The other day my son was telling me something quite interesting. As he was talking I began to realize that something about it didn’t quite stack up. So I asked where he had heard about that. It was on “talk back radio”, he told me. And who was the person who had shared that gem? Oh, just someone who had called in. So did he believe it was true? Well, yes, why not? Perhaps it is because I’ve been around just a bit longer than him, but I asked instead “well, why?” Why believe something without checking out what is behind it, where is the source, does it comply with the facts, and a few important little things like that?

I have been noticing the same thing on forums and message boards as my son’s experience on talk back radio. People, often keeping anonymous, will say things with a sense of authority and yet it is only their opinion which is just as likely to be quite ill-informed and misguided. I am very aware of this when I write these entries to Judah’s Journal. Who am I to state the things that I do? What authority do I have to claim this or that to be the truth, or not the truth? It is characteristic of the blogosphere that all kinds of stuff gets published, much of it quite dubious in both worth and truth.

These are very good questions, and ones that every reader should be asking… and ask regarding whatever they read or hear.

I hope that readers of Judah’s Journal will notice that I make good use of references and note my sources diligently. Often I link to papers and websites where further information is found and credibility can be checked out. My own logic can be examined here-and-now in the case I present, and I do not point to myself as the expert, but in the direction of credible scholarship and authority. I find it annoying that unqualified or anonymous people will give an unsubstantiated opinion that they expect to have accepted as a sufficient case against the well researched and logically presented work of those with recognized expertise in the subject, even more so when there is no evidence of how they have dealt with the facts to come to their own conclusions, or appeal to such generalizations as “everyone knows…” and other common fallacies of thought that are equally meaningless.

And after that rather long sentence, I will hop off my soapbox for now. But think about it, folks. Do you care about the truth, and if so, how do you determine what is from what’s not?

“…to create an awareness on a global level of this world-class orchestra” is what he said. The words of our new, and oh so young, Finnish music director (Pietari Inkinen) who has been described as exciting, so talented, and particularly brilliant. With such glorious aclaim, I wonder what precautions are required to keep a sense of balance so necessary for one who must stand on a podium with both his back and feet so close to a sheer drop off the edge of the stage. But I do have to admit that he is certainly good - indeed quite exceptionally good. Our national orchestra has never played better, and world-class is indeed what it is.

Being way too early the other night we diverted two blocks to our favourite secondhand bookstore for a pre-concert browse. One has to be careful not to lose track of the time in there, and that was certainly true when I unearthed a pristine copy (printed in China - what a surprise!) of the complete short stories of one Katherine Mansfield. Wellington’s child, famous daughter of our beautiful harbour capital, she spent a full first five years on this soil before being swept back to Mother England and further abroad, thereafter disparaging of her native beginnings other than what of the culture could contribute to her literary works. With the pristine printed-in-China copy underarm anyway, we set off in time to be wowed by the wizardry of the wand, that curious little stick that draws out of the strings, brass and woodwind, all the magic there is to be heard in the music.

From our usual place three rows from the front, a little below eye-level with the ankles of the first violins, we can watch with awe the deft fingerplay, closeup facial expressions and other such fascinating detail. Humans are a funny lot. Who would have thought to compose music where first and second violins play in unison but one semitone distant from each other? It did little for me, and neither for most according to the scant enthusiasm in the applause to follow. It would have been interesting to hear an honest opinion from various players as to what they really thought of Rautavaara’s “A Tapestry of Life” and whether they would even be bothered with doing it again. The British cellist, Natalie Clein, is certainly clever on her strings and the sounds, set in order by Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, were exquisitely wonderful. But the facial expressions were agonizing. So much pained emotion! One hardly knew where to look, as though watching was a kind of voyeurism and such intimacy with the music should surely be kept just a little more private than given a full frontal display. Then our young conductor himself, so energetic and enthusiastic that my heart was left in my mouth, praying he would not poke himself in the eye - or up the nose - with his own baton. But it was as he said “…to create an awareness on a global level of this world-class orchestra” and surely, with each new performance, this certainly deserves to be done. On this occasion Mahler’s “Titan” was spectacular!

How does one keep humble when so much praise is heaped on one’s head? I can suggest one certain technique that sure works for me, and that is to brave the questions of the morning newspaper’s Five Minute Quiz. It would seem that unless one has a headful of Hollywood nonsense, the who’s-sleeping-with-who-this-time-around logs, then one is fated to swallow a dose of the humbles. An average score of three out of ten is hardly star quality, and I must admit to being a failure in all this Real Life. So much is going on out there, and I know so little. Fortunately my cat comes to the rescue. Her insistence that breakfast is the most important meal of the day eventually overrides my resolve to stay bedridden until my brain catches up with these important world events. Thank goodness for small mercies - a quiz score that indicates such a hopeless case, and the incessant mewing of a hungry cat. I can recommend both for a good sense of proportion. However, those who read what else I write here will know that is far from my first recommendation. As the broadcasters say… we can expect normal transmission to be resumed shortly.

This is a story that inspired me as a teenager, and challenged me to make something worthwhile of that which was not ideal. As a quilter, I have since heard the saying “when life throws you scraps, make a quilt from them”, and there is a similar one that goes “if life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” But the story of the oyster and the pearl especially captured my imagination.

The beautifully lustrous pearl is the response of the little oyster to an irritation, that caused by a foreign object such as a fragment of shell, or an unwelcome parasite, being accidentally trapped inside the oyster’s shell. Most of the time the oyster cannot expel the foreign particle, so to reduce the pain caused by the foreign body it surrounds it with nacre, a silvery calcium carbonate substance that the oyster normally discharges to line its shell. After several years, layers of nacre form around the irritant, making the irritant less painful. This way the oyster creates a rainbow-like iridescent pearl.

There is a wealth of symbolism that has become attached to the oyster’s little pearl. I remember being told that pearls represent tears, or pain and suffering. One hears of the “gates of heaven” being called the “pearly gates”, probably from the description in the Bible where it is written that “The twelve gates were twelve pearls, each gate being made from a single pearl.” (Revelations 21:21). Jesus is quoted as saying “Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant looking for fine pearls. When he found one of great value, he went away and sold everything he had and bought it.” (Matthew 13:45,46). The parable is typically taken to mean that heavenly riches are far greater than the full total of all worldly riches. And some have come to regard Jesus as this pearl of great price, being our Saviour, saying as He does of Himself “I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved.” (John 10:9).

