The Broken Tree

There are no longer the sweet smiles and warm, safe embraces of the elders to comfort me. My father cries at the sight of me, and my grandparents consider me dead. I am not welcome to Thanksgiving, Eid, Birthday, Graduation.
My family has asked me not to be present for any of thier lives, and it is a sad thing that they will not forgive me even in death. My grandmother lies in a hospital bed today, dying of infection and starvation, but my family blames me saying she is dying of a broken heart.
What is my crime? What could I have possibly done for them to shun me so? I fell in love with a man who they couldn't accept. He wasn't muslim, he wasn't pakistani, and he is poor as dirt. But what do these things matter if we are happy? If we are both in school, working towards a better life. He's even decided that he wants to convert for me.
So what is the big deal. Why does my cousin get to marry a white girl and still have the family support. Why could my own father get away with marrying an american woman? I am a woman, and the rules are different. They tell me I am no longer a good muslim woman so I am dead to them.
This pain, this suffering for me is the hardest thing in the world. The loss I feel is next to none.
What a test this is for my life, and what a horrible thing for any child to feel such anger from their family. What should I do now? My entire life has been turned upsidedown and the very meaning of love and committment have been altered beyond recognition. I feel sorry for my fiancee who has to feel my pain and occasional mistrust as a result. Why does love come at such costs? And when we find real love, should we have to make these sacrifices?

An adventure around the world or depression in the classroom: A third way.

I've been in an interesting place lately. Like the kind of interesting that spawns from possibilities that seem to stretch beyond one's wildest dreams!

I have a number of possible courses of action to pursue this year.

1. Go to Perth, Australia and work and study at the YWAM (Youth With A Mission) base there for about two years, taking part in a Basic Leadership School and possibly going on outreaches and being a part of ministry within the base's leadership and Christ-centered agenda.

2. Go to Purdue University and carry on my studies as a Political Studies major with minors in German and in Religious Studies.

or...

3. Stay in Lafayette, not necessarily attending Purdue, while working and move into a low-cost apartment in a nearby neighborhood that struggles with poverty and crime, and hang out with kids in the neighborhood, potentially opening doors for a fellowship and community Bible study with people of all ages, and attach the ministry to my church here in Lafayette.

4. Study at Purdue for the fall and spring semesters, save up money to go to Perth to work on staff for the summer next year, and learn the ropes of the base, and consider the BLS (Basic Leadership School) after finishing up my degree.

5. Regardless of where I go, I'll also have the capacity to continue working for the Not For Sale Campaign [to combat human trafficking], since I'm the Deputy State Director here in Indiana, and NFSC will be hosting a seminar at the Perth base later this month, and thus might end up more heavily involved with ministry and practical outreach at the Perth base, or in Australia in general.


The thing is, if I take on either of the first two options, it's possible the opposite will follow in due time, shortly after whichever I do first. And the third and fourth ideas could both also work with the second plan, of attending classes.

I have a lot of my personal demons to fight off before I can be relatively comfortable with jumping into any more involved ministry of any kind. I intend to spend much of my summer walking with The Rabbi and intensely delving into God's word, attempting to fight off some of my deepest rooted sins and learning to act justly, love mercy, and to walk humbly with my God, my beautiful Adonai.

Friends, family, and loved ones, I pray for your guidance, prayers, thoughts, encouragement, advice, and suggestions as I try to seek out what is best and right for my next step in life.

Shalom.

Yemenia Air's plane crashed

... another airplane crashed into the ocean...
the homepage i open daily titled like this: "a 19 year old Airbus A310 crashed into the ocean"

Soon a huge discussion started on this homepage about safety and technical service of airplanes.
One after another wrote that flying isn't safe any more and all airlines safe money by spending less money on technical service and that 19 year old airplanes can't be safe any more.
this is one of the biggest lies about airplanes and airlines!!!
I'm studying Tourism and Travel Management and just a few weeks ago we talked about technical service of airplanes in my class...
We got a list of all the checks an airline has to do regulary. This list included about 7-10 checks. From the Pre-Flight-Check, which has to be done before every flight by the mechanices and afterwards again by the pilot, to the D-Check, which means that every plane has to be fully taken apart and rebuild. This D-Check takes four to six weeks and has to be done every six to ten years. But after this D-Check you can say the plane is completly rebuild and almost like a new one.
The aircraft companies say that these checks HAVE to be done!
If an airline doesn't care this much about security, they might not be allowed to enter some air spaces, like it was with this Yemenia Air of which the plane crashed into the ocean. This airline wasn't allowed to enter France's air space any more.

