"I will walk about in freedom, for I have sought out your precepts." Psalm 119:45
"Speak and act as those who are going to be judged by the law that gives freedom, because judgment without mercy will be shown to anyone who has not been merciful. Mercy triumphs over judgment." James 2:12-13
"In him and through faith in him we may approach God with freedom and confidence." Ephesians 3:12
"Now the Lord is the Spirit, and where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom." 2 Corinthians 3:17
"Live as free people, but do not use your freedom as a cover-up for evil; live as God's slaves. Show proper respect to everyone, love the family of believers, fear God, honor the emperor." 1 Peter 2:16-17
"It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm, then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery." Galations 5:1
"You, my brothers and sisters, were called to be free. But do not use your freedom to indulge the flesh; rather, serve one another humbly in love." Galatians 5:13
Isn't freedom beautiful?
These verses remind me that freedom in and of itself is to be valued, but possessing this freedom comes with responsibility. Yes, we're free to do whatever we want, but that doesn't mean we should do whatever we want. Today, I am celebrating the freedom in Christ from guilt and shame, the freedom to work toward the best version of myself through Christ, and the freedom to do so in a nation that does not persecute me for proclaiming the name of Christ. I am celebrating the freedom to choose good over evil, to serve humbly in love. I am thankful to those who serve to preserve freedom. Today, I am celebrating with family, and friends, and BBQ, and watermelon, and wine, and fireworks. Enjoy your Independence!
Monday, July 4, 2011
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Peace, Not War - Online and Print Publication
In the last few days I've been thinking again about publication. Unlike my last meditation on posting poems to a blog site, my most-read post to-date, I've been thinking about how hard we all work (and how much money we all spend) trying to get our poems published in elite literary journals, like Poetry and the likes. I must admit to submitting every single poem I've written to Poetry in the hopes of publication (their online submission manager is FREE!!!!). And I've submitted nearly every poem I've written to Rattle (they take email submissions, and they are FREE!!!!). But of the poems I've had accepted for publication in the last two years, the ones that have gotten the most readers have appeared online.
I do not want to knock the literary journal, that ambitious little creature surviving off of grants, institutional support, and buckets of blood, sweat, and tears from their editors. Writers in academia require the juried selection of their work by their peers in order to secure tenure and to give evidence of their mastery of craft. This selection process is long, painful, and subjective-- I've learned as much working with a journal-- and when a publication boasts a 1% acceptance rate, that means 99% of submissions receive a generic note apologizing for not being able to publish it, encouraging the writer to submit again and granting best wishes for placing their work elsewhere. What an honor and privilege to be among the 1%!
Besides building one's CV for tenure, publication in the big guns builds a writer's reputation in the literary world. Work is exposed to the broader literary community (supposedly). Submitting to the patriarchs and matriarchs of the literary journal is worthwhile and encouraged, so long as those grandparents of literary publishers are still being read.
As more and more opportunities to access literature open up online and in digital print readers, writers and publishers of writers need to reevaluate the way we spread the word, so to speak. I don't think it is any surprise that print media subscriptions are slip sliding away. In light of this fact, in order to stay current and accessible, journals need to begin exploring alternative means of delivery and additional ways to lure subscribers and readers to their material.
There are some very worthy examples of journals that have embraced the digital age and are broadening readership by doing so. One such journal here in Ohio is the Kenyon Review. A quick peek at their homepage shows a full acceptance of the changing of the times-- they are blogging, posting excerpts, offering eBook editions, sharing interviews, and airing podcasts. Compare this to journals that may have a website with subscription and submission information, but tracking down any actual writing in that journal requires ordering a back issue.
The sad fact is there are hundreds of literary journals and a handful of faithful print subscribers. Journals like Kenyon Review, Rattle, Poetry, and others are making the wise move to providing alternative access and bridging the gap between the print version and the online version. Given the choice between having a poem of mine appear in a journal with hundreds of other poets who will all mostly scan through until they find the page their poem appears on and then look to see if they recognize any of the poets in the table of contents, and publishing a poem online, where I can link to it on my blog, share it on Facebook and Twitter, email it to friends and family, all without any cost to me... I'd rather go online.