I have always loved pearls. They show me how something that represents tears, that was caused by pain and suffering, can be the eventual transformation of that hurt into something beautiful and truly precious. I am not surprised then, that the gates of heaven are said to be made from a single pearl. And so I am also inspired to do what is necessary to make goodness and righteousness come from those things that have caused me to hurt as well.

In medieval theology, it was held that love literally set the universe in motion. Love was seen as the principal force behind human life. This idea is reflected in the title of the popular song “Love Makes the World Go ‘Round” (Perry Como, 1958). When it comes to the giving of gifts, “passing it forward” is a practice based on this same idea. Although I enjoy receiving a gift as much as anyone, rather than have someone give me something in return for what I have given them, my preference by far is that they “pass it forward” by being generous to another instead. I don’t have everything, and not all I might want, but I do have most that I need. In fact, I really have far more than I need.

Digging into my box of UFOs and WIPs is an attempt to deal with my “stuff”. I love making quilts, but I question my need to keep all I make. I don’t need them all. OK, I see all you folks jumping up and down, hands in the air, calling out “Me! Me! Send them to me!” I’m laughing at you. Do you really need them too? Oh sure! Of course you do! Hahaha! There are also some who don’t ask, and they really do need.

Every so often I find myself beginning to feel oppressed by the accumulation of material things. Then I know it is time to go through my possessions and seriously question whether it is good for me to keep it or not, or if it might be better to give it away, pass it forward, especially to where a better home could be found for it, where there is much more of a need - a genuine need.

For we brought nothing into the world, and we can take nothing out of it. But if we have food and clothing, we will be content with that. People who want to get rich fall into temptation and a trap and into many foolish and harmful desires that plunge men into ruin and destruction. For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money, have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.

Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share. In this way they will lay up treasure for themselves as a firm foundation for the coming age, so that they may take hold of the life that is truly life.

(1 Timothy 6:7-10; 17-19)

Who wants to pierce themselves with many griefs?

How much better it is to free oneself of the burden of too much stuff, be generous towards others, and lay up treasure of a very different kind. I’m off to clear out another closet. How about you?

The Christian worldview prescribes a horizon that is further afield than that of a secular or naturalist one. If I were to stand on the beach and look out to sea, on a clear day I may be able to catch sight of the fishing boats in the distance out there. But if I stand on the cliffs behind me, I can see not only the fishing boats but more of the ocean beyond them as well. Someone who subscribes to a secular view may deny the existence of what goes beyond their own perceived horizon, but the Christian knows that the end of this temporal life is not the true horizon at all. The naturalist worldview is confined to what is known by nature, denying the supernatural. The Christian worldview accepts that we have a spiritual life that continues far into eternity beyond. Read more on this here and here too.

I have often referred to myself as a passionate quilter. When suggested that I could make this hobby and interest into a business, I found myself thinking that I am already in business - but not in the way that one normally thinks. I make my quilts for leisure, pleasure, treasure and good measure. It is a relaxing pastime and hobby, one that gives expression to creativity and artistry, and certainly provides pleasure. The treasure is the finished quilt. But there is more to it than that.

One day I costed one of my quilts and found that the materials alone came to considerably more than what one might pay for a pure wool blanket. Add in the number of hours to make it, at even the minimum wage, then unless one especially wanted a quilt with the artistry involved, it would not be a cost effective way of procuring warmth. The choice could be one quilt or at least five wool blankets, probably more. There is a price below which a sale demeans the item, the workmanship that went into it, and the labour of the one who laboured. I decided not to offer my quilts for sale.

There is a wellknown saying that goes “It is more blessed to give than receive.” Value cannot always be measured in monetary terms alone. A gift that has special meaning is often treasured beyond the monetary value of the item as appraised by some objective criterion. There is treasure in the gift, plus more accrued to it by the one receiving the gift, and even more again by the blessing received by the giver. The accumulation is treasure indeed.

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.
(Matthew 6:19-21)

The Christian worldview accepts that every action and every outcome must sooner or later be measured against an ultimate norm for its ultimate value. This kind of treasure is not stored in this temporal world but is weighed for good measure in the eternal one that continues beyond. Good deeds in themselves will not secure anyone’s salvation, and so it needs to be said that salvation is itself a gift ~ from God through our faith in Christ. Check it out. But wherever you invest your treasure, there indeed will your heart be too.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

An Opportunity to Create Treasure

A friend posted the following to her blog today, and I would also like to pass the message on:

As you know, I always encourage readers of this blog to share their talents and skills with others, and today’s post is about sewing for others, and in this case, almost literally sewing a sunset by volunteering to sew for people who are experiencing those final sunset days of life. A couple of days ago, I received a request from someone who manages volunteers for a hospice in Mississippi. She was looking for volunteers to sew for her hospice patients and was asking me for resources. I will be sewing for this hospice, Odyssey Healthcare (www.odsyhealth.com) as well as continuing to sew for Mission of Hope (www.missionofhope.org). I would like to encourage you to sew simple projects for this hospice, or perhaps one like it in your area. Although my dad was never put on hospice care before he died, I had the opportunity to watch the hospice staff as they visited other patients in the nursing home, and I was always impressed with their unique ability to bring smiles to people who were in situations where all they wanted to do was cry. I think that people who are directly involved in hospice work must be very special people indeed.

Anyone who sews, knits, crochets, or quilts can volunteer to donate simple projects. Blankets, pillows, pillowcases, adult bibs, crafts, and quilts are all acceptable. Apparently, there are no restrictions and any donations will be used, with nothing going to waste.

If you should decide to volunteer to sew, knit, quilt, or crochet for this worthy cause, here is the contact information

TClark@odsyhealth.com or 228-297-5976 (NB. This is a USA phone number)

(I would suggest that initial contact be made via e-mail or phone because there are a few guidelines that must be followed.)

The mailing address is : Tiffany Clark, Manager of Volunteer Services, Odyssey Healthcare, 9414 Three Rivers Road, Suite 3, Gulfport, MS 39503

I hope that some of the readers of this blog will consider sharing sewing, quilting, crocheting, or knitting skills, even if it’s just one time. You might play a small part in making someone’s final sunset just a little bit easier, and after they have passed through that final sunset, the blanket or pillow that you made might bring some comfort to the family left behind. At first, they might see through tears, but eventually, they will be able to look at a project that someone sewed or quilted, and remember happier times with their loved ones. The tears may still come, but with each passing day, it may become just a little bit easier to smile through those tears. Wouldn’t it be a great feeling to know that perhaps by creating just one simple project, you might play a part in bringing a small measure of comfort to someone?

