for our happiness. Or, most gravely, we mistake happiness for joy. I do not maintain that there was joy in feeding the ducks; because as pleasant as that experience was, I think more highly of joy than to limit it in that way. However, little pockets of happiness, among which lies this sweet memory, seem to somehow create a joyful life. The laughter that bubbled up from this little boy as he hurled the crackers toward the ducks was a happy moment, and I am thankful for it because it added to the joy I have in spending time in the company of children.

I am obliged to this little boy for teaching me something I had lost and am very glad to have found. I am hardly surprised at the lesson I learned from this child so much my junior- for what else greater gift do children give us, than that of re-discovering the meaningful things in life?

"Will Ye No Come Back Again?"

Lately, as summer comes and the hours are free for such things as reading, I find myself increasingly drawn to reading other blogs. Perhaps on account of missing Torrey, and all connected with it, I wandered over to the Scriptorium (see fourth link on my “Favorite Links” column). To my pleasant surprise, I saw that the featured essay had been written recently by my mentor, Dr. Robert Llizo. During the spring semester particularly, but throughout this entire year, I have learned valuable lessons from him; and so I read his post See here: http://www.patheos.com/blogs/scriptorium/2012/05/what-i-learned-from-john-mark-reynolds/

Maybe Dr. Llizo’s voice affords readers a certain advantage, because in my mind as I read, I imagined him reading it aloud, as he often does from the Vulgate (or, early this semester, from the Aeneid) in session. Also typical of Dr. Llizo, I found myself obliged to look up words such as pedagogy (the function or work of a teacher) and, of course, the lyrics to “Bonnie Charlie” (see below).

It was the last paragraph, however, that meant the most to me. How relevant to our lives, and written so succinctly! In it, Dr. Llizo ruminates on teaching, which has often been an interesting subject to me as it relates to Torrey. I often find myself wondering what goes through our tutors’ minds as they lead us, or (quite courageously of them) allow us to lead ourselves.

“Effective teaching begins with knowing who you are, what your limits are, and where the possibilities lie in those limits. Education is best done in the context of a great conversation, one that probes deeply into our assumptions about life and the cosmos. This conversation invites us to lay open these deeply-held beliefs, to cultivate humility in casting off what is false, and the resolve to build on what is true and lasting. This conversation must begin with love, not only of ideas, but of the people with whom we are in dialogue. People are more important than ideas, for in the encounter with another human being, we come face to face with immortality. We touch eternity in the meeting of minds and hearts,” writes Dr. Llizo.

I almost swell with gratitude for such an opportunity to learn in this way. It gives me hope that maybe I can teach my children something. It offers profound freedom, to recognize that learning does not require four walls and a handful of desks, but is found in the well-informed “great conversation” of God’s Word and the classic works of His people. Principles of love, humility, and resolve are evident in our tutors, and Dr. Llizo treats them here with the care that I believe can only come from someone who truly finds God’s purpose in the job he does every day. Having had a decent share of teachers who cared much less, I want to recognize his post.

In the words of the aforementioned “Bonnie Charlie,”

Whene'er I hear the blackbird sing,
Unto the evening sinking down,
Or merl that makes the wood to ring,
To me they hae nae other sound
Will ye no come back again?
Will ye no come back again?
Better lo'ed ye canna be,
Will ye no come back again?

Looking forward to see us all come back again, and in the meantime, I am learning to more fully appreciate what we’ll be coming back to.

For more on Education from Torrey faculty, see Dr. Peters’ post: “An Invitation to Education” (http://www.patheos.com/blogs/scriptorium/2012/05/an-invitation-to-education/).

A Five Year Old Lady

First of all, I apologize for not writing for almost a year. I have no excuse, save the pace of college life. Thanks for following :-)

The inspiration for this post came from a certain evening with two lovable children. The little girl taught me a lot about how I can better be a lady. Here is what I found:

1. A lady is not anxious.

Drawing pictures, she has not a plan, but goes with whatever idea comes to her.
“I’ll start with a line,” she says, and turns the picture into a heart. From there, she needs no more suggestions. She makes me feel the idea behind Matthew 6, that we need not be anxious about what we’re going to wear, or whether or not our drawing will be received well.