As an administrator at a university rather than a faculty member at a university, my primary interest isn't in building my CV, although being able to wave the flag of a hot journal in my list of acknowledgments down the road would certainly be nice. My primary interest is in readers. I'd like to be able to share what I've written with friends and family while still adding to a list of publications, which will serve its purpose toward book publication, someday.
The print journals that make the leap into hybrid forms of publication and alternative delivery are the ones that I expect to survive and thrive. The online journals that are popping up and delivering the same level of editorial selection as the highly regarded print journals will continue to grow and gain respect. The journals that resist technology are likely to fade into the past along with the land-line telephone and the typewriter-- two devices that served their purpose for a time and still exist today but are becoming endangered species, dangerously close to extinction. Except, of course, in academia.
I do not want to knock the literary journal, that ambitious little creature surviving off of grants, institutional support, and buckets of blood, sweat, and tears from their editors. Writers in academia require the juried selection of their work by their peers in order to secure tenure and to give evidence of their mastery of craft. This selection process is long, painful, and subjective-- I've learned as much working with a journal-- and when a publication boasts a 1% acceptance rate, that means 99% of submissions receive a generic note apologizing for not being able to publish it, encouraging the writer to submit again and granting best wishes for placing their work elsewhere. What an honor and privilege to be among the 1%!
Besides building one's CV for tenure, publication in the big guns builds a writer's reputation in the literary world. Work is exposed to the broader literary community (supposedly). Submitting to the patriarchs and matriarchs of the literary journal is worthwhile and encouraged, so long as those grandparents of literary publishers are still being read.
As more and more opportunities to access literature open up online and in digital print readers, writers and publishers of writers need to reevaluate the way we spread the word, so to speak. I don't think it is any surprise that print media subscriptions are slip sliding away. In light of this fact, in order to stay current and accessible, journals need to begin exploring alternative means of delivery and additional ways to lure subscribers and readers to their material.
There are some very worthy examples of journals that have embraced the digital age and are broadening readership by doing so. One such journal here in Ohio is the Kenyon Review. A quick peek at their homepage shows a full acceptance of the changing of the times-- they are blogging, posting excerpts, offering eBook editions, sharing interviews, and airing podcasts. Compare this to journals that may have a website with subscription and submission information, but tracking down any actual writing in that journal requires ordering a back issue.
The sad fact is there are hundreds of literary journals and a handful of faithful print subscribers. Journals like Kenyon Review, Rattle, Poetry, and others are making the wise move to providing alternative access and bridging the gap between the print version and the online version. Given the choice between having a poem of mine appear in a journal with hundreds of other poets who will all mostly scan through until they find the page their poem appears on and then look to see if they recognize any of the poets in the table of contents, and publishing a poem online, where I can link to it on my blog, share it on Facebook and Twitter, email it to friends and family, all without any cost to me... I'd rather go online.
As an administrator at a university rather than a faculty member at a university, my primary interest isn't in building my CV, although being able to wave the flag of a hot journal in my list of acknowledgments down the road would certainly be nice. My primary interest is in readers. I'd like to be able to share what I've written with friends and family while still adding to a list of publications, which will serve its purpose toward book publication, someday.
The print journals that make the leap into hybrid forms of publication and alternative delivery are the ones that I expect to survive and thrive. The online journals that are popping up and delivering the same level of editorial selection as the highly regarded print journals will continue to grow and gain respect. The journals that resist technology are likely to fade into the past along with the land-line telephone and the typewriter-- two devices that served their purpose for a time and still exist today but are becoming endangered species, dangerously close to extinction. Except, of course, in academia.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
In the Center Ring: Motherhood vs. Work
Ugh. I am three full weeks away from the end of my maternity leave.