Source: Sewing Sunsets of Life

If you listen to quilters chatting among themselves you will often hear them talking about their UFOs and sometimes also calling them WIPs. No, these are not those weird sightings in the sky that have the scoffers irritating the convinced observers, and vice versa. These are those projects that were started and then stopped, put away, sometimes forgotten, but often causing little twinges of conscience when their numbers begin to mount up - as they invariably tend to do. They are the Un Finished Objects, the Works In Progress.

Like most quilters, I also have some UFOs and WIPs. Just lately I have got up the courage to face them again, and to work through each one to completion. I managed three last month, all full-size bed quilts. Today I hauled out another one - the one in the photo here - and discovered why it was I had put it down in the first place. The top and bottom borders were cut just a little too short, one whole inch short either end. It is an appliqué quilt, which means those flowerpots of flowers, those vines and leaves, are all cut from different fabrics and sewn to the fabric underneath. The vines are sewn with the very finest of silk thread such that the tiny stitches can barely be seen, and the leaves, flowers and the pot are sewn more boldly with a buttonhole stitch and thick variegated coloured cottons to make them more obvious. A lot of work has gone into it already, and I can remember now how dismayed I was to find I had cut those end borders too short. But these things happen occasionally, and there is usually a way to recover if one doesn’t give up. I had put it away because “out of sight, out of mind” and I didn’t want to be reminded of my heartbreaking mistake. How much easier it is to walk away from things, rather than to face them and work through them. Making quilts can be pretty much like “real life” in that way.

Seeing it again today, a remedy jumped out at me! It will involve going back and unpicking just a few inches of the vine on either end, shortening the piece further, and stitching a new square of background fabric into each corner such that it will look as though it was really meant to be that way all along. Now why hadn’t I seen that “fix” in the first place? I was too disappointed, I guess. But now it seems all so obvious.

There is a little more appliqué work to do to the top border, then the “fix”, then something more to each corner - the vine carried around to join full circle, more leaves and flowers. I know how I will finish it off - with a wool batting, straight machine “in the ditch” quilting, hand quilting around the appliqué parts, and tied by tiny contrasting coloured buttons sewn through all layers in the centre of each flower. It promises to look really good when all done. And now I am off with new energy and purpose. This WIP is soon to be a UFO no longer.

A Quilt Gallery has recently been added to Judah’s Site on this page here. As my number of UFOs reduce, you may expect this gallery to grow. There is not a great pile of them, but I am not saying anything about those other secret things every quilter knows about… the fabric stash. That has to be for another day.

Meanwhile, the quilter’s motto: If life gives you scraps, make a quilt from them.

Greetings to all visitors to Judah’s Journal. May the Year 2008 be full of blessings, a fresh start, and the fruition of past efforts. It is summer down the bottom of the planet this time of year. Blue skies, sunshine, fine warm weather and long daylight hours. My Northern Hemisphere friends are all wishing they were here, yet in a little while that will change and I will be wishing I am where they are. But not right at the moment… Where I live we have a sizeable back yard of native bush, some of the trees being very large indeed, with paths and timber board walks taking us down under the canopy to an idyllic escape from the rest of the world. There it is cool and still, except for whatever breeze is around. The petite Waxeyes and friendly Fantails dart in and out among the branches, catching insects on the wing. The Tuis sing out their melodious songs. A small stream emerges from underground and trickles down over rocks into a valley of more trees and ferns beyond. To this refuge I sneak away when in need of respite from the world. The canopy overhead creates a cathedral, with choir of birdsong and crickets; soft organ notes the breath of the breeze, the rustle of ferns high above. Down here no telephone rings, no clock strikes the hour. There is no doorbell, no computer, no chores to do. No liberal theology questions my faith, offering disbelief in my Creator whose hand is clearly seen where I look about me. The sounds of the city are distant, belonging to the valley below. The sense of peace in this enclave sooths and settles my soul. During a storm three winters ago, a huge pine tree some distance down the road from us was uprooted and crashed down the hillside, blocking the road to our home. That evening, just on dusk, we walked to the scene of the disaster and stood in awe of that tree. I was moved to write the following about it… — — — — — — — — — — — — — We walked to the tree that was blocking our way, The winds having died with death in their sway; Death from Thor’s wrath, with mighty thunderous fall The tree had come down in the wet wintry squall. Others stood gazing, bewildered as well, That seventy years had succumbed and then fell; From Earth’s endometrium a placenta left swinging, A mass of roots matted, to cliff face left clinging. We stood there in mourning, in silence and sorrow, Surveying the tree that would see no tomorrow; Broken and battered, branches bent strangely angled, With torrents of dirt that had tumbled entangled. The woodmen had cut with their chainsaws so crudely Huge slabs of the trunk, naked growth rings so rudely Exposed to the skies, with their sacrifice weeping Sticky wet sap of life’s remnants still seeping. We walked away softly having murmured a prayer, For the scene was quite awesome, one hard to bear; And the night sky descended, draping all with a shroud Of darkness and grieving, gentle tears from a cloud. © Judah (2005) — — — — — — — — — — — — — I remember the occasion I stood before mighty Tane Mahuta, the world’s largest living Kauri tree, said to be almost 1300 years old. There was a general hush all around, an air of reverence, and an American tourist whispered to me “It’s like being in church, isn’t it?” Yes, it was indeed. There was a presence, a sense of Emmanuel - God being with us. And in the words of that great hymn… To God be the glory, great things He has done!

An aquaintance of ours suffered a stroke last year. He is an intelligent man with two professional engineering degrees. His mind was largely unaffected, but he is now physically impaired and requiring ongoing rest home care. He is in a horrible situation, unable to relate easily to his fellow residents who are elderly and largely demented whereas he is not, dependent on nurses, no longer able to get out and about by himself, and with regards much of what the rest of us commonly take for granted, has suffered a great many losses. Strokes are so cruel when they suddenly steal so much of one’s lifestyle and leave such cause for grief in their wake.

Today we paid a visit, having to drive for some distance to get there. We had called beforehand but there was no answer. Of course, it would have been lunch time and everyone taken to the dining room for their meal. But we went anyway as he is usually “at home” that time of day. As things had come about, we were one of the few who now bothered to visit at all since he could no longer join in as before. Life moves on often leaving the incapacitated behind. We had just arrived and barely said “hello” when his partner (now living on her own) arrived too and immediately hurried him up to get ready for a gym appointment that she had made. He would need to get a move on and there was no time for talking. He would have to miss our visit. This woman was in charge now, the decisions being all hers, and she called the shots. We left.

