The other day a friend asked me what made me passionate about pro-life. I found the question startling because I'd been muddling about the same thing of late. I was intrigued enough to pose the same question to my mom and husband to see if they had a cut and dry answer....for all of us it seems it was not one experience but a culmination of discussions and realizations which led us to recognize what happens when we accept abortion as a reasonable "answer" to the world's problems. The problems which are culture is experiencing begin long before a girl finds out she pregnant. Unwanted pregnancies are not the problem, the conundrum is how we got there and why we're dealing with the question.

The following is a gist of how I answered my friend:

"It's so funny that you asked about why I am pro-life because I've been thinking about it myself a lot lately. It surprises me in some ways that I am as passionate about it as I am because I have never had any personal experience with it nor did I know anyone who had had an abortion before I got involved.

Part of it is my impulsive nature. When I do something, I'm either involved 100% or not at all. When I did TKD I went religiously every week and did not become involved in other things so that I could concentrate fully on it. I have always been "pro-life" in a certain sense I guess, morally I would have always argued for life.

In 2009 when I went to a camp and actually learned something about the topic and also how I could become involved; I threw myself on top of the opportunity. I felt fulfilled in a certain sense, like I'd been looking to do something of this nature for a long time but didn't know how to find it. God just opened one door after another.

I'm not an angry pro-lifer but what angered me was the injustice of abortion, the amount of lies which are told regarding it, and how many people are hurt because of it. Everything about abortion is so anti-American and to know it happens every single day in this country really troubled me. I honestly believe that most people who side with abortion are not doing so because they are horrible people who like to kill babies but because they really do not understand what abortion involves nor the consequences that surround it from society and families but especially how it affects women.

I believe that how one views the issue of life shapes their view on how they perceive everything else. When I saw how rock-solid John was about being Pro-life and how it affected all of his thinking...well...it kinda made me fall in love with him quite hopelessly."

So yes, I am passionate about being pro-life and I am willing to do what I am able to bring an end to abortion and educate others on why it matters. Quite simply it is a matter of Life or Death. Not just the life and death of precious human life, but of our culture, society and our nation.

Confessions of a Catastrophic Cook

I have loved cooking since as long as I can remember. Not just cooking but everything: planning, thinking of, and modifying recipes, thinking up entire meal weeks, and baking as well. For the past year or two my own diet forced me to exclude gluten and dairy but I have continued to love cooking for the people I love. I depend a lot on my nose and hope between that and my brain I don't end up too off when it comes to taste for many things.

When I have an inkling to make something it won't leave my head until I do. So this afternoon while working at the shop with John I began to wonder what to make for dinner. Home-made pizza like my mama makes immediately seized my brain and I simply knew I had to make that for dinner or John would have to go hungry because I didn't feel I could make anything else.

I have never made pizza entirely by myself - that is one meal my mom has always made herself every Saturday night. On my drive home I began to wonder how I was going to get past the first obstacle, Mum has always had her bread machine mix and rise her pizza dough. I don't have a bread machine. Hum. I called up home and my dad solved the problem and said I should just attempt to put it together by hand like "grandma's rolls".

I did just that, the dough felt really good even though I dared to half the recipe which isn't always the smartest thing to do when dealing with bread. I had the pizza stone in the oven but, alas, no cornmeal. Cornmeal is used on the stone so the pizza slides on and off easily. Another call to mum and we finally decided yeast might work. I decided it didn't have a choice.

Next, I realized I didn't have a pizza paddle to first make the pizza on and then transfer to the oven. Oh well. An upside-down cookie sheet would have to do.

Assembled, my first pizza did look rather dashing. Sauce, mushrooms, mozzarella, colby, pepperoni, parmesan. My heart twitched as I thought about transferring it to the oven. I began to lift it with a spatula but it ended with a heart-wrenching job of gradually pushing and pulling it off and messing up the whole top. Feeling like tears for no good reason I fixed it up as much as possible hating that I had started the project.

Ugh. Why do I get these stupid ideas in my head?

When John walked in I explained, "Well, I made you pizza for dinner but you can laugh at it when comes out because it looks horrible."

A minute later I pulled it out. John breathed, "Mmm, that looks great."

I examined and disagreed.

But

He said it tasted good, really good. He didn't even let it cool down but burned his mouth several times just because he wanted to eat it so much. He continued eating until half of it was gone. I kinda like my overly appreciative husband.

I prefer to have things look and taste good....but when you only have one option, I guess taste is better than look.

Nevertheless

No more pizza until I have a pizza board and cornmeal.

Stand up. Speak out.