You people must know I love my job-- I do. It is one of those job descriptions that feels as if it was written precisely with me in mind. I've been at Ashland for four years now, helping to build a low-res MFA program and manage a poetry press and a journal, and there have been few days where I've come home frustrated or upset about work. I have a strong working relationship with my boss and the editors of the press and the journal, good co-workers, great support from other departments on campus, and perhaps most importantly, I have earned respect and trust, granting an autonomy I value. For the most part, I am trusted to do my job, and to do it successfully. Besides a paycheck, I earn the satisfaction of a job well done. Work might be stressful occasionally, but it is that good kind of stress that doesn't suck the life out of you.
Okay. So what's the big deal about maternity leave ending?
I am love, love, LOVING motherhood right now. In spite of the interrupted sleep and a demanding infant who wants to nurse RIGHT THIS MINUTE OR ELSE, waking up at quarter til eight to a silent house and a cool breeze through the window to sip a cup of tea and wait for Baby Hank to wake up is pretty near to that sacred place I mentioned in my previous post. The casual summer schedule of showering, oh, whenever, and the impromptu walks, piling into the car to go to the waterpark, listening to the giggle of Elvis and Lydia in the pool, and holding that precious little Henry... all of it, even the squalls and squabbles, makes me wish this time would never end.
It's an odd place to be, yet again. Back before Lydia was born, I thought for sure there was no way I would want to work at all ever again no thanks. And then, she arrived, and three-quarters of my brain died within six weeks. Please, please, please let me come back to work! I begged, and after eight weeks of maternity leave, I started back at being an adult, connecting neurons and earning back a few brain cells while my little girl slept in a pack 'n' play in the closet of the Development Office where I worked. When school started up and it was no longer possible to keep Lydia quiet or immobile, we found a great stay-at-home mom to watch her for us, and that's where she hung out for forty hours a week the first year of her life.
When the opportunity to work at Ashland came, BW and I made a decision that drastically changed our family structure-- I would work full time, and he would be the primary caregiver of our two children under two. Bravely we arrived in Ashland, buying a home in late October and carrying along our faithful redbone Tex, Lydia (18 months) and Elvis (3 months). Anyone who has stayed at home with toddlers and infants can sympathize with Brandon--I, on the other hand, was blissfully ignorant of how difficult life was. It was a tough year and tough transition for all of us, but I think it is safe to say it was hardest for Brandon.
Not once since returning to work in 2006 after Lydia's birth have I felt a significant pull to be at home with my kids, until now. Sure, I entertained the notion when Brandon started getting more work with ESPN, and at every job posting he emailed, I insisted that I would be happy to be home with the kids if he found something he loved doing that could support us. Always the thought of giving up my job, the job that fulfilled a deep need for me to be creative, solve problems, and work hard to achieve great results, made my heart ache. I couldn't imagine leaving.
Five weeks into my maternity leave, over half-way through, and going back to work seems impossible right now. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation and the loose schedule of waking at nine and going to bed at eleven. Maybe it's the sunshine. I think it's the kids' fault, mostly. I didn't think I would enjoy the mundane daily routine, but I am so content with hanging out and doing lots of nothing... how could anyone expect me to return to work, given this level of contentment with life?
Oh, I'll go back to work. In three weeks, I'll wake up at 6 a.m. to shower, eat, feed Henry, and head out the door on my bike to my office, and I'll remember how much I love what I do. We will adjust to working-plus-family-plus-baby and restart the hectic routine we abandoned back on May 10 when Henry arrived. In the meantime, I am going to keep reminding myself to treasure these minutes because they will expire July 10. Pout.
You people must know I love my job-- I do. It is one of those job descriptions that feels as if it was written precisely with me in mind. I've been at Ashland for four years now, helping to build a low-res MFA program and manage a poetry press and a journal, and there have been few days where I've come home frustrated or upset about work. I have a strong working relationship with my boss and the editors of the press and the journal, good co-workers, great support from other departments on campus, and perhaps most importantly, I have earned respect and trust, granting an autonomy I value. For the most part, I am trusted to do my job, and to do it successfully. Besides a paycheck, I earn the satisfaction of a job well done. Work might be stressful occasionally, but it is that good kind of stress that doesn't suck the life out of you.