2. A lady is polite.

She compliments my drawing of a tree, and makes suggestions such as adding a sun in the corner. She sees me drawing apples on the tree and mistakes them for acorns, but upon seeing my reaction, she guesses correctly and makes me smile. A lady is edifying.


3. A lady is sweet.

She takes the babysitter’s ponytail out during a “make over,” and says “your hair looks so pretty down like that.” The babysitter came without makeup, with a t-shirt and jeans, with no expectation of a compliment- let alone one from such a lady.


4. A lady knows the ways of her little brother.

One day, we’ll use the word “insightful” or “knowledgeable” to describe this aspect of the little lady. She knows what her brother is actually saying when he mumbles a string of words out, and she knows how to make him stop crying. She knows when he needs her to make a funny face at him, to make him laugh.


5. Indeed, a lady loves to laugh.

She laughs as she runs around the house with her brother, she laughs as she plays “monkey in the middle.” She laughs as her babysitter twirls her around in the air and she laughs at the exhausted babysitter afterwards. Her laughter is never mocking or fake. It bubbles forth from her like a little fountain.


6. A lady sleeps like an angel.

She curls up with her little brother in a big chair, and drifts to sleep in front of the TV. She snores slightly, rustling around every once in a while.

One imagines she is having peaceful, very ladylike dreams.

Adventures in the Iliad: The First Two Books

From August 4, 2011
Location: Anthem, Arizona
Condition: Determined (Okay, striving to be determined)

I have long since returned to my quiet life in Arizona, and yet the Iliad has not yet become as central of a focus as it needs to be in order to complete the task at hand. I will admit: I should have begun reading it earlier.

And yet, my goal is to finish. I'm very dedicated to goals, especially those that I know are valuable to my future. From what I've heard from current Torrey students, having completed the reading of the Iliad largely determines my quantity (and probably quality) of sleep during Torrientation.

Sleep is a strong motivator. When I think of putting Homer down in favor of another book (or perhaps a movie), I remind myself of the need to sleep well during my first week at Biola...who knows when I will sleep that much once classes start...

Certain things help sustain me through the ugly transition between carefree summer and legitimate learning. In all seriousness, prayer is the main aid. I know God has led me to Biola, and to Torrey as well, and I want to use my time in college wisely.
God also created cocoa beans, which are made into chocolate, and for which I am quite grateful. Becoming a member of the Torrey community before I even set foot on campus, through the Torrey Class of 2015 Facebook page, largely contributes to my determination as well- from these people have come encouragement and laughter, and most importantly a sense of unity. As difficult as it may be to fight procrastination's grasp, the Iliad represents the beginning of my life at Biola- a life that I greatly anticipate.

I must admit that, upon reading the Iliad, there are things one learns about oneself that are quite astonishing. For instance, I have begun to notice how often I calculate the number of pages I have yet to read- and, sadly, have observed the fact that doing so will not magically make the reading quicker. My notes have also taken a rather surprising turn- I see myself altering portions in my notebook when I find an answer to a question previously proposed, or an addition to one still waiting for resolution. And, at some points, I find I have buried myself so deeply in the Iliad that I read more efficiently, with less mental complaints and a deeper understanding of why Homer's works are classics.

The Iliad still pulls me down a long and winding road, dense with figurative language and immense detail, with lists and accounts that elapse multiple pages. The Iliad remains a challenge to my summer-steeped brain, but I believe there may yet be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Adventures in the Iliad: Introduction

