One of the best pro life arguments I have ever heard. This girl is only 12 years old.





This speech was part of a contest. Obviously this was an exceptional speech and she won. But was disqualified the following day “because of the topic and her position on abortion,” . An uproar ensued and a judge quit. I would say in disgrace. This speech was declared the winner. Interesting story, but more to the point. This girl makes a great argument.

I am wearing a little heart necklace today. Jaciara gave it to me. it is hard to write about Jaciara, because i haven’t understood what it is like to be her. Sometimes i try to imagine.

Jaciara grew up in Guadalajara, Pernambuco, Brasil. Paudalho is a poor rural city in the interior (redneck) of Brasil. Guadalajara is like the poor reject of Paudalho, sitting on the outskirts of town. There is just not much there.

When Jacicara was a girl, she looked between the bars of her window to the street outside. there, under the streetlight, a man held a Bible. He talked about knowing a Man who was God and is God. He talked about a God you could talk to personally, instead of paying homage to the clay statute of the city saint on the street around the corner. He talked about a Friend who came to give life, and give it more abundantly.

Jaciara began to attend these meetings. and these meetings grew into Bible studies in homes and then came the day when they rented a small house, and called it church. Jaciara was in charge of the children. all the lovely children.

While she had always worked to help her family get by, when she was 13 she began working full time during the day and then going to night school. But age 15, there were no more jobs in her little community, so she began taking the bus to Recife, the big city an hour away. Every morning the bus was full with tired people and every night those tired people returned–the bus so full that there were more people pressed into the aisles than had seats.

Jaciara didn’t get to come home during the week, only for the weekend, and her church. church was becoming central to who she was.

Her education suffered during this time. It was hard to work all day and then go to school in a rough and unfriendly place. When she was 18 her pastor asked if she wanted to study at Bible College. The idea seemed impossible. She had not finished high school, and she was needed to help support her family. She was a girl who picked up her responsibility–and would not put it down lightly. Some people from across the equator wanted to help her out, her pastor said. The seminary would be paid for. She would receive training to minister in all the ways she longed to. It would not be easy, he said, she would have to help out at the college, share a small room, and do a large amount of the cooking.

i met Jaciara a summer after she began Bible College, and she was loving it. i didn’t speak a bit of Portuguese, and she didn’t speak any English except the  “Father Abraham” song i had managed to teach at the first English camp. She was in my very first English class, where i mumbled and jumbled my way through a pile of notes and no experience. and she loved me through it.

i sat in her room one day and she presented me with a heart shaped necklace. the one i am wearing today.

Jaciara was not able to finish college, but she did meet her future husband there. she had to stop and go back to work in Recife for her family and to prepare for the future. i didn’t see her for a long while. She and Arthur slowly saved up money to have a small wedding and an even smaller house. He is the new co-pastor of their church. i got a message from her last year–would i come over and see her wedding pictures?

i had missed the wedding due to miscommunication. I jumped at the chance to see her now. i took the bus to Guadalajara and her proud husband met me at the bus stop and took me to their house–through mud streets and back allies and down a set of steps cut out of the hard packed dirt.

Jaciara lives on the side of a hill with a view worth a million: rolling hills and sugarcane waving in the sunshine and wind (for Brasil is always sunshine and wind). i pushed the rough wood door into her small cement house. we passed single file through her kitchen and living/dining room that was occupied by a stove, refrigerator, and a table with four chairs. And one wedding picture on the wall.

On the left side opened up three doors–their bedroom, bathroom, and spare room (which i was told was for me at any time). Each room was so small the the sparse furniture filled it up. Jaciara was so proud of her house. HER house.

we had our “lanche” and then washed the dishes outside (the sink was outside) while the wind blew our hair and we talked about all that had happened since we had last been together…the popular question of when i was going to marry and how i needed a Brasilian…and her gettting married, of course.

Two ladies from church came down the dirt stairs and we sat around the table and looked at her wedding pictures. Jaciara’s face was stoic in every one but two. those two of her smiling were my favorite. she had been so nervous it was hard to let a smile out. They’d had a two day honeymoon and then she’d gone back to work and he’d gone back to pastoring.

She says it is a little better now. She can come home once during the week. She works Monday morning until Wednesday night, comes home for the night and half a day, then works Thursday afternoon until Friday night. i imagine it must be hard to be a newlywed when you are only home four nights a week–maximum. She says she comes home to clean the house since Arthur isn’t such a good cleaner. But i don’t think it bothers her to clean up. She loves that little house that could fit inside my living room.