Okay. So what's the big deal about maternity leave ending?
I am love, love, LOVING motherhood right now. In spite of the interrupted sleep and a demanding infant who wants to nurse RIGHT THIS MINUTE OR ELSE, waking up at quarter til eight to a silent house and a cool breeze through the window to sip a cup of tea and wait for Baby Hank to wake up is pretty near to that sacred place I mentioned in my previous post. The casual summer schedule of showering, oh, whenever, and the impromptu walks, piling into the car to go to the waterpark, listening to the giggle of Elvis and Lydia in the pool, and holding that precious little Henry... all of it, even the squalls and squabbles, makes me wish this time would never end.
It's an odd place to be, yet again. Back before Lydia was born, I thought for sure there was no way I would want to work at all ever again no thanks. And then, she arrived, and three-quarters of my brain died within six weeks. Please, please, please let me come back to work! I begged, and after eight weeks of maternity leave, I started back at being an adult, connecting neurons and earning back a few brain cells while my little girl slept in a pack 'n' play in the closet of the Development Office where I worked. When school started up and it was no longer possible to keep Lydia quiet or immobile, we found a great stay-at-home mom to watch her for us, and that's where she hung out for forty hours a week the first year of her life.
When the opportunity to work at Ashland came, BW and I made a decision that drastically changed our family structure-- I would work full time, and he would be the primary caregiver of our two children under two. Bravely we arrived in Ashland, buying a home in late October and carrying along our faithful redbone Tex, Lydia (18 months) and Elvis (3 months). Anyone who has stayed at home with toddlers and infants can sympathize with Brandon--I, on the other hand, was blissfully ignorant of how difficult life was. It was a tough year and tough transition for all of us, but I think it is safe to say it was hardest for Brandon.
Not once since returning to work in 2006 after Lydia's birth have I felt a significant pull to be at home with my kids, until now. Sure, I entertained the notion when Brandon started getting more work with ESPN, and at every job posting he emailed, I insisted that I would be happy to be home with the kids if he found something he loved doing that could support us. Always the thought of giving up my job, the job that fulfilled a deep need for me to be creative, solve problems, and work hard to achieve great results, made my heart ache. I couldn't imagine leaving.
Five weeks into my maternity leave, over half-way through, and going back to work seems impossible right now. Maybe it's the sleep deprivation and the loose schedule of waking at nine and going to bed at eleven. Maybe it's the sunshine. I think it's the kids' fault, mostly. I didn't think I would enjoy the mundane daily routine, but I am so content with hanging out and doing lots of nothing... how could anyone expect me to return to work, given this level of contentment with life?
Oh, I'll go back to work. In three weeks, I'll wake up at 6 a.m. to shower, eat, feed Henry, and head out the door on my bike to my office, and I'll remember how much I love what I do. We will adjust to working-plus-family-plus-baby and restart the hectic routine we abandoned back on May 10 when Henry arrived. In the meantime, I am going to keep reminding myself to treasure these minutes because they will expire July 10. Pout.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Balancing the Writer Life with the Mom Life
Last night I wrote a poem for the first time in several months. I go through seasons of creativity - like the seeds I just sowed in the garden yesterday, it takes a while for my ideas to germinate. Eventually, the seeds pop, the stems poke through the soil, and before you know it, you are picking bowls full of cherry tomatoes.
Some writers are able to chisel out a very structured and sacred writing time and space. I envision an overstuffed armchair, an open window, a morning breeze, a couple cardinals too-weeting at one another, and a hot cup of tea. Probably some James Taylor playing on Pandora, too. And my lap top, since I write and revise with greater efficiency on a computer, though I can never retire the writer's notebook, that essential tool for when you are on the go and trying to use a smartphone notepad just doesn't cut it quick enough. I can see that sacred space in a corner of our bedroom, waiting to be created, but let's be honest, when in the next decade will I be able to sit in that overstuffed armchair?