From July 17th, 2011
Location: Daytona Beach, Florida
Condition: Semi-Panicked

It is summer. I am in a condo, approximately a five minute walk to the nearest ocean, with family and food and various means of entertainment.
I am reading.
It is not on account of the aforementioned entertainment that I am reading. I am reading because I have homework.
Homework. The word is taboo even though I am no longer in high school. Still unaccepted- I am not supposed to be doing homework. It is summer!
And yet, I have plunged headfirst- quite irresponsibly, actually- into Homer's Iliad, and am nearing the end of the forty-three page introduction as I write this. The journey begun with much trepidation, for I was not aware of what expectations I was approaching, or meeting, or failing to meet. We are required to keep a notebook, which sounds simple enough. Yet as I sat down to begin my notebook I remembered quite vividly being the girl whose notebook- or annotations, etc- was always wildly overdone, and met with disbelief. Why would that girl put so much time into her notebook? What possessed her to annotate so extensively? At times I believed I was one of three people in my class period who could claim to have read the material at all. So I sat at the table, in the condo by the beach, with a bright pink notebook in front of me that had suddenly become very intimidating. I stared at it, then at the Iliad, then at the ceiling, hoping that some sort of revelation would come to me regarding the protocol for such a thing. The question was not "how do I handle homework in the summer?" Nor was it a qualm about the Iliad, for I had loved reading Homer in high school. But perhaps that was just it: I could not look at any of this in any context except that of high school; and high school, by default, had become something I believed myself to be far beyond. Now, looking at the assignment before me, I realized that I saw it through the lens of my high school experience- so there the change must begin.
Alright, easy enough. I would resolve to see my assignment as it really was: college work. But that was not much of an improvement, because college work is ever more intimidating than high school work. What does a good reporter do to get the whole picture? Research. So I visited the Torrey Honors Institute (THI) website to review the guidelines for the notebook. Thinking I would not remember them later, I taped them to the inside of my notebook so I could refer back to them at any time during my note-taking process.
The time came to actually begin the book, and so I began. I flipped the first few pages, past copyrights and title pages and acknowledgements and contents, and came to a rather lengthy introduction. Forty-three pages, to be exact. I stopped cold. Introductions were tiresome enigmas that I learned to dislike at an early age. When I was younger, I developed my now rather acute thirst for reading, and so when I began a book, I read straight through the introduction and then got into the actual text. It didn't take but a few novels to reveal the hidden horror of introductions: they spoil the book. While eloquent, and intellectual, and very useful in hindsight, introductions give much information about the book that the author wished to keep a surprise until the reader came to the point of revelation. I learned, for instance, from reading the introduction to Sense and Sensibility (my favorite novel), that Willoughby is a dirty, selfish crook, and that Edward Ferrars never marries Lucy Steele. (By the way, to anyone who hasn't read S&S, I apologize). I was so heartbroken that these truths had been revealed before Austen intended them to, that my attitude turned strictly against introductions.
Thus I sat, staring at Richmond Lattimore's introduction to the Iliad with a mixture of displeasure and hesitation. Besides my past encounters with introductions, I recalled that they had never significantly aided me in high school (sorry Mr. Hickman!). So why should I read this introduction?
College work...oh yes, I was doing college work. I was attempting to read a foundational text, translated from Greek to English, for an Honors College in which I am blessed to be a member. Whether or not I liked it, I was going to read that introduction.

The Road Not Taken

I've always admired people who knew exactly what they wanted; to have a resolute decision and know that it is right- that is something that, with me, has always been easier said than done.
In the pool tonight after dinner, we met a man who told us that it took him thirty years to know what he wanted: to join the Coast Guard. As he tells it, he says he was on a boat about 35 miles off of the Florida shore, and the boat began to sink. Another boat nearby saved him and his fellow passengers, and although it wasn't the most heroic rescue, he thanked God for it. And it led to an epiphany. He wanted to save people from drowning, as he might have had not the other boat been nearby.
Excited to fulfill his dream, he went to enlist in the Coast Guard. Apparently to be in the Coast Guard, one must enlist before his or her 27th birthday. He was thirty.