She still does the children’s programs at church, with all her “free” time. Arthur likes to have her along when he does marriage counseling. i look at her with amazement. i can’t understand this life. it is not fair that she should have to work so hard. i turn my face into the wind and let the tears blow off.

it is beautiful. it is hard and sad and happy and longing…it is Saudades–the Brasilian word for an emotion that completes all of these things–and all of them mixed together.

*

so today i am wearing my little heart necklace. and a lady purchasing $225 of clothes tells me it is pretty. and i say thank you.

it is hard to write about Brasil in a room of overpriced clothes. with people who swipe their plastic card and use more money than Jaciara has ever had in her whole life.

when i write about Brasil, it is hard to look up and see i am still here. so very far away from my memories. i start writing and Carsons and the mall and the busy lights limp into the distance. all that is before me is the ink that leaves my pen.

i read “The Shack” because…everyone was reading it. even in Brasil. i liked it. i am sure someone could come and tell me how it is theologically whacked out. but i liked it.

“You can kiss your famly and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world but a world lives in you.” Frederick Buechner

and for Carina:

“Earth’s crammed with heaven, and every common bush afire with God, but only he who sees takes off his shoes; the rest sit round it and pluck blackberries.” E.B.Browning

BLACKBERRIES seem to be coming into my vocabulary a lot.

*

John: Name a continent.

Peter: New York City

John: New York is a city, not a continent.

*

grin. and other such conversations. i took John and his lil’ buddies out to the movies. we saw the “Tale of Desperoux” it is pronounced “Despero” but there is an x or something in it…it is one of the best cartoons i have seen in a while. very perfect for dreamers.

*

we did the collage project for my Wednesday class. a rather infintile idea, but surprisingly effective. i feel like i actually know the other students in the classroom. for once. I went to an interview at IUPUI. I need 30 upper level credits…mostly anything i want…and i get a bachelor’s degree in General Studies. But only if i start this fall or next spring. after that they won’t accept more than 64 transfer credits. now i need to see about scholarships.

i guess i will through in my two cents. as written on reciepts.

my ethics teacher said that Valentine’s day is the day guys hate the most. because no matter what, they lose–they either don’t get the right gift (or any gift), or they do get the right gift and lose the money.

so i figured i would tell every man exactly what to get his girl and make this a whole lot simpler.

4 types of guys:

1. those with girls who feel loved by them

2. those with girls who don’t feel loved by them

3. those who are not sure if they have a girl or not (ambiguous relationships….haven’t had “the talk” yet)

4. those who do not have a girl

*

4 types of presents:

1. For the guy with a girl that feels loved by them, great. that would be the point of valentine’s day to a woman (well, hopefully). Us girls want to feel loved. if you already do a good job of this 364 days a year (or something close to that), then really, we will probably be happy with anything. Besides, you should have no problems thinking of an interesting gift (besides flowers and chocolates…unless she really does want traditional) since you already are in the habit of loving us. A gift would be something significant to the relationship–probably something small–that just says “hey, this was another opportunity to say what you already know.” Something that celebrates what you already have–a loving relationship.

2.For the guy with a girl that does not feel loved by them, that is your problem, not Valentine’s day. Valentine’s day just makes it obvious. You SHOULD be sweating for a good present. but you shouldn’t be looking for a present, you should be looking for an apology. or/and a plan. because if a girl does not feel loved in a relationship, she really doesn’t HAVE a relationship. Valentine’s day shouldn’t be a jump to show her you care–it should be another step in the path you are already traveling. So i would take her to dinner, and talk about what changes need to be made in your relationship so that she DOES feel loved. and then start doing it. the other days of the year.

3. For those who are not sure if they have a girl or not, you would fall into the flowers and chocolate group. go for the traditional. at worst, you can blame it on tradition. at best, maybe you can figure out where your relationship really is. Most of the time, no matter what happens, the girl will be happy because girls like to be noticed. it is just nice.

4. The single guy. keep busy February 14. it will come and it will go. have your 5 minutes of loneliness and then move on, because a holiday is not a good enough reason to start something with someone. This too shall pass.