Taking classes from a secular college with some extremely secularly-minded teachers has led me to some interesting conversations, at many times frustrated me to distraction, and more often spurred me to say and write my opinion and beliefs in my assignments. It's led me to find creative ways to find out how to make them a necessary part my of speech or paper and the fact that my teacher must read it is always fun. I don't mean it in a bad way and I don't do it without purpose. But after sitting day after day in class being stuffed with not information, but crappy opinion, my piston occasionally busts.

Martin Luther King Jr. once said, "Our lives begin to end on the day that we become silent about things that matter.” I believe that this is true. But I also know how very easy it is to be smothered by secularism. To think that your voice doesn't matter. It really is so easy to go to class, take a few notes, and like a machine, produce information and papers made up of your teacher's opinions or the social norm. But in this, you will become a puppet, void of life.

As Christians we are commanded to live out our faith. I'm not saying the solution is always speaking aloud. Sometimes it's an action - a demonstration or prayer. It certainly is not always something in our comfort zone. But if we refuse to stand up for what we believe, for truth, for justice....as Mr King stated...our lives begin to end.

I have this English teacher who is obsessed with feminism. Give her any story and she will point out the most obsolete sentence as an indication that the male in the story is a raving or creeping misogynist. It gets old. I would like to say, "No matter how much you stomp on that overflowing garbage - no more will fit, lady." I have challenged a lot of her opinions in class especially when they seem to drift entirely off the story's course. We rarely come to an agreement.

My speech teacher, who would actually be a perfect definition for my English teacher of a misogynist, grates on me in an entirely different manner. But Monday's class was something different - I was actually incensed with anger.

My speech teacher was sorting out different kinds of speech outlines we can use and told two stories which I found absolutely false. The first story was about bible-boy and non-bible-boy and his summing point was that the bible says ALL killing is wrong. He was basing his claim off of the 10 Commandments and God commanding us not to murder - God ordered his chosen people to "kill" numerous times throughout scripture. The speech teacher also has a hard time with absolutes, like, one concept being right and one concept being wrong. He usually finds a way for them both to be right. Stupid. Then Mr Speech Teacher went into a story about Doctor Kevorkian and pitying the fact that he was imprisoned merely for helping terminal patients to die a noble death. Now, this is completely inaccurate information. Doctor Kevorkian is a creep who was dubbed "Dr. Death" because he didn't "help" terminally ill patients but people who were very much alive. In need of psychological help? Most assuredly. About to die? Certainly not from natural causes.

So as I sat in the front of class watching these words spill out from Mr Speech Teacher's mouth I felt a feeling of such absolute anger sweep over me. I told myself, I am not hearing what I think I am hearing. I turned around, which is rather awkward to stare at everyone else in the room for no apparent reason, to see what effect this information was doing to them. No one raised a hand. No one said anything. I was flabbergasted. I felt I had to say something to refute. I found myself speechless...and feeling very hot and red all over. Class was instantly dismissed. I felt like a description from a book.

For the next two hours, every time I thought about that class, I flushed again. I knew I had to say something.

Today I had my moment. I went to class and frantically tried to think and pray about how to really approach this. God placed the opportunity right in my hand. My teacher actually mentioned the bible-boy/non-bible-boy story and so I raised my hand..."actually," I said a bit shyly, "the bible isn't actually..." and I simply pointed out the error. Mr Teacher brushed it off that it wasn't material to his point. Oh well. At least the earth didn't open up and swallow me for saying so. Then he brought up the other story - Again, I raised and said, "Um, well, I have something to say about this one too." Mr Teacher sighed and allowed me to go on. I pointed out a brief fact about Doctor Kevorkian - the class chuckled - we had a short disagreement and Mr Teacher ended with, "well I supposed we could check the facts later." Like facts don't matter or something. Weird.

Stand up for what you believe. Sometimes it may not feel like you're making a difference but you never know whose heart or mind you might impress. Do I always speak up when I should? Definitely not. But each time you do so, it will become easier. Speaking in public terrifies me. I build it up in my head. With my imagination, you'd think we have persecution and executions occurring for speaking up. We don't. You can do it.

What Gets Me

I am sick of seeing softly pink-hued garbage bags, coffee mugs, stickers, shirts, flags, hats, backpacks, gloves, scarves, picture frames and pencils. I know who makes them, and I know they promote a lie. My problem is Susan G. Komen and her foundation built on exploitation. I do not lack compassion or concern for breast cancer patients. My complaint is not with them. My complaint is with Susan G. Komen and many doctors and industries obtaining money and making it look like they really care enough to help people. They have a huge audience because...breast cancer is the leading cancer in women, and also because breast cancer is the leading cancer in women. What I mean by that is, yes, it has a audience just because of the sheer number of breast cancer patients but also simply BECAUSE it is women suffering. It seems to be one of those untouchable topics, especially for men, and is a campaign endorsed by the feminists.