So next time, when you're flying somewhere keep in mind that an awful lot of checks have to be done regulary and that just because you see an airplane arrive at the gate and fly off again after an hour, doesn't mean that the plane didn't get checked.

greetings from Germany
-Krissi

To Whom it May Concern: A Letter of Mild Sorrow

To Whom it May Concern,

You, Madam, are looking quite beautiful today wherever and whoever you are. I am surprised and thrown off keel by your startling beauty! You have flushed my cheeks like no other and knocked the wind out of me. I do not know your name and you do not know mine yet. But you are certainly beautiful, and I regret to inform you that I will not be able to marry you, or carry on with you romantically or anything of the sort, for that matter.

You see, Madam, I am entangled in a cause that uses nearly all of me. It pulls me in so many different directions, stretching the known bounds of my ability and mentality, and it causes me great suffering in spurts, and great elation in others. I am locked in as a fighter in a war on slavery--yes, the same one that we thought had been globally abolished. I have frankly signed over my life to this cause, and to the God I believe it calling me to continue fighting it. It is all-consuming, and I can't stand to see that cause you any pain.

For these reasons, I must decline to pursue you any further. Chances are that by the time I meet you or have any contact with you, which may be yet years off, I'll have accidentally led you on--I'm a terrible flirt, you know. I might make the mistake sometime in the future of locking eyes with you. I might tell you your voice haunts me, I might tentatively reach for your hand. I might fall head-over-heels for you, Madam. And if you at that point notice my advances, I will weep for leading you on. I cannot keep myself from wishing things would work, but I also cannot deny the near implausibility of such a dream.

I had the pleasure and discomfort of sitting down to watch the film 'Flash of Genius', the film portraying the life and efforts of the inventor of the intermittent windshield-wiper. It seems such a strange premise for a film, but instead it ended up hitting home. You see, Madam, you do not know yet just how dedicated I am to this battle. I will keep fighting. I will always be consumed with this war, which is at times a great distress for me. I have loved and been loved before, and I would imagine I will certainly miss it.

Madam, dearest, I'm not necessarily ruling out marriage for all eternity, but I simply cannot promise anything as of yet. This task at hand, this war, this all-consuming fire and passion for justice must outpace the passion for romance and distracted relationships. I am sorry, deeply sorry, Madam, but I cannot now entertain the notion of marriage, courtship, or any kind of emotional bond beyond friendship. I am afraid of falling for you, of entering into a life with you, I am afraid that you will be less devoted to the dire need for justice. I am afraid my dedication to the war will tire you and cause a rift, so it is best, I believe, to avoid forming any such bond that can be rent by such a violent passion for something... other than you.

Darling Madam, you are beautiful, I am certain, you take my breath away, or at least you will, but I am afraid of taking much more away from you, and I fear breaking yet another heart because of what I am seeking to engage. I have hurt and damaged other women because of driving so hard against injustice, and I cannot do it to another beautiful, graceful woman.

I do not yet know you, Madam, or at least I cannot see you yet in such a romantic a lovely light. I apologize profusely, with heart-felt anguish, that if such a spark ever occurs between your eyes and mine, I will risk tearing you and I both to the ground, and rebuilding a broken heart takes years. Please, Madam, you are too beautiful a person to wound.

If it ever seems the battle is being won rather than continuously lost, perhaps I shall call on you then. I thank you for understanding, if you ever do. I hope that when you read this, you will not see any coldness in my message. Chances are I'll have found you utterly beautiful and probably the finest catch of all time. This is meant to encourage you to find a more suitable adventure in love in another man. This man, this previously engaged man, is simply not able to give you all that you deserve, or more. He regrets it avidly and will your interests at the foreground.