The stroke had robbed him of much of his lifestyle, his independence, mobility and freedom of choice. The rest home, despite all their best efforts, was assisting him to become institutionalized. His partner, possibly quite well intentioned, was robbing him of much that was left. He was often telling us by phone that he was “going mad” in this situation. We hoped the frustration would help energize his rehabilitation, but it seems that he has reached the “plateau” and progress has now slowed to a stop. He had got as far as he could go, and the frustration was driving like lasers through his brain, together with its causes burning up what was left of any self determination, integrity and (for want of a better word) personhood.

So much of this is about control. He had lost a great deal of that, thanks to the stroke, and what was left was being usurped from him some more. It was a relief to hear of a belligerent episode he had with a very managing nurse, but unfortunately the nurse ruled regardless. A little rebellion does not go amiss and it is a shame that his carers did not read the message in the language it occurred.

I remember failing a job interview once when, given the scenario of an elderly and almost blind gentleman insisting on having his bedroom light left on at night, I did not come down on the authoritarian “you must behave yourself and switch it off” side of the management options. Since the light would have disturbed no-one, it was one interview I was very glad to have “failed” as working in such an environment would have surely been dreadful. Likewise, a nurse once looking after my mother during a brief stay in hospital, called me to request that I bring in some “day clothes” so that her patient could be dressed “properly” despite the fact she was so ill that she threw up each time she sat up. My mother, resisting the increasing dependency and wanting to determine for herself what she wore, did not want to be dressed thus. I was often put in these tricky situations, and so asked the nurse for her reasons. To prevent bedsores, I was told. Sure! Of course, there is considerably less risk of bedsores when wearing a petticoat and dress compared to a nightgown and robe, all else being equal. Those day clothes stayed at home and recovery occurred smoothly without any sign of a bedsore. Taking control away from others is often a bad move when there is no good cause for doing so.

Losing control creates a cabbage. That is the horrible description one hears for those who are near a vegetative state of being through whatever cause. Take away control without good reason and that has much the same result. People are not cabbages, not even in a vegetative state, but their “personhood” can so easily be overlooked to render them such in the eyes of some - including those who are otherwise very well meaning.

We are now nine weeks beyond the shortest day Down Here, but still into Winter with snow on the mountains and an icy chill in the air. This river is snow-fed and extremely cold. But not far from here, as fearless teenagers, we swam in the irrigation channels fed by these mid-Canterbury rivers. The sissies smeared their bodies with petroleum jelly first, but I doubt it really made a lot of difference and would have been a mess to remove. The secret was just to keep moving, swimming fast to the end of the mile, the annual challenge for the hardy types that we were back then. Would I do that again today? No, I doubt it. The mid-winter dips in the sea with the carnival fanfare of community participation have not enticed me yet. Better to stay snuggled up cosy in my possum/merino layers of woollies and watch as the others shiver instead.

In the background are the foothills of my favourite Southern Alps. When visitors to a Maori marae (meeting place) are given the opportunity to speak, they introduce themselves by naming their tribe (or giving their whakapapa - genealogy) and their mountain and river. I have only once ever done that, and liked the idea especially of naming my mountain and river, as though they are mine. They are indeed the land to which I relate, my home turf, that with which I will identify when away from home or needing to feel grounded in my being. This is not my river, but the mountains are mine - greedily the whole chain of them, the rugged backbone of the South Island of New Zealand. These mountains are a view to gaze upon and be still, to drink in their might, majesty and grandeur. They were there well before me, and will be there long after I am gone. I am nothing to them, but they are a symbol of stability and permanence to me, and they whisper the words that describe the character of the Creator… I am here, I am mighty, I am majesty. I will look to them and beyond to the Source of my being, He who is my sustainer and stronghold.

Unless holding a mirror in place and looking at the reflected image, it is not expected that we can look full on at one side of something and simultaneously see the opposite side of it. We can gaze at the full moon and see one half of the sphere, but while we do not see the other side of it, we do know logically that it must exist.

Today we are living in an age where naturalism is in ascendancy, and the belief of earlier ages in supernaturalism has declined. But to those of us holding a coherent Biblical Christian worldview, there are both these two elements - just like the front that is seen and the back that is unseen - that exist together. The visible and the invisible are present together, intimately connected to each other. Our physical senses can bring us objective knowledge of what exists, but they do not readily verify what appears not to exist - or what does exist but is outside perception by our physical senses.

Does this mean that the unseen world does not exist? Of course it doesn’t. You may not agree with me, but take one simple example where our common sense tells us that there is a back of the moon, an unseen half of the sphere. Or just as we know that, whereas our eye cannot see viruses, they can be detected by an electron microscope. Should we be able to travel back in time and tell first century man about radio waves, microwaves, x-rays, and all the rest of these invisible phenomena, he would be calling us the supernaturalists - and were he a naturalist, to him we would be the crazy believers and out of our heads.

The naturalist believes strongly in the existence of the physical world to the exclusion of a supernatural one, considering unprovable the existence of a spiritual world where spiritual beings and activity exists. So be it. However, the Christian worldview presupposes existence of this spiritual world, one where much is unseen and is outside of our normal awareness. It is revealed to us by spiritual means, by prayer, by fellowship with God, by His teachings from Scripture. It is the new horizon that we have acquired in accepting that we are more than mere mortals, that we have souls that persist into eternity long after our physical beings have perished. To the secular and unbelieving naturalist this is just silly nonsense. Because he cannot see the unseen, he readily declares it doesn’t exist and scoffs at the Christian whose horizon has thus extended well beyond his own.

This invisible world features persistently in the New Testament. God is spirit and dwells in the spiritual realm, but has a wide-reaching involvement in our physical realm, even to the extent of the incarnation of Christ, His miracles, the Transfiguration, the Resurrection, the post-resurrection appearances of Jesus, the event of Pentecost, the meeting of Paul with Jesus on the road to Damascus… to name but a few.
The Apostle Paul tells us…

For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. (Ephesians 6:12)

There is the recognition of an invisible world that exists beyond that of our physical one, and the battle for our souls rages there as much as it does in this physical world in which we live. It might well be unnerving to realize this, but all that happens - all that we think and do - is not quite as private as supposed by the naturalist. With the coexistence of the invisible spiritual world, consider this:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us.
(Hebrews 12:1)

The emphasis throughout Scripture is not that this spiritual or supernatural realm is far away, but that it is right here, very close indeed, and present with us now.