So let's revise the first sentence of this blog entry. Last night, I wrote a poem between nursing and rocking Henry, who decided to be cranky when he wanted to fall asleep, which also happened to be the time I decided to try to write. Last night, I balanced my baby on my lap and my laptop on my knees, Henry's head propped up with my elbow and my wrist bent at an awkward typing angle. I chicken pecked the keyboard, one. lousy. letter. at. a. time. while he nursed, and then we switched sides. I slid the laptop back on the coffee table and stood up to rock and bounce Henry to the rhythm of iambs, rehearsing the words I already wrote and revising in my mind. Last night, I eked out a poem. Probably a bad poem, but at least it was something.
The sacred writing space, both physically and temporally, just can't exist right now, and I'm okay with that. In fact, in the time that I've been writing this blog, I've needed to get Lydia allregy medicine, change Henry's diaper (and onesie since he wet through the diaper), and change loads of laundry. Though it isn't a writing space, there is still something sacred here, in this tending to babies and the daily tasks of living. It is in these daily tasks and relationships that the writing is conceived. The plucking of the fruit has to be something of a family affair for now. A season of quiet for writing will come later down the road.
Some writers are able to chisel out a very structured and sacred writing time and space. I envision an overstuffed armchair, an open window, a morning breeze, a couple cardinals too-weeting at one another, and a hot cup of tea. Probably some James Taylor playing on Pandora, too. And my lap top, since I write and revise with greater efficiency on a computer, though I can never retire the writer's notebook, that essential tool for when you are on the go and trying to use a smartphone notepad just doesn't cut it quick enough. I can see that sacred space in a corner of our bedroom, waiting to be created, but let's be honest, when in the next decade will I be able to sit in that overstuffed armchair?
So let's revise the first sentence of this blog entry. Last night, I wrote a poem between nursing and rocking Henry, who decided to be cranky when he wanted to fall asleep, which also happened to be the time I decided to try to write. Last night, I balanced my baby on my lap and my laptop on my knees, Henry's head propped up with my elbow and my wrist bent at an awkward typing angle. I chicken pecked the keyboard, one. lousy. letter. at. a. time. while he nursed, and then we switched sides. I slid the laptop back on the coffee table and stood up to rock and bounce Henry to the rhythm of iambs, rehearsing the words I already wrote and revising in my mind. Last night, I eked out a poem. Probably a bad poem, but at least it was something.
The sacred writing space, both physically and temporally, just can't exist right now, and I'm okay with that. In fact, in the time that I've been writing this blog, I've needed to get Lydia allregy medicine, change Henry's diaper (and onesie since he wet through the diaper), and change loads of laundry. Though it isn't a writing space, there is still something sacred here, in this tending to babies and the daily tasks of living. It is in these daily tasks and relationships that the writing is conceived. The plucking of the fruit has to be something of a family affair for now. A season of quiet for writing will come later down the road.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
Confessions of a Tubal Ligation
It's been a week since our newest, and last, son - Henry Delbert - arrived safely into the world via c-section. He is absolutely beautiful, perfectly content and as predictable of a baby as I've experienced. Ever since we became pregnant with Henry, I've been coming to terms with this being our last baby - treasuring every little bump and kick in spite of heartburn and general discomfort during pregnancy, and now, as each day passes and Henry grows (and cries, and hiccups, and chirps, and poops, and sleeps, and stretches, and eats), I find myself experiencing similar bittersweet emotions about this phase of life coming to a close.
Brandon and I decided this would be our last baby almost before we were pregnant with him. I have to admit that I love being pregnant, and I love having babies, in spite of the discomforts that come along with pregnancy and c-sections. We planned on having my tubes tied several months ago, though in my heart I could only commit to being 95% sure this should be it. After all, I'm 28. Most of my friends and acquaintances my age aren't even considering starting families until they are safely out of their twenties, and here we are, putting a stop to the baby making business?