Whoever you are or will ever be, know that I would probably have loved you to my best ability while fighting this war on other fronts, but I would simply never do YOU the justice I would hope for.

Peace be with you, and may you find happiness with another man who will love you more than I ever could.

In a final moment of sadness I must walk away from your front porch in my full combat gear, my belt polished and gleaming, my boots laced high and tight, my rifle slung over my shoulder, locked and loaded, my shirt and slacks clean and crisp, something you would be proud of. I hope you see upon my face a smile that conveys with quivering lips how much you will probably have meant to me in the brief time of knowing you. I hope you are able to know full well how hard it is for me to carry this banner into the streets and march, one foot in front of the other, with heavy heart, into battle in every corner of the world. I will move into the rice mills, the restaurants, the brothels, the trucks, trains, and boats, and I will destroy injustice, bringing the captors before a judge, and the broken, oppressed victims into a warm and loving home to care for them. I will carry no weapon but my heart on fire.

I'll think of you on the battlefields and in the quiet nights reading reports and documents that contain information to release women, children, men of all stripes. I'll think of you and remember a beautiful woman whose eyes held my heart for but a brief time, and I'll try to blink your image away, and in a painful act of devotion to a hurting world, I'll eventually forget you and the way you made me feel. I'll probably pray that you sleep well each night and that no harm comes your way. I'll pray that you never have to experience what I will. I'll pray that you are able to find the affection and ultimate care of a man who knows you in every way, who will give his all to protect and cherish you; who will gently guide you back to the better path, and will be patient with you in every way, and never once neglect you.

I don't know if such a man exists, but chances are I'll always believe that you deserve such a man.

I cannot be that man, for my mind will always be so strongly drawn to things beyond my control, and I would always be pulled away from you, leaving you cold and empty, if I were to attempt to be that man. In falling short I'd weep for days and Inevitably I'd need to walk away, wishing it weren't so.

For all these reasons, Madam, I must close the door between us, the troops are waiting. I wish I could give you a kiss in parting, but I don't want that to be the last memory you have of me as you hopefully start a new life and relationship with another man. I just hope you remember me for a spell, a very short spell, as a man who went on to humbly accept his duty, who gives you fond memories possibly, but who ultimately was only just a friend. I hope you will forget me, Madam. I hope you will give yourself fully to the man that you marry, for he will do everything in his power to make you first in all he does.

I will think fondly of you, Madam, as I step into the fray, encouraged by your gentleness and your compassion. You will likely have been a great friend, Madam. I thank you for all you will have done, and all you will have been to me.

Adieu fair Madam. May God be with you. May Injustice anger you. May peace come to you knowing that there are others sacrificing in this war that you may have peace and live a full life.

Shalom.

Not For Sale Campaign

Well, folks... I suppose I'm back then, aren't I?

I've been away for far too long and I feel sort of like spitting out loads of sappy cliches just to bog you all down. But I won't.

In reality I was always within reach of my computer, bus so hardly involved in anything bigger than myself, and I was ever more encouraged by loved ones to keep my private life private. I made a lot of mistakes with my direction and... the long and short of it is that now I am re-engaged in a battle I've made mention of a few times in these posts.

I've recently been appointed the Deputy State Director for the Indiana chapter of the Not For Sale Campaign [to combat human trafficking and modern-day slavery].

My boss and partner in leadership is Sarah Joy, and she's been a pleasure to work with so far!

About a month ago I applied for the Abolitionist/Investigator Training Academy in San Francisco, a 2-week training session put on by the Not For Sale Campaign four times this summer to train new abolitionists to work closely with the organization, and to watch out for and expose incidents of human trafficking and modern-day slavery in the States, and around the world.

(How's that for a run-on? I'll be sure to keep the rest of this a bit more tidy!)