Stories like these tend to fire up the rusty, semi-functional gears in my brain and make me evaluate what I want in life. After all, I need to know what I'm going to do, or else it might be too late. The hard part, though, is that life does not work this way- at least not for most people. We may plan our entire lives, but end up on a completely different path than we ever expected. We may be called to do something extraordinary- or quite ordinary- when we never expected to be called at all. As I've been reading in McCullough's excellent book, John Adams, sometimes a common, unsuspecting man ends up forging a new nation.
The cure for this unpredictable life we lead is simple: trust in God to lead you in the direction you are meant for. I've learned firsthand that the worst mistake we can make is to think that we have it all figured out- indeed, that we control it, that mysterious stuff that constitutes our future.

The poem "The Road Not Taken" comes to mind (see below). It hails the peculiarities of life that render us traveling down roads we never could have asked for or imagined.

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth; 5

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same, 10

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back. 15

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference. 20

Dream- know what you want to do. But always remember who is in control.

"The Dash"

One of my favorite teachers taught our class a lesson last week, and in some cases I think a few of us became inspired to live differently.

He showed us a video (link below) called “The Dash,” which brings to attention a crucial question in life: how will we live our years- the “dash” between the day we are born and the day we die?

Peter has advice regarding this question. In 1 Peter, he begins by exclaiming “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead…therefore, since Christ suffered in his body, arm yourselves also with the same attitude, because he who has suffered in his body is done with sin. As a result, he does not live the rest of his earthly life for evil human desires, but rather for the will of God” (1:3, 4:1-2). There is little mystery in this: Peter urges us to live our lives for Christ.

Before we delve into the many ways in which to live for Christ, let’s look at how Christ lived his life. We have very few glimpses into his childhood, but we know he was a gentle and conscientious young Jew, who possessed exceptional knowledge of the Scriptures and always asked probing questions to Pharisees, teachers of the law, and common people alike. He taught people as he travelled, picking up twelve disciples and many followers, and healed every person he came into contact with. Then, as we celebrate this weekend, he shared the Last Supper before we was condemned, crucified, and resurrected.

Kind of a hard act to follow…

Although impossible for humans to imitate completely, Jesus’ use of his “dash” serves to compel us to live each day better than the one which preceded it. One of the challenges of this is that our time on earth is finite, and we do not know exactly how finite until it is too late. Peter comments on this as well, instructing us: “Do not forget this one thing, dear friends: with the Lord a day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day. The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. He is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance” (2 Peter 3:8-9).

Thank you, Jesus, for using your dash in a way that saved us all.

How will you live your dash?

Link: "The Dash" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zsY6UrFIsNs

Awareness

There’s a cheesiness inherent in writing any January blog post concerning “New Year’s Resolutions,” especially as I believe they are a pitiful sham or, at best, a half-baked attempt on the part of an usually well-meaning individual to make him or her self do something which he or she had not the gumption to do when it actually became necessary (say, in March or August). However, regardless of this truth, there is a lesson in Ezekiel 22 that should be implemented in each of our lives this year and for the years following- whether you choose to add this to your list of Resolutions is a matter entirely of choice.*

The title of chapter 22 seems intimidating when first caught by the eye; entitled “Jerusalem’s Sins,” it indeed describes the severe disobedience of the people and the grim consequences of such actions. Phrases such as “O city that brings on herself doom by shedding blood in her midst” (verse three) and “I will gather you and I will blow on you with my fiery wrath” (verse twenty-one) add serious layers, effectively conveying the gravity of the people’s sins to the reader. Perhaps some context will help here- in fact, forsaking context is one of the main reasons why people often misread the Bible. The book of Ezekiel was written by the prophet, Ezekiel, and the preceding chapters explain in more detail the ways in which the people have enraged God. While the chapter is permeated by a descriptive account of these sins and their ramifications, the ending two verses are particularly notable because they offer a solution that the people could have taken to prevent this divine wrath. Verse 30 reads (and the LORD is speaking here): “I looked for a man among them who would build up the wall and stand before me in the gap on behalf of the land so I would not have to destroy it, but I found none.” A few interesting points appear in these mere thirty-seven words. One is the fact that God says he looked for “a man,” which, if interpreted in accordance with English grammatical standards, means “one man.” I cannot recall the last time I read about a great ruler or even a millionaire or CEO change the expected course of action based upon the fortitude of one person. Those who doubt God’s benevolence need look no further, as it is apparent here. God did not want to punish the people arbitrarily or because he derived some sick enjoyment from it, but because there was not a single person among them who could honestly claim innocence in the situation. Another point is that God speaks of this man building up a wall and standing before him in the gap on behalf of the land. Read over once, this may be missed, but taking another look, the reader envisages a tall brick wall with a courageous person standing atop it saying “God, I know you have every right to destroy this town, but I am wondering if you could please reconsider, based upon the fact that I have not done anything wrong, and that maybe, if given the chance, I could be used by You to help some of my neighbors do right again.” One righteous person could have bridged the gap between God’s wrath and the sinful people.

