Friday, December 25, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Saturday, May 2, 2009
Whew! One week of finals, and then I'm done. God's been doing some intense stuff in me recently. I've been realizing that a huge part of my life in the past has been centered around violence, and I'm starting to wonder why. Why I've always been so obsessed with guns or hunting, or why in high school I was always reading books about mass murderers and serial killers and capital punishment, or why I own so many guns, or why I carried around a handgun when I lived in the middle of nowhere.
Is violence a source of pride for me? Am I seeking to exercise control over others, to gain power over others, through guns? Do I take more pride in being able to defend myself more than I do in being able to love others? Do I use hunting as a way to act out my aggression and desire for control? Why have I spent thousands of dollars on guns and knives? Why do I think so often about violent acts?
As with so many other things, the problem is not with the object, but with the heart. God could care less about a piece of steel. He cares about the condition of my heart, and my ability to love others. When I came back from being overseas, I felt God tell me to sell all of my guns. I really didn't like that idea, and rejected it immediately. But it's starting to make sense now...guns are not a source of life for me, they lead me to a cold heart. A heart filled with fear, fear of others attacking me. A heart that believes the lie that God is not in control. They lead me to believe the lie that I can control others, and that I am better than others because I am carrying a powerful tool. Lame!
It's really all bad.... I felt so strongly about this that I took my revolver to the pawn shop last week and sold it.
I'm becoming free. Praise Jesus!
Is violence a source of pride for me? Am I seeking to exercise control over others, to gain power over others, through guns? Do I take more pride in being able to defend myself more than I do in being able to love others? Do I use hunting as a way to act out my aggression and desire for control? Why have I spent thousands of dollars on guns and knives? Why do I think so often about violent acts?
As with so many other things, the problem is not with the object, but with the heart. God could care less about a piece of steel. He cares about the condition of my heart, and my ability to love others. When I came back from being overseas, I felt God tell me to sell all of my guns. I really didn't like that idea, and rejected it immediately. But it's starting to make sense now...guns are not a source of life for me, they lead me to a cold heart. A heart filled with fear, fear of others attacking me. A heart that believes the lie that God is not in control. They lead me to believe the lie that I can control others, and that I am better than others because I am carrying a powerful tool. Lame!
It's really all bad.... I felt so strongly about this that I took my revolver to the pawn shop last week and sold it.
I'm becoming free. Praise Jesus!
Monday, April 20, 2009
writing = vulnerability
Gunshots around the corner. Warm breezes. Dogs barking. Always barking. Birds chirping.
Sirens. Always sirens. Baby's crying. Hispanic music and rap and somebody's using my piano...
Jesus. Selfishness everywhere. Even the Christians, hiding, very cautious, full of fear.
Young guy banging on my window at 2am. wants to talk. Should I just go through the redlight?
2am. The man under the car is folded in half. The car is upside down. I'm holding the stretcher. The jaws of life aren't working. Not big enough. They need more jacks...this is taking too long, minutes have turned into an hour, they still can't get him out, they're getting frantic now and the paramedic is crawling under the car and is sticking him with an IV in each arm. I can see a little blood and I didn't know the human body could do that and I'm still holding the stretcher...and wait, now he's coming out and the firefighters are all shouting, and he's slipping as he slides off the backboard and wait...wait....he's totally drunk...he's laughing ... he looks up at the paramedic and says 'well isn't she hot...' and I want to punch him but I strap him down and load him into the back of the ambulance and slam the door shut. after all, it's now 3am.
Sirens. Always sirens. Baby's crying. Hispanic music and rap and somebody's using my piano...
Jesus. Selfishness everywhere. Even the Christians, hiding, very cautious, full of fear.
Young guy banging on my window at 2am. wants to talk. Should I just go through the redlight?
2am. The man under the car is folded in half. The car is upside down. I'm holding the stretcher. The jaws of life aren't working. Not big enough. They need more jacks...this is taking too long, minutes have turned into an hour, they still can't get him out, they're getting frantic now and the paramedic is crawling under the car and is sticking him with an IV in each arm. I can see a little blood and I didn't know the human body could do that and I'm still holding the stretcher...and wait, now he's coming out and the firefighters are all shouting, and he's slipping as he slides off the backboard and wait...wait....he's totally drunk...he's laughing ... he looks up at the paramedic and says 'well isn't she hot...' and I want to punch him but I strap him down and load him into the back of the ambulance and slam the door shut. after all, it's now 3am.
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