The content of Judah’s Journal is copyright. If you are NOT reading this on Judah’s Journal, then it has been copied from there and is re-published illegally - in other words, stolen. Those who would do that are common thieves and lack moral integrity. Judah’s Journal

As a teenager I was intrigued by the idea of another world that co-existed with the one I already knew. Perhaps that would explain the phenomena of ghosts? Perhaps I enter that world in my sleep, and when I dream dreams? And well before I came to know what was written in the Bible, I put those quandaries into verse…

Reality

Have you ever thought perchance
That life is just a life-long trance;
You’re sleeping in some crazy dream
And not awake as it may seem?

Perhaps the world you know as real,
And everything you think and feel,
Is mythopaeic, nothing more?
Of what you know, can you be sure?

If doubts arise then question this
That answers may not go amiss,
And consider then what sleep might be
When dreams of other worlds tease thee.

© Judah, 2007

In Memory

I planted freesias on her grave;
her favourite flower, the last I gave
her on that final Mother’s Day
before she quietly just slipped away.

The perfect scent and perfect flower
speaks softly of that final hour
when shadows fell as night time came
and nothing more would be the same.

She lives not there in that cold earth;
my loving mother who gave me birth
and nurtured me ’til torn apart
by death ~ she now is living in my heart.

© Judah (May 2007)

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A perfect Freesia from my garden…

Even where the weeds keep growing, there is still beauty to be found. It is there regardless of that which is unwanted, a nuisance, a chore to be attended to, something unruly and overbearing that would hide such glory that exists.

There are times when everything seems to be going wrong and nothing going right. One way to get really down in the mouth is to focus on the negative, to see the glass as half empty rather than half full - or even completely empty (ignoring the tap where one can fill the glass again).

As a small child onwards I was told to count my blessings, and as far back as I can remember, I found myself poised on the edge of a hard choice. If I had to rummage around and come up with blessings - that is, really come up with them and not complain that there are not any to count - then I was forced to forgo the gloomy satisfaction of a good wallow in the injustices of this world. A good wallow would have me continue to believe in my misery, hang on to it, even magnify it. Looking for the good, the positives, the things for which I could be grateful, and how much more fortunate I was than others (and there were always others far worse off than I ever was) had me loose hold of that which pained me. A tough exercise at times, but a very healthy one.

Did you notice the words among the leaves with the roses two posts back? They were: “You can complain because roses have thorns, or you can rejoice because thorns have roses.” In this imperfect world there will always be things that go wrong, that do not happen according to one’s liking, but we still have choices regarding our reactions to those things. You make the choice yourself. Nobody else makes it for you. You can choose to wallow in misery, or you can choose to throw the switch completely and go the other way. If you are not used to doing that, it may take a little help from a friend and then a bit of practice, but it is certainly possible. Feeling states are preceded by thoughts which are often embedded in attitudes. Deal with the attitudes, change the thoughts, and soon one’s outlook changes in that new direction. Is that hard? Yes, sometimes it is. But it is not impossible.

It was a long time ago now, but one day I came to be sitting in a hospital waiting room with the weight of the whole world on my shoulders, being far from well. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a young women going through the process of being discharged from hospital. All was going well for her. Then she stopped and looked towards where I was sitting. I did not know her, but she came over to me and did something most unexpected. I must have looked as ill as I was because she spoke very gently and said “I was very ill when I was admitted and now I am well. I pray the same will be for you too.” And she kissed me on the top of my head. Yes, I was very ill, but that kiss became the seed of hope that I dearly needed that day. It was a surprising thing that happened but it meant so much to me right then. It told me to hang on to hope, to hold out for the best, the good, the positives and to believe that such things can and do happen.

Now I know that these things are there all the time for us - if only we will look for them, open our eyes to see them, believe in the Source of them, truly appreciate and enjoy them, be grateful for them, and in our gratitude thank God for His provision of them. It can be the hardest thing to do sometimes, but seeking out that which is good and thanking God even in the midst of one’s pain is the way towards overcoming those things that are imperfect in this world. Our God is the provider and unlike the shifting shadows, He does not change; they continue to be there for us - all of the time.

One of my hobbies is working with images in Adobe Photoshop, especially repairing and restoring old photographs, but also creating something special from those which I take with my Olympus C-5060 wide zoom digital camera. Here I have combined several interests together ~ growing flowers in my garden, digital photography, image manipulation, Biblical Christianity, and Judah’s Journal. The result is presented here: one of my favourite verses combined with a beautiful rose from my garden.

There is much that is ugly and unpleasant in this life. It is there first thing every morning when I pick up the newspaper tossed on the driveway, a quick glance at the headlines confirming that I am still on this planet. It doesn’t stop at the front page, unfortunately, as after the entire first section explores the criminal element and their activities, or some other unpleasant thing, the next section moves on to international news - soldiers with guns, threats, deaths, wars, and more. Well, that is reality; that is what our world is like.

I am glad that I stopped outside and spoke to the two Tuis chattering away in the big tree by the front door. Mr and Mrs Tui (one presumes they are heterosexual mates although anything is possible these days, it seems) are often breakfasting there in the mornings at newspaper time, two of our handsome “King of the Forest” natives gaining more confidence to take up residence in the more leafy suburbs. They are some of the nicer things in this world, along with my garden and the advice of this verse which knows the real benefit of spending time with such things.

There is a saying: “you are what you eat”. I also think it is true that you are what you feed yourself in the way of experiences - what you read, look at, think about, and do. The poet describes this well in his poem where he writes:

There was a child went forth every day,
And the first object he looked upon,
that object he became,
And that object became part of him
for the day or a certain part of the day,
Or for many years or stretching cycle of years.

Walt Whitman ~ “There Was a Child Went Forth”

Psychologists warn us how youngsters may become more aggressive from spending long hours playing certain X-box games or watching a lot of movies of a certain kind. I think that watching TV News these days may also contribute to that effect - or perhaps precipitate depression! Those who seek out internet pornography find it becomes addictive, inflaming the passions and enticing them to look for more of it more often. Then these things begin to drive one’s life, influencing, steering, directing, etc. Most of us know for ourselves that we have different kinds of reactions to what we read, watch and use to entertain ourselves, or whose company we keep. We can excite ourselves or calm ourselves, scare ourselves or enlighten ourselves, and over time will grow ourselves depending upon what it is, in this way, we feed ourselves. How far more worthy it is to feed on what is best in this world, not that which is unsanitary and seamy.

Matthew 5:

6 Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness,
for they will be filled.

8 Blessed are the pure in heart,
for they will see God.

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The lovely picture below is again the Southern Alps of New Zealand, taken from across the foreshore of the east coast South Island fishing village of Kaikoura.