However, last night as I was feeding Henry, I realized that we've been trying to make babies, recover from losing babies, or birthing babies every year since we got married. I've been pregnant every year since 2004, counting my three living and breathing miracles as well as four miscarriages. It has been a long season of baby-making, baby-losing, and baby-birthing, and it feels good to be done. I will remember this period of life as one of significant growth, spiritually and emotionally, and rejoice in all that has happened in these seven years. All good things must come to an end, after all, and I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to carry these babies - for my three children, Lydia, Elvis, and Henry, and for the lost babies. God carried us through some very difficult chapters of our marriage the last eight years, including those miscarriages, and though walking through those valleys was probably the hardest time of our lives so far, it also taught us a lot about God and our relationship with Him.
Now that the decision is official, and permanent, I am surprised at how relieved I am to be closing this chapter. I am sad at the finality of it all, but every month with any sort of delay or abnormality won't be plagued with the anxiety of whether or not I'm pregnant. I can claim back my three c-sectioned body (once it heals). We can plan our future vacations knowing we will need one roll-away bed in our hotel room and space for three car seats in our vehicles. It is finished. And a brand new season is beginning. :)
Brandon and I decided this would be our last baby almost before we were pregnant with him. I have to admit that I love being pregnant, and I love having babies, in spite of the discomforts that come along with pregnancy and c-sections. We planned on having my tubes tied several months ago, though in my heart I could only commit to being 95% sure this should be it. After all, I'm 28. Most of my friends and acquaintances my age aren't even considering starting families until they are safely out of their twenties, and here we are, putting a stop to the baby making business?
However, last night as I was feeding Henry, I realized that we've been trying to make babies, recover from losing babies, or birthing babies every year since we got married. I've been pregnant every year since 2004, counting my three living and breathing miracles as well as four miscarriages. It has been a long season of baby-making, baby-losing, and baby-birthing, and it feels good to be done. I will remember this period of life as one of significant growth, spiritually and emotionally, and rejoice in all that has happened in these seven years. All good things must come to an end, after all, and I am so grateful that I had the opportunity to carry these babies - for my three children, Lydia, Elvis, and Henry, and for the lost babies. God carried us through some very difficult chapters of our marriage the last eight years, including those miscarriages, and though walking through those valleys was probably the hardest time of our lives so far, it also taught us a lot about God and our relationship with Him.
Now that the decision is official, and permanent, I am surprised at how relieved I am to be closing this chapter. I am sad at the finality of it all, but every month with any sort of delay or abnormality won't be plagued with the anxiety of whether or not I'm pregnant. I can claim back my three c-sectioned body (once it heals). We can plan our future vacations knowing we will need one roll-away bed in our hotel room and space for three car seats in our vehicles. It is finished. And a brand new season is beginning. :)
Monday, May 9, 2011
On the Eve of Henry's Birthday
We're creeping up on the final hours before Baby Henry is born, and we're all eagerly waiting his safe arrival into the world. It is hard to remember what it was like to have Lydia just over five years ago now, especially compared to how Elvis came into the world. I have to admit to being a little anxious about the delivery and post-delivery in light of the trouble Elvis had when he was born, but I also know that worrying over these things is absolutely fruitless. Plus, God carried us through that storm, and no matter what happens tomorrow and beyond, we can rest in his presence. Any time those little worries start to creep up, I've been praying them straight to God -- he can handle them better than I can.
I'm enjoying this last day with the kids and my husband as a family of four - we've gone to the playground and had lunch together, and now we're spending some time outside on the deck at my mom- and dad-in-law's. Lydia and Elvis picked a bunch of wildflowers from the woods. The beauty and detail found in nature is marvelous - I love the variety, subtlety in color and scent, and seemingly effortlessness of growth. And then there are the little hands that are picking these flowers - simple, sweet gestures of love. And now I am sentimental and mushy. :)
Probably the next time I write will be in between diaper changes and feedings :) I can't wait to share details of our new little one's life.