Shortly after booking my flight and solidifying plans for the trip, I grew bored of sitting around, aching for more to do. In a fit of such monotony, I went to the NFSC website and found out that there are Regional/State Directors who volunteer to coordinate efforts under their supervision in a given geographical area. It was a blessing to see that there was someone I could work with in Indiana and I immideiately contacted Sarah Joy. Within a week, after quickly exchanging all sorts of information, initiatives, ideas, and desires for the future of the states, I asked to join her more officially and the higher-ups granted me that permission, et voila!

We've laid out a lot of groundwork for the organization and have come to understand ourselves as the foundation-layers of the state, working to build a framework for future volunteers to take on the "big things." Due to my upcoming stint at the Academy, I'll be leading the investigative and mapping department, while Sarah will spear-head the victim aftercare initiatives and the public relations. (She's got stellar speaking skills!)

There are several people already lined up to help her with the vision of starting a shelter for trafficked women and children, and hopefully one also for men. We're moving forward at an incredibly rapid pace! I've been so pleased and excited to learn that she and several others have already spoken to various groups and individuals, at multiple events, long before I even came on board.

It's incredible to be involved now, and though I struggle with balance and forcing myself into exhaustion every few days, I'm not willing to stop fighting any time soon.

There's a powerful scene in the film Gattaca, in which the protagonist and his brother are trying to out-swim each other across a lake. The protagonist, Vincent, was born naturally, with the usual human deficiencies, while his brother, Anton, was born with scientific and genetic enhancements, part of a new generation of super-humans. Vincent fights his whole life to become better than he was born to be, to the annoyance of Anton. On the eve of Vincent's dreams coming true, his brother learns the truth, finding that Vincent has taken on someone else's identity and deceived everyone in the space program, desiring to go up in the next shuttle launch.

Anton asks him, between coughing breaths and slaps of water, how he did it, how he made it so far. Vincent turns and, watching his brother who, in defeat, starts to turn to swim back, replies:

"You want to know how I did it? This is how I did it, Anton: I never saved anything for the swim back."



I will take a few moments now and then to tread water and catch my breath. I will pause briefly to remember who drives me to do this, who is fighting slavery right beside me and within me, who is allowing me to be a part of something so necessary, right, and awe-inspiring. I will seek the face of the Adonai who inspires Abolition, and I will continue fighting and swimming and working, and I'll kick the darkness till it bleeds daylight.

Shalom.

Traffic and Revenge.

the gun i wish i had is quivering in my hand right now, my violence and rage is overpowering and intoxicating, but what if the coin was flipped, what if i couldn't do anything about it, what if it actually played out like this:

The door opens a crack and a soft, mildly upset voice passes through with deceptive ease, "Has anyone seen Nikki?"

I'm sitting on the floor across from my roommate, playing cards, leaning on our bunks. The voice outside belongs to David, one of Nikki's best friends here at the house. He's never really this timid, that's why he and Nikki hit it off. The outgoing people here found each other quickly and spent lots of our group's free time together. I glance at my watch and look up at David, "No, when was the last time you talked to her?"

"She told me after lunch that she was heading downtown to buy a new shirt or something."

It's almost 8 o'clock in the evening. San Francisco is getting dark about now, towering buildings blotting out the sun in the heart of the city, this fine August night.

"Asher, it's almost 8."

"I know David." He's starting the freak me out the more I look at him, watching his expressions change, quickly becoming more and more panicked. "I'm sure she's here somewhere, just keep asking around."

"I've already checked with everyone else."

My heart skips a beat. I feel a chill ripple through my arms and I accidentally drop a couple cards. Derek, my roommate, is none the wiser, and I can see the same wave coming over him.

Here at our group house in San Fran, all of us know all too well what might have happened to Nikki. There are about 25 of us students from around the country studying human trafficking and how to spot it, report it, and take it down. Our high blood pressure is well warranted right now. Every night prostitutes line the streets in certain districts of the city.

Derek and I stand up in a split second and David steps into the room, closing the door behind him. He lowers his gaze and slowly looks up at us, saying, "we need to go find her."

"How the hell do you expect us to do that?" Derek's voice almost cracks, "None of us know our way around here."

A second of silence gives the weight of this situation a little bit more time to etch itself into our collective psyche. Shallow breaths scrape from each of us in raspy turns. I want so badly to panic. And then I just want to be armed. Then I wish I had a car. And, again, a gun.