The word “gap” recalls an interesting phrase in my mind: “Mind the Gap.” A primarily British saying (as far as I have heard), it refers to the Tube (the British Subway train system) and the fact that if one does not “mind the gap” when boarding, one may easily slip and step onto the tracks, causing a very perilous situation. The gap is a danger to the passengers, but it must be crossed in order to enter or exit the train. Indulge me for a moment while I stretch this thought:

Our lives on earth are the gap. On one side we have sin, which is all we have until we decide to follow God; on the other side, we have either a) eternal life, a reward for following his Word and helping to further his kingdom, or b) eternal hell, a punishment for either not following him or turning our backs on him after first joining him. We live in sin until we accept salvation from God- in effect, bridging the gap. If one mere person in Jerusalem had correctly bridged this gap, God’s wrath would not have burned against the people, for he would have used this person to restore them to himself once more.

Perhaps the best way to bridge the gap is to be aware of the necessity of it. Awareness is a powerful tool for change. The mother of Christine Green, the 9-year-old killed in the Saturday Tuscon shooting, expressed her desire for us to be aware of the incredible danger of people like Loughner (the gunman), who is both medically imbalanced and mentally deranged. In our own lives we must be aware, but also in the larger context of our society- one that is rapidly degrading. There is no specified time or place for this; it is an ongoing cause that must be taken up by all of us. While you are making your New Year’s Resolutions, or re-working them from the past week, or whatever it may be, add “being aware of ways to bridge the gap” to your list. Pray about it, and God will show you how you can implement it.

*As a sidenote, I apologize if I offended anybody who is in favor of New Year’s Resolutions. For some they are powerful motivators, and for others, quite ineffective. I guess it is what you make of it.

Jessica Schildt's Issue Paper. Nov 2010

Merriam-Webster defines “deficit” as “an excess of expenditure over revenue.” In layman’s terms, this means spending more money than is generated. There is a clear division between liberal and conservative ideologies concerning the deficit. Inevitably, a citizen’s political ideology has enormous bearing upon his or her view of the deficit and the means of solving it. Recent and future policy will definitely include decisions concerning the deficit and deficit spending, as it is an issue heavily debated at present. For instance, deciding whether or not to extend the tax cuts implemented by former president George W. Bush is a current debacle that largely involves the two differing ideas of solving the deficit. Understanding the different solution that each side proposes is essential to cultivating a clear picture of the twenty-first century deficit.

Liberal citizens tend to promote maintaining or even increasing money to welfare programs, regardless of the size of the deficit; contrarily, conservative citizens are inclined to support tax cuts as a means to stimulate business. “The budget debate that is expected to dominate Congress next year” (politico.com) offers an accurate illustration of the opposing remedies; the Democrats in Congress are “resisting any cuts in Social Security benefits” (politicos.com) whereas the Republicans believe in adopting “fiscal restraint” and “capping [federal] spending” (heritage.com). Edward Lazear, an economist, explicates a solution that returns “spending closer to 2008 levels, then limiting spending in the future” (heritage.com). He asserts that the liberal argument “rests on the flawed premise that we can reduce the deficit only by increasing taxes, as if high levels of spending are a given…Americans don’t have to choose between an enormous deficit or high taxes” (heritage.com). The difference lies in each party’s plans for where to allocate the citizens’ tax dollars. Liberal proponents aim to extend this money to welfare and other government programs, as described by House Speaker Nancy Pelosi’s reaction to the Bowles-Simpson plan (2010); Pelosi condemned the plan, declaring that the plan must protect “economic security” by preserving welfare programs designed for dependents such as the elderly, “who are counting on the bedrock promises of Social Security and Medicare” (Politico.com). Plans such as these are certain to fuel the major dialogue in Congress for the next few weeks, as the Bush tax cuts will soon expire, and the Congress will be forced to form a consensus regarding solving the deficit.