Every so often I go through phases of thinking “what on earth am I doing this for?” and feel like walking away from my website, full of doubts about it’s usefulness to anyone. This is not a crisis of personal faith (doubting the truth claims of Christianity) since that remains strong throughout such times, but more about the worthiness of myself to have anything to say to anyone else, and how much it matters… that kind of thing. So I don’t post for a little while, going off to play at other things, and before I know it my Inbox is receiving emails from all over the place - people who don’t necessarily make comments on-line but who want to tell me what my site has meant to them, or to ask a faith-type question, or to give encouragement and blessings. How can I walk away from that? And so it seems I get turned right around and told to get back to the job.

Up until such time that a Christian friend pointed me to the writings of some great Christian apologists I had no idea that our Faith was so substantial. And that’s just it… our Christian Faith does not substitute for something real, rational, intelligent. True Faith actually is all of those things - real, rational, intelligent - and often more so than worldly knowledge, since it goes well beyond this present earthly existence of ours and addresses the eternal reality. Truth is that which corresponds to reality, and the truth of the Christian Faith corresponds to eternal reality embedded in our Creator Father God. Believe on that and you are leaning on a rock and cannot fall over. Believe on man-made cultural constructs and a crisis can knock you flat.

I have heard the Bible disregarded as a collection of old books written by man and for use as a guideline only. That description saddens me as I know the Bible to be far more than that. There is objective truth about God in Scripture. It is revealed truth. It is proving very difficult to discover God by scientific means, unless you realize that science reveals knowledge of Him through the vehicle of His creation. But when it comes to the Bible, if you let it do so, you will notice that what you read can “ring true” spiritually - not all of it all the time since it is a journey of discovery rather than a time machine to some immediate destination. A healthy scepticism is useful as it stops one from being gullible, but to toss the whole thing out as “just some old guidelines” is to throw away the greatest written account that we have of God and the Christian Faith. Just because something is not immediately understood does not mean that it can never be understood, is not understandable, or is nonsense, or false - nor even self contradictory. More often than not it means one’s own knowledge is lacking instead.

The content of Judah’s Journal is copyright. If you are NOT reading this on Judah’s Journal, then it has been copied from there and is re-published illegally - in other words, stolen. Those who would do that are common thieves and lack moral integrity. Judah’s Journal

Christian Apologetics may be defined simply as the defence of the Christian Faith. In fact, it is more than just a defence. Different apologists have emphasized different functions of apologetics, but generally these include the presentation of a rational basis for faith, the answering of objections of unbelief, the challenge and refutation of non-Christian beliefs, and the persuasion that goes beyond intellectual assent such that the other tests the credibility of Christian truth claims for himself. One of the first Christian apologists was the Apostle Paul, and another was Luke, writer of his Gospel and also the Acts of the Apostles, and another John. Paul words his message to appeal to the ears of his listeners, to speak in terms by which they will best understand, although in doing so he does not dilute or distort the message itself. Paul comments on this himself where he says…

1 Corinthians 9:19 Though I am free and belong to no man, I make myself a slave to everyone, to win as many as possible.
20 To the Jews I became like a Jew, to win the Jews. To those under the law I became like one under the law (though I myself am not under the law), so as to win those under the law.
21 To those not having the law I became like one not having the law (though I am not free from God’s law but am under Christ’s law), so as to win those not having the law.
22 To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all men so that by all possible means I might save some.
23 I do all this for the sake of the gospel, that I may share in its blessings.

And of course Peter gives the classic biblical statement for the Christian mandate to engage in apologetics with his words that I have written on the image at the top of this post. We are always to be prepared to give an answer.

Since the writings of the Christian apologists persuaded my own belief and strengthened my own faith considerably, I have used my website to build a resource where others may also find the answers they seek, encouragement, and support in their own Christian witness. I take no credit for the work of others, but simply offer a list of links to a number of excellent sites where this apologia is found. Look on the left-hand side bar of this page to find the heading “Christian Apologia and Theology” and a list of no less than 18 sites loaded with gold. You most certainly wont be short of some fascinating reading that should bless you greatly on your journey in faith.

It isn’t all that big just yet. At least, not nearly as big as it will get in time. But already towering above the roof of the house, our very own “NZ Christmas Tree” is quite a pretty sight just now. Although we are currently having “the summer that didn’t happen” and the coldest one on record, these Pohutukawa trees have been flowering prolifically and for quite some time almost everywhere. Some have already dropped their red stamens, creating a dense scarlet carpet all around them. Before that the ground was a bright golden yellow from the fallen Kowhai blossoms. Now when it rains, little streams of red run along the gutters and into the drains. I wonder what colour carpet we will have next. My roses are a mass of blossom so maybe pink and white will be Mother Nature’s next redecorating decision.

I just happened to be reading from a little book of “scriptural reflections of promise and hope” written by James R. Welter who happened to point out how the image of a garden symbolizes an intimate relationship with God. This is what he has to say:

The story of our relationship with God begins and ends in a garden! It begins in the book of Genesis with the story of creation. We are given a beautiful image of God, who “comes down” and walks in the garden with Adam. It reveals to us the intimate relationship God has with his creation, and it is a precursor to God “coming down” in human form to be one with us.

So it isn’t surprising to see Jesus spend his last night talking with his Father in a garden. And it is fitting, too, that Mary Magdalene first encounters the Risen Lord in a garden.

So does that offer you a new perspective on being outside among the plants? I will have to ponder that as I go pull the weeds that have grown mightily this “summer that didn’t happen”.

Postscript:
There is a little war going on within the workings of Judah’s Journal just at present. If you are viewing with IE as your browser, you may find the conflict causes part of the image here to be obscured. Viewing in Mozilla Firefox instead will probably solve that for you. Hopefully my kind and clever friend, Visiblesoul, might have it fixed for me very soon.

Yes he has! Thankies DKC.

…and may 2007 be a good one for all of us!

For myself, almost anything has to be better than the previous two years. Sad but true. They have been tough, and rough. I guess the best thing to do with them now is save all the good from them - lessons learned, wisdom increased, the fact that the sun still shines, that life goes on, and that new opportunities of many kinds appear on awakening every morning. There is always hope… that this day will be better than the previous one, that this New Year will be better than the last. But there is far more than that to it all.

Every day is a gift. I wake up alive, I can see, I can hear, I can move. I have food to eat, a place to call home, family and friends who love me, and useful things to be doing. I am needed and wanted and even more than that, a book given me for Christmas by a good friend bears the author’s personalized inscription “J—, God loves you!” I believe him. Amazing but true.