David breaks the tense stillness, "there are already a couple people on board and willing to go look for her. Nate and Mike and Ernest. But obviously none of them brought their cars."

The three of us stand in a tight cluster at the center of the room. I'm probably stepping all over our card game. I don't give a damn at this point.

"David, maybe we could call the cops."

"Derek, that's insane, they'd be nearly useless. Unless they have a trafficking unit... Okay, we won't rule that out, but let's get other people on board first."

David turns and opens the door and the three of us shuffle out, looking for anyone else with an open door. Mike, Nate, and Ernest come up the stairs, huffing. They must have been running through the whole house. Mike stops a few feet from us, "guys, the Professor's calling the cops. They should be here in a few minutes."

David turns on him, "Why would they need to come here, Mike, huh? Nikki's downtown and needs them there!"

Mike is taken back with David's tone and clears his throat, "Dave, they're gonna take a couple of us downtown to look for her, see if she's just lost."

Nate tries to level out the situation, "Dave, do you know exactly where she was going? Like, what store, what district?"

David looks like he's tripping over his own thoughts. He closes his eyes, saying through gritted teeth, "Macy's, by Union Square."

That's not too bad, I'm thinking. Then I remember Union Square is actually a park. As big as a downtown block, and pretty shady at night. Frankly, it's downtown San Fran--it's not really that safe anytime during the day. I grab David by the shoulder and push him toward the steps, "guys, let's get down there and do what we can. Grab water bottles or blankets and stuff them in a bag. Depending what... well... Nikki may need..."

I don't need to finish my sentence. Since Monday we've heard people speak of the terrors of being hand-cuffed to bed-posts for weeks at a time, laced with drugs enough to sterilize a cow. It only takes about a day or so to get girls addicted to any drug you give them. Nikki's no exception. She's an attractive blonde with a thin frame and long legs. It wouldn't take much of anything to render her senseless. My adrenaline races and I push past them all, yelling at them to go to their rooms and grab something helpful. My yelling causes a couple other doors to open in the upstairs bedrooms.

As I get downstairs, ignoring questions and calls from the others upstairs, I find the Professor waiting by the front door. He stands alone, fidgeting, his cell phone at the ready. In my blurred state of vision right now it looks like he may be packing under his jacket. But for all I know it's just the influx of adrenaline that's causing these visions.

"Asher, hey, are you okay?" He looks concerned.

"Nikki's missing. No I'm not okay. When are the cops getting here?"

"Just a couple minutes."

"We're almost ready to go."

"To go? Asher, you're not going anywhere. The police are just getting a description and a couple photos."

"The hell? Yes, I have to go. David has to go! Mike said they'd take us to help look for her."

"No, not anything like that. We can't get involved."

"Mike wouldn't lie about that, Professor."

"I'm sure he misunderstood or something."

Mike and the others show up behind me.

The Professor turns to him, "Mike, what made you think you all were going with the police?"

"Professor, uh... you said you'd have us ready for them to pick up when they got here."

Everyone looks confused, my heart rate's going insane. Would someone please make a definite statement soon!

The Professor extends his hand, holding an envelope containing a few photos. Outside, we can see red and blue flashes growing brighter. There's no siren, or maybe there is, but I can't focus enough to hear it if it's there. "Mike, I told them I'd have these pictures ready for them to pick up."

Mike and David nearly collapse.

"I'm sorry, but no one here is going with them."

Ernest blurts out, "But Nikki's out there! We don't know if she's okay! Professor, we're the only ones who know anything about her, about the way she walks, what she looks like, what she might be wearing! The cops need us out there! Nikki needs us!"

The Professor's eyes flash with anger and anxiety and in a cold, thinly masked wavering tone, "I know. The cops don't work that way, and we don't have any jurisdiction to see if we could find her in another person's house or business." He pauses and I can see a vein bulging on his neck. "Guys, I need you to help calm everyone else down right now. The cops will do the best they can out there. The law only allows them to conduct searches anyway. We can't break laws trying to find lawbreakers... That's just not how this works."