The deficit consumes 53.5% of the national GDP, according to the CIA World Factbook estimates from 2009. It remains a contentious subject in Congress because of the varying methods of solving it. Each side will confront the task of prioritizing the programs that revenue must be allocated towards, which is an enormous task. Americans are dependent upon the decision of Congress, as each year the deficit rises. According to a recent Gallup poll, terrorism and the “federal government debt” are tied at forty percent as issues that Americans believe are “extremely serious” (heritage.gallup.com); indeed, a citizen is ignorant if he or she discounts the deficit as an imaginary malady.

Remembering September 11th

I was in third grade on the day that "the world stopped turning." It began as a normal day for me- but then again, it began as a normal day for all of us, right?- and we lived in a modest home in New River, AZ. I walked down our hallway into the living room, and I noticed that the volume of the television was turned very low. Dad must not have been interested in the other news that day. I ate breakfast and found my backpack, and I was stuffing my lunch into it when Dad looked at the TV, squinted, reached for the volume, and turned it up, muttering something.
"What is it, Dad?"
He didn't answer me.
"Daddy, what is it?"
"The World Trade Center has been destroyed."
I had no idea what anything in that sentence meant except the concept of destruction, and even on that count I was a bit fuzzy.
"So is it really bad?" I asked.
"Yeah, Jessie, it's really bad."
I accepted this and drove to school. But what had happened on the TV had affected everybody at school. The principals put together an assembly that lasted for almost the entire morning, where we sang patriotic songs like "Proud to be an American" and "The Star-Spangled Banner." The flag was halfway down the flagpole, which we learned was in respect to those who were suffering. And since I attended a charter school, we had a prayer as well as a moment of siilence.

I wish I could say that when 9/11 occurred, I knew the full gravity of the disaster. I wish I had been older so that I could understand the situation.

Since every school I attended since 9/11 (both public and private) held a similar ceremony on its anniversary, I did not know what had happened except that the World Trade Centers had been hit by an airplane piloted by terrorists, that something had happened to the Pentagon, and that the plane landed in Pennsylvania.

I have one person to thank for finally insisting that my generation know the facts as well as the aftermath: my sophomore World History teacher. Our class had taken too much time presenting our projects, so we were already behind, but still we learned about 9/11. We learned that the terrorists were present on more than one plane, and that the passengers on one of them overpowered the terrorists and landed the plane in Pennsylvania. We learned that the entire collapse of the towers was a matter of hours, but that the ash cloud that resulted remained for weeks. We learned that the people in New York had no idea what was happening, and we watched a documentary with footage shot by firefighters who had been elsewhere on that day but had come to help. We learned that the terrorists' plan was much more extensive, involving the Pentagon and the White House.
All of this we learned, and when I remembered that day in third grade, it seemed like I was thinking of two different events. Physically, that is where I had been on 9/11. But mentally, I had not experienced it until Thursday, September 11, 2008.
Thank you, Ms. P, for making us attempt to comprehend the situation. It always seems to exhaust you to teach us about 9/11, but it is a service that I don't believe anyone else could provide as well as you do.

There is a reason that everybody remembers where they were, what they were doing, on 9/11. When something so catastrophic happens, we as Americans feel the need to be united. We remember the event because it made an unprecedented impact upon the way we live. Few events have changed our country and our globe as much as 9/11. Remember this today.

If you want to hear a very inspiring song about 9/11, below is a link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nj9Fa6IFM8Q&ob=av2e