What do you think is your purpose in being alive? I am sure your answer will be related to your world view. Is it to be happy and have enough things go well so you stay happy? Or has it nothing to do with that?

While wishing you all a Happy New Year, I also know that (from my Christian world view) one’s purpose in life does not centre around happiness. We are creatures of the Creator and our purpose is linked to His Will for each one of us. The Presbyterians will say we are here “to glorify God and enjoy Him forever” and that makes sense to me. It is not about US - it is about HIM and who He is. Instead of seeking our own happiness, we are told to deny ourselves in faithful service to Him. But that is not as bad as it sounds as ultimate rewards are in store…

Matthew 16: 24 Then Jesus said to his disciples, “If anyone would come after me, he must deny himself and take up his cross and follow me. 25 For whoever wants to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for me will find it. 26 What good will it be for a man if he gains the whole world, yet forfeits his soul? Or what can a man give in exchange for his soul? 27 For the Son of Man is going to come in his Father’s glory with his angels, and then he will reward each person according to what he has done.”

And even although my last two years were tough and rough, one important lesson I learned was that personal happiness and self-seeking can be forfeited and when done so for Him, the reward is even better - His joy and His peace becomes ours instead.

Give yourself a treat and click on the link to read this short but delightful essay called Joy by Peter Kreeft.
Excerpt:

Joy is more than happiness, just as happiness is more than pleasure. Pleasure is in the body. Happiness is in the mind and feelings. Joy is deep in the heart, the spirit, the center of the self.

The way to pleasure is power and prudence. The way to happiness is moral goodness. The way to joy is sanctity, loving God with your whole heart and your neighbor as yourself.

Maybe it hasn’t been so bad after all.

Twenty or so years ago I included a chatty hand-written letter with a Christmas card that I sent an elderly in-law and received back a response: “Thank you for your form letter with all the news.” I was shocked - and stung. It was not a “form letter” and I had gone to far more trouble than I probably really had the time to spare. Her brief couple of sentences, the only personal comment made, were scribbled hastily on the bottom of a badly typed and photocopied page roughly folded and put in with her card. Thus began my love-hate relationship with the ubiquitous Christmas letter that pads out most of the Christmas cards we receive this time of year.

I should probably have never fallen for the new-fangled convention anyway. After all, I was brought up to know that a card may be sent instead of a letter, or a letter instead of a card. Sending both together defeats the purpose of either - just as does the repeated sentiment handwritten into the card along with the printed message already there. But these days it would seem churlish to be so correct and culturally determined conventions are constantly changing. One should probably try to keep up with the times when it is not an essential matter of those absolute truths.

There are some letters I really enjoy getting, but others that are far less than inspiring. A gem turned up one year in the account of a friend putting his car through an automated car wash, then at the last moment leaping out to close the boot lid properly. The experience was a nightmare as he emerged utterly drenched, whipped and stung by those swirling brushes and bruised in unmentionable places. There was certainly a lesson to be learned in that well told anecdote. However, it was counterbalanced by another letter detailing the woes of a relative’s succession of haemorrhoid surgeries. Great Christmas fare, and I wondered if the relative wanted that broadcasted quite so widely! But in the bragging exaggerated brilliance of over-achieving kids and grandkids, the exotic overseas adventures told as blasé everyday occurrences, the mundane told as newsworthy, the saccharin seasonal sentiments expressed over and over, I do long to hear something honest, something meant just for me.

Each year the question comes up - will I or won’t I? I am niggled, just as I am when writing here, by the self-centredness of presuming that others may want to read what I write. What are these words to you? Am I not conceited to think that much of what I have to say, that which isn’t already written elsewhere - and that which is already superfluous - really has enough importance to publish? So the same goes for the annual news dump in the form of any Christmas letter that I might consider writing. But perhaps that is too much of a self put-down. Some folks are genuinely interested, and to them I feel that I owe more than just a form letter of sorts. So there is my answer… if you are really genuinely interested, then you do deserve more than just the mass produced, impersonal and non-interactive news dump of the day. But if I don’t feature in your life at any time other than Christmas, then how can I be sure you are genuinely interested in me anyway? A form letter won’t indicate that.

Keeping up with the times, perhaps very soon all these cards and letters will be obsolete in the interests of saving trees and fossil fuels as we all links blogs and hurtle our electronic messages around the globe. Just as quills gave way to fountain pens then biros then keyboards (with slates and lead pencils in there somewhere as well) it will be only the very old-fashioned left to lick stamps and envelope flaps. Maybe they will write letters, real personal letters, or send just the well-chosen card.

Yes, that is I. No, I am definitely not up there with the greats! I was a high school student when that photo was taken - coloured sepia by me to age it suitably! The violin was handed down to me from my father and he was given it by an Australian passenger on board ship en route from Southampton (England) to Melbourne in the early 1960s. The Australian owner had taken it to Europe to have it valued, the maker’s name being Giovanni Paolo Maggini (1580 - 1630), but was told it was not an original - instead, just an excellant copy. He was so disillusioned that he wanted to give it away to someone who could play one. My father happened to be in the right place at the right time.

My musical dabblings began as a small child when I went to the piano and picked out the tune my mother was singing as she was doing her housework. It happened to be “The Happy Wanderer“. I found the right notes with my right hand, then as I experimented, found some pleasant sounding other notes that went with them with my left hand. I put them together and my father was delighted. He also played the piano “by ear” and we entered on a journey together where we often played duo - two pianos, one each - all the old favourites that my Dad loved. We played together for hours on end, often forgetting the time. The fun was to challenge each other by changing key, slowly working our way up the octave, one semitone at a time, one leading and the other quickly following, both with different styles but the one same shared love. Before long I was packed off to music lessons and discovered how to read a manuscript. The violin came a few years later, after my mother suggested that my father take me, instead of her reluctant self, to an NZSO concert with the visiting virtuoso violinist Alfredo Campoli (1906 - 1991). I must have been about 10 years old, and I was rapt.

A number of years later Signor Campoli, on another concert tour to NZ, decided he would like to play a little competitive Bridge one evening. It was on this occasion that my mother, herself a very good Bridge player, happened to meet him when they played at the same table. She told him about the young girl whose love of classical music, especially the great concerti of the Romantic Period, was awakened by one of his earlier visits. I have always been quite chuffed that through my mother he sent me his personal best wishes.