I'm enjoying this last day with the kids and my husband as a family of four - we've gone to the playground and had lunch together, and now we're spending some time outside on the deck at my mom- and dad-in-law's. Lydia and Elvis picked a bunch of wildflowers from the woods. The beauty and detail found in nature is marvelous - I love the variety, subtlety in color and scent, and seemingly effortlessness of growth. And then there are the little hands that are picking these flowers - simple, sweet gestures of love. And now I am sentimental and mushy. :)
Probably the next time I write will be in between diaper changes and feedings :) I can't wait to share details of our new little one's life.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Vessels of Wrath and Their Destruction
In light of varying responses from Christians, non-Christians, Republicans, Democrats, et.al, it's tempting to just say, "no comment" and move on with today's news that Osama Bin Laden was killed last night. Status updates on Facebook and Twitter feeds keep us within a certain character limit that is nowhere near sufficient for reflection. If you find cause to celebrate the end of a decade-long manhunt to capture or kill the man behind the deaths of over 3,000 Americans, someone is sure to post a note about it being God's to avenge. If you are a believer and post something about loving your enemies and praying for those who persecute you, your more patriotic friends and acquaintances flare up and declare that justice has been served. Everyone wants an opportunity to step up on the soapbox that is social networking, spit out something clever and/or abrasive, and wait for the likes, retweets, and comments to roll in.
I think it is good for us to post these things - it keeps us thinking and dialoguing with one another - but I also think the world is complicated, and I think God's ways are mysterious. As I refresh my wall on Facebook, I find myself nodding, yes, yes, love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you, and then another, yes, good has triumphed over evil, yes, he is gone, an enemy is vanquished, a step is taken toward victory in what seems a neverending war against powers of darkness. I think, yes, it is true that vengeance is the Lord's, and he will repay, but then I think, God has given the people of the world governments to uphold justice. Government is "a minister of God, an avenger who brings wrath on the one who practices evil" (Romans 14:4). I think, yes, it is our hope that none shall perish but have everlasting life in Christ, but also God is sovereign and raises up vessels of wrath, prepared for destruction.
Pray for our enemies, yes, pray for their souls. David prayed to God that he would be delivered from his enemies. Often that came about the same way we have been delivered from our enemies - at the hands of men in an army of a nation. I want to tip-toe through this minefield, but I do believe that upholding good and fighting against evil is a charge and a responsibility that God has given the governing body of this country. I think we can all agree that bin Laden and his mission were evil, and that left to his own devices, he would have done much more than 9/11. Of course we pray and hope that the world would lay down its weapons. But as long as evil continues to strike down the innocent, I hope we will not deny the sword its power to serve justice.
I think it is good for us to post these things - it keeps us thinking and dialoguing with one another - but I also think the world is complicated, and I think God's ways are mysterious. As I refresh my wall on Facebook, I find myself nodding, yes, yes, love your enemy and pray for those who persecute you, and then another, yes, good has triumphed over evil, yes, he is gone, an enemy is vanquished, a step is taken toward victory in what seems a neverending war against powers of darkness. I think, yes, it is true that vengeance is the Lord's, and he will repay, but then I think, God has given the people of the world governments to uphold justice. Government is "a minister of God, an avenger who brings wrath on the one who practices evil" (Romans 14:4). I think, yes, it is our hope that none shall perish but have everlasting life in Christ, but also God is sovereign and raises up vessels of wrath, prepared for destruction.
Pray for our enemies, yes, pray for their souls. David prayed to God that he would be delivered from his enemies. Often that came about the same way we have been delivered from our enemies - at the hands of men in an army of a nation. I want to tip-toe through this minefield, but I do believe that upholding good and fighting against evil is a charge and a responsibility that God has given the governing body of this country. I think we can all agree that bin Laden and his mission were evil, and that left to his own devices, he would have done much more than 9/11. Of course we pray and hope that the world would lay down its weapons. But as long as evil continues to strike down the innocent, I hope we will not deny the sword its power to serve justice.
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