Susan G Komen's slogan is, Race for the Cure. Really? I guess maybe that's true. She is trying to find a cure...A cure that gets around the enormous link abortion and contraceptives have to breast cancer. Have you ever wondered why in the world suddenly everyone knows someone who has had breast cancer? Why did this epidemic emerge from seemingly no where? Well...believe it or not it has risen with the increase in abortion and the use of contraceptives especially before the first child.

I refuse to give to an organization which promotes killing the innocent. Between 2003 – 2008 Susan G. Komen gave over $3 million to Planned Parenthood, the leading provider of abortion in the United States. Does it really make any sense to give money to an organization who will in turn give it to another that not only ends the life of millions of babies, but in doing so is raising the risk of the very thing we are trying to prevent? SGK is all about preventatives and being aware...why don't they prevent abortion? Why don't they tell women about the effects abortion will have and how much higher their risks of breast cancer will be as result?

The truth is, they have an agenda. They really want to provide a way for people to live exactly as they wish without consequence. But this utopia cannot be formed. It breaks all that God has set in order for us. Since the beginning of time sin has been punished. Lucifer sinned and fell from heaven. Eve was deceived as well as Adam and the gate to the beautiful garden was forever fastened. The consequences of sin are for our betterment – and in the end, it is for God's plan and design for us and His glory. God created us the way we are for a reason and when we act against that design we destroy ourselves.

Countless companies are helping sponsor SGK - so before you give your money to them, please consider whose till it will really end up in.

http://www.wnd.com/index.php?pageId=134729

http://www.abortionbreastcancer.com/

http://www.bdfund.org/breastcancer.asp

http://ww5.komen.org/ResearchGrants/CommunitybasedGrants.html

Life is an opportunity, benefit from it.

Life is a beauty, admire it.
Life is bliss, taste it.
Life is a dream, realise it.
Life is a challenge, meet it.
Life is a duty, complete it.
Life is a game, play it.
Life is costly, care for it.
Life is wealth, keep it.
Life is love, enjoy it.
Life is mystery, know it.
Life is a promise, fulfill it.
Life is sorrow, overcome it.
Life is a song, sing it.
Life is a struggle, accept it.
Life is tragedy, confront it.
Life is an adventure, dare it.
Life is luck, make it.
Life is too precious, do not destroy it.
Life is life, fight for it!

-Mother Teresa

From the Peanut Gallery

Talitha (4): I'm fat

Esther (7): No you're not!

T (offended): Yes I am!

E: You're as skinny as a bell

T: I'm fat!

E: Not-ah. Your bones ache out

Mom: Jut out!

Drat That Tomato.

Drat that tomato. You know, the one I joked about in the beginning…only it was supposed to happen to you, not me. Remember earlier when the wedding party was just arriving and we were traying up the salads with those adorable cherry tomatoes that like to roll their chubby selves all around? Yes, I was being my typical contained self and warning you that if one went rolling you were not to dash after the tomato but keep at the real job of passing out salads. You snapped back that you were well aware on the how to’s of waitressing…I laughed. You laughed.

The head table went great…everything to the right person, no spilling someone’s glass like at the last one. Whew. Being a natural klutz and loving waitressing do not always blend well, especially when it is necessary. Serving 250 people demands a lot…most especially making sure you don’t fall into robot mode but keep a person air of interacting and smiling at all those happy people as you remember a zillion requests and comments.

So there was Lydia, trying her darnedest to do just that. She was stacking salad plates together and having them handed to her from all directions and half of them had those chubby red tomatoes still on them because certain people prefer to watch them roll around their plate, I guess. Why else would you not eat your tomato? For your information, plates don’t happen to stack very neatly when chubby red tomatoes are rolling around on them…so I shifted and squeezed them a bit to ease the perilous situation…squeezed them a little too hard considering they had leftover dressing on them (I love leftovers, especially leftover tomatoes) and fifteen slippery plates shot into the air showering me with Ranch, French and Thousand Island, paralyzing two lovely young girls in white background dresses, and sending me to my knees with a red face…very much like those chubby red tomatoes…wishing I could roll right out of there.

Shaken by this traumatic turn of events I made it disappear as fast as possible receiving several worried cold glasses from the wearers of the lovely white background dresses. Life went on. Carefully I came back to the traumatized table and began clearing their plates, they gave more uneasy glances. I had another stack by the time I was finished and was so uptight the entire stack dared to slip away…the mother of the wearers of those white background dresses, shielded her face and as I hurried away she gasped, “Oh that girl nearly did it again!”. That girl…shot into the back room with water pitchers and in her nervous state of trying to make the world all right drenched her shoes and pant legs while dropping a pitcher. She scowled…cringed…and carried on. Carried on with excellent service, snappy retorts, and a smile of service which forgot all errors.