These days I am a listener, a staunch attender of the NZSO concerts, rather than a player. Besides the Maggini copy, I have my father’s piano and still amuse myself on that a little, but it is being transported to Elsewhere by the beauty and exhilaration of the sound of real talent that does far more for me now. Is there really an Elsewhere? My experience says that there is - a place where there is perfection, wonder, majesty, awe, beauty, and a savouring of all that resonates with the depths of our being. I hear it in this kind of music. I hear and see it again in Nature with the evening birdsong, the rainbow after the sudden downpour, the flowers in my garden glistening with dew, the majesty of my Southern Alps… and I touch it in prayer when I reach out to my Heavenly Father. This Elsewhere is His place where the wisdom of His righteousness has allowed no evil. We have a reflection of it in this life, a taste of that for which my soul yearns as He draws me ever closer to Him.

A relatively new cultural phenomenon has appeared over the last generation which is stressing out some parents of young people and presenting implications for the shaping of society. Where once we had the transition stage between childhood and adulthood known as adolescence, there is now a futher transition stage appearing - advanced adolescence - which some call adulescence. These are the 18+ year olds who are resisting the acceptance of adult responsibility and want to continue their unhindered play right through to closer to 30 years of age.

The January 2005 edition of TIME magazine featured an article entitled “Meet the Twixters” and introduced the new trend of youngsters who are reluctant to grow up.

These “kidults” still live with their parents and hop around from job-to-job and relationship-to-relationship. They lack direction, commitment, financial independence, and personal responsibility. They are boomerang kids, adult teenagers, and they are much more than a generational hiccup or a temporary fad.

In fact, according to sociologists, psychologists, and demographers they are a permanent trend. So much so that many countries have already named them: they are called “Kippers” in England, “Nesthockers” in Germany, “Mammones” in France, and “Freeters” in Japan. In many countries they comprise over 20 percent of their age group, and the numbers are rising rapidly. In Italy, for instance, over 50% of young people over age 20 still live with their parents.

In America the percentage of 26-year-olds living with their parents has doubled since 1970, from 11% to 20%. That means one in five American 26-year-olds lacks the financial independence, personal responsibility, or courage to leave the shelter of their parent's roof.

It would seem that this is a product of affluent high-technology societies where youngsters have become accustomed to a comfortable standard of living without ever having to work for it themselves, plus a liking for “toys” with which they want to play for as long as they can. The toys are often those which isolate them from the real world, providing a substitute virtual world where they have the illusion of control and authority - again, without earning what their parents’ generation regard as a privilege based on the merit of achievement. They include computers and internet surfing, Game boys, flat-screen TV, video movies, iPods. With parents providing daily needs, any income earned is regarded discretionary and can be spent on these toys plus expensive cars, frequent eating out, designer clothes and numerous vacations. The emphasis is on “having fun” which is perceived as diametrically opposite to the idea of accepting responsibility and doing for others. What self-absorbed Twixter would want to give one thought to a house mortgage, a lawn to mow, a marriage commitment and children for whom to provide?

As usual, the blame tends to be put upon parents for providing too much for their offspring. It is customary to blame parents, and sometimes they do have a big part in the play - but not always. It is often forgotten that, in the normal course of ongoing psycho-social development, the peer group increasingly wields incredible influence and as well as that, there are other “outside influences” such as the education system, and the bombardment of media pushing current age social philosophies that includes consumerism and self-coddling materialism. You cannot wrap your children in cottonwool and keep them from being part of their generation, from exposure to the world, or from having a will and a mind of their own. And while we are busy blaming parents, we are perpetuating a large part of the problem - the denial of an individual’s self-responsibility. Indeed, taking responsibility for oneself is not a terribly fashionable attitude at present. After all, there is a reason for everything and so many ways by which to be let off the hook - my upbringing, my genes, the government, what someone else did or said, I didn’t know, I couldn’t help it, people shouldn’t behave that way to me, I have “rights” which were denied me, I am owed… and so forth. Many people (and definitely not only young folks) think more about what others can do for them than what they can do for others - and what their “rights” are more than their responsibilities. Maturity comes only when folk turn this the other way around, when they stop putting upon others, blaming others, or holding others responsible. Maturity comes when folk take responsibility for themselves - which is not what Twixters are very keen to do.

As a parent of a would-be Twixter, I am looking for ways to counter the phenomenon in my own youngster, and it is far from easy. It is quite the understatement, that being a good parent is one of the hardest jobs in the world. There is a tightrope to walk, and instead of a safety net below there is just a sea of pointing fingers and blaming mouths.

I have found something quite heartening just recently - the blog of teenager brothers, Brett and Alex, who are uncommonly perceptive and insightful youngsters willing to tackle this phenomenon from their Christian world view, appealing to their own generation to consider the consequences and take ownership of them. They offer some excellent ideas for doing just that, and the first in their series of six blog posts on the subject can be found here: Kidults (Part 1): Adolescence Is Permanent. Scroll down their right-hand sidebar and you will find links to the whole six blog posts they have written on this subject, plus other articles on related issues. You will also find that I have linked to their blog, The Rebelution, on my own left-hand sidebar under the heading “Other Worthy Blogs”. These youngsters are very good news.

As Alex and Brett write:

The kidult [twixter] mentality that uses Mom and Dad to subsidize an extravagant lifestyle is blatantly unbiblical. It directly violates the Fifth Commandment: “Honor your father and your mother.” Sometimes we need to be reminded that this commandment doesn’t expire at age 18. Kidults aren’t using their time at home to prepare for marriage or to serve others; they’re using it to stall and to serve themselves.

Parents are often held to ransom by their young adult children who would use them in such a way. No parent wants to see their child “living rough” out in the street, and turning out into such a situation that child whom you have nurtured and loved is an extremely difficult thing to do. But this is exactly the Tough Love that some parents are called upon to dispense, and the “how to”, “whether to” and “when to” is fraught with practical as well as emotional difficulties. Meanwhile, parents may suffer the frustration and despair of having their own lives impacted upon by another whose presence puts “in your face” the modern day sub-culture that espouses values often foreign to their own. The parental task of successfully launching their youngsters is delayed, not achieved, and may bring about a sense of bewilderment and failure with home becoming an inter-generational war zone rather than a place of peace and comfort for which they had hoped. Not all parents mind, of course. In some households there is mutual benefit in this situation. Perhaps it depends on the level of self-absorption and the degree of reciprocity that can make it work without too much tension. But in the overall scheme of things this still constitutes a delay in individual growth and development, the stalling of the inevitable, and a resultant reshaping of the nature of society. I’m not convinced that it is a good thing at all, but more a weakening of our moral character which will most likely bring about unfavourable repercussions in it’s wake.