"That's bull!" Did I really just say that? The skin over my knuckles seems tight and stretched. God, is this really happening?

"Asher, calm down. There's nothing else you can do right now. If any of you want to pray, that would be great, and for those that don't, I need you to stay calm. Nothing can get done without--"

Someone's knocking on the door. The yellow light from the lamps in the room is intermittently over-powered by red and blue hues flashing almost as fast as my pulse.

The Professor walks to the door and opens it with a shaking hand. Two uniformed officers step in. The looks of apathy smeared across their faces disturbs me. You don't know what you're doing, do you? You little pricks can't do anything with that lack of concern! Just give me your damn badge and gun. I'll do your job better.

"Hello Professor, What was Nikki wearing?"

David steps forward, "A green jacket and um... these blue jeans with little swirlies of gold and red or pink or something. Her sister Sandra, she made them for her last year, she..." David drops his eyes, "Take me with you, officers, I can spot her from a mile away."

"I'm afraid we can't do that, sir."

David seems to be convulsing. "She's my best friend. You have to understand."

"There are ways we can and cannot go about things. We can't take you with us. You just have to trust us."

"Find her. Find her, officers." He raises his eyes to meet the taller officer's, catching him off-guard. "Find her tonight, or expect that I'll be joining the search first thing tomorrow."

"You can't do that, sir. That's not in your jurisd--"

"Damnit! Don't tell me what I can and cannot do."

I'm not sure, but I think I could absolutely expect David to take someone's life for Nikki. These cops better know how serious this is to us.

David's not done, "Find her tonight. You don't want to have to deal with all of us if you don't."

I am expecting some sort of confrontation from the cops right now, but for some reason, these two seem to get the point, and instead of anything further said to aggravate David, they simply say:

"Green jacket, blue jeans with colored swirls. We'll do our best."

The Professor closes the door behind them and I ponder how trite and half-ass that statement always sounds: "We'll do our best."

Will you, really? Cause I'm sure I could do better.

I am told to return to my room. I feel a hand on my shoulder. I notice David's as frozen as I am. Someone is trying to urge us both to move and head upstairs. Eventually the hand on my shoulder loosens its grip and I and David are left alone in a silent, tense, pulsating foyer. My ears are throbbing.

The gun I wish I had is quivering in my hand right now, my violence and rage is overpowering and intoxicating...

Find her. Get her here safe. Bring her captors to justice. Or I, and most likely David, will seek revenge. Every one of those creeps deserves a full clip of hot lead in them.

It seems like hours before I release my muscles and try to walk away from the foyer. David is still standing there, motionless, when I close the door to my room. I look at Derek and catch his eye. We don't have to say anything. We're on the same page.

As I lay down and Derek kills the lights, I stare blindly up at the ceiling. Just a few thoughts running through my head:

Find her. Get her to safety. Bring her captors to justice.
Find her.
Save her.
Now.

Decision Time

It's been a while since I've faced a reality about the world and my place in it as big and life altering as the one I've realized today.

In Pakistan there have been over half a million people displaced by the American troops and the Taliban. I am an American Pakistani, so where does this leave me? If my family had not immigrated from Pakistan when my father was a boy, then one of those hundreds of thousands of IDP's could be me.

I understand that there are evils in this world that can only be eradicated by the help of our soldiers, but at what cost do we try to rid ourselves of said evils?

The men and women being displaced were families barely able to care for thier own children, and what will happen to those children now? Most likely they will die from injuries sustained, be left to die by the road side to cut back on family cost, or forced/sold into human trafficing to earn money. These are the harsh realities that already faced these kids, and we've just made it worse.

I could have been one of those children! For the love of God people wake up! We have to do something to change this world of ours. If we just sit by and allow the carnage, the genocide, the madness to continue, then we are the terrorists!

I mean think about it. If our ancestors hadn't immigrated to this country however many years ago, we could be those unfortunate children facing the world's darkest hours.

It is because of such realizations that I have decided that my ultimate goal will be to save a child. At least one child from a fate that could have been mine. I will not let my life go by without doing something to stop the insanity.

Love is not Beautiful

I bet this is a pleasant surprise for the other Piny Pek bloggers (especially, particularly Archer).

I didn't even know that I could still contribute to this blog.

And I feel so out of the loop and even misplaced.

But here's something that I wrote March 29 (I think); it's my most recent writing:

Love is not beautiful; love is selfish. The Sonnets of the Portuguese are not beautiful, because they are about love. And when in love, you forsake all others, your family and your friends—those who are indeed beautiful. I once browsed through a book called 1000 Beautiful Things—none of it was beautiful, because love was written on its every page.

A kiss is not beautiful; it is disgusting—two tongues reeling about like snakes mating. And it is the very symbol of love, of a disgusting love.

Sex is above all the least beautiful, especially when it is done by two people in love. From heaven, they must look like featherless birds flapping. Even sex derived from lust is more beautiful than two people in love, twisting and entangling their bodies in and out. For some time they are one, and then they are separate; then they are one again. Sex without love is beautiful—because lusty, foul humans wallow in pleasure. They don’t feel the longing desire that people in love feel as they are separate and must function with this hidden secret—that for some time they were whole.

They don’t feel the ache of a human-shaped hole ripped from their bodies—just to fit perfectly together by nightfall and torn apart by day break. Twenty-four hours is measured differently by people who are in love; it is divided into pieces—the times with which they love and the times with which they don’t even exist. As if to say, I love you or I am not at all.

And in this moment of inexistence, it has taken one good-bye kiss, one morning-after, one day of silence before the longing sets in. Sex without love is for actors, trying to taste heaven without repercussion. For a single moment, they think they’re in love, the curtains close, they bow their heads to ravenous applause, and they slither away to soak in their diluted pleasures.

Because sex with love is very different, indeed. Lovers are not actors, merely seeking self-centered pleasures. Love by nature isn’t selfish, it is very beautiful.

- Evon R. Christian

Dating A Banker Anonymous

hey folks,

i've got a link for you, so you can see that the financial crises is really, really, really bad:

http://dabagirls.wordpress.com/


enjoy reading!
greetings
-Krissi

Mr. Fixit

there was once a group of several friends in the church who began to grow wary of a popular new rising leader. he was using the church as a springboard to gain further votes in following elections. people who had called themselves christians were losing sight of Christ's true nature and were applying strong feelings of nationalism to Biblical precepts.

this small group of friends spoke out for years against this man's use of the church to gain power and strip the Messiah of his true identity, warping the image of a "good christian" into something drenched in propaganda and illusions of grandeur, power and economic rehabilitation.

this small group of friends were right.

the leader withdrew his support for anything left of the real church.

the state fell under control of a man and his secret police who no longer valued human life that was anything less than Aryan.

Dietrich Bonhoeffer and 14 of the other 15 conspirators who had tried to assassinate Adolf Hitler in order to commit the lesser of two evils were executed in the final months of the European war in the 1940's.

some of these men had spoken out since the late 1920's when Adolf Hitler began making promises of national recovery.

the cult of personality took over and his face was an icon of positive change for years and slowly became an unstoppable symbolic effigy of both a failing nation and a crumbling church.


the cult of personality is a very dangerous thing, especially when the person being admired so violently is still living, and still very powerful.

we must be careful, as people from all walks of life, particularly those of us from within the church, to avoid fawning over a leader because of the change they promise.

i may get criticized for this. but i voted for him, too. and i'm totally psyched that he won the election.

...but a pox on me and my hands and my tongue if i do not state that i am concerned with an overwhelming adoration of a new leader.

i am guilty of bowing to the cult of personality in many ways. i violently adore writers and philosophers like Bonhoeffer, King, Dyson, Niebuhr, Lewis, Bell, and several others.

i also used to believe so strongly in the persona of the man known as El Che. i've since learned that it is the ideals he stood for that i love, and that he was a fallen and failed human in many respects, though certainly not all.

please, sisters and brothers, let us not get so wrapped up in an iconic and impressive speaker and leader at the cost of our search for peace, justice, and most importantly truth.