So maybe all the pressure is on you to “perform” well. sorry about that. girls don’t have it much better. we just get nervous that you won’t think we are worth it to take the time to evaluate things and try to show us that we are beautiful.

there. all that advice for those in relationships spoken by one who isn’t. so i am going to follow my own advice to singles…work all day and then babysit at night so their parents can enjoy what they have. and my five minutes of loneliness will come and go and then comes Sunday.

so guys, please do make an effort. it is just nice.

and girls, don’t buy into commercialism and sell yourself short. you are not the sum of your Valentine’s day gifts.

If i get the best education, 4.0 GPA, and have not love, i am worthless. If i run into a lot of money, or speak and have it donated, or work hard and give it–but have not love, i am nothing.

if all the Brasilian children are fed and clothed and given a good education and make professions of faith, but i have not love, i gain nothing.

if i write something that moves people to change, inspires them to grow and benefits those without a voice of their own, but have not love, i am just an irritation that will soon go away.

Love keeps on. it is patient and waits. it is nice and just WANTS to be nice.Love does not want something you have and it doesn’t. it doesn’t think it should have been the one to have gotten it. it is not jealous, or reading into situations. It is not full of itself, too busy to listen to others.

Love does not fish for compliments or put itself out there to be praised. it is not over-confident, thinking that it does not need help and has all the answers on its own. It does not forget what others have done to help it get to where it is at today. it is not proud or too busy to be kind and mannerly. It never tries to show-off. Love is meek, not insisting on its own way, but thinking of others. It does not get angry easily, it does not worry about things or try to control situations or people. It is not bitter, but forgives, and forgives completely, not keeping a list and bringing it back up the next time something happens.

Love doesn’t make diry jokes, or gains from something that hurts someone else. Love always stands up for the one who cannot stand up for themselves. it stands up for what is right, and is happy when the right thing happens, even if it is hard on them.

Love is in it for the long haul, not just the good times. it has made a commitment. it does not listen to gossip, and makes sure that the truth is found out. Love always hopes and will never stop hoping because it wants the best for them, no matter what personal sacrifice that requires. Love never dies.

Love keeps on keeping on, no matter what you do to try to stop it. knowledge, college, learning, philosophy–even wisdom –will be used and then become useless.

Our little brains just can’t get it all. it was never meant to be squished into that small of a space. so get over yourself, because you just aren’t going to know it all. ever.

but don’t worry, because when Jesus comes, it won’t matter anyways. because it was never about you or me.

i liked being a child. i wish i could still be one sometimes. sometimes i still think i am. but no, i am stuck in 26. at least to everyone around me. and i am finding out that it isn’t so bad. becoming an adult and taking responsibility for yourself is important. and then learning how to put yourself aside and serve others–that is even more important.

i am trying hard, but i can only understand so little of what there is to know. And even what i understand is a struggle and it seems i am always having to relearn it. but when Jesus comes, i will be able to look at reality in the face and laugh and kiss it. I will have that big sigh of relief and peace when everything is reconciled. but even better, i will finally understand that i am known, and loved in spite, and because, of who i am.

And so i believe God is who He says He is, and i live in expectation that all He says will happen will happen, and i love because He first loved me. but the most important part of this is…i love.

If I speak with the tongue of a national, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or clanging cymbal.

If I wear the national dress and understand the culture and all forms of etiquette, and if I copy all the mannerisms so that I could pass for a national, but have not love, I am nothing.

If I give all I possess to the poor, and if I spend my energy without reserve, but have not love, I am nothing.

Love endures long hours of language study, and is kind to those who mock his accent, love does not envy those who stayed at home, love does not exalt his home culture, is not proud of national superiority.

Love does not boast about the way we do it back home, does not seek his own ways, is not easily provoked into telling about the beauty of his home country, does not think evil of this culture.

Love bears all criticism about his home culture, believes all good things about this new culture, confidently anticipates being at home in this place, endures all inconveniences.

Love never fails, but where there is cultural anthropology, it will fail, where there is linguistics, it will change.  For we know only part of the culture and we minister to only part of the culture.  But when Christ is reproduced in this culture, then our inadequacies will be insignificant.

When I was in America I spoke as a American I understood as a American I thought as a American, but when I left America, I put away American things.

Now we adapt to this culture awkwardly, but He will live in it intimately, now I speak with a strange accent, but He will speak to the heart.

And now these three remain; cultural adaptation, language study and love, but the greatest of these is love.

http://johnlambert.wordpress.com/2008/06/02/a-missionary-guide-to-culture/ –here is the link…i think they got it from somewhere else too. who knows where the original is? but i don’t think that is the point, anyways.

what happened? it attacked me out of nowhere.

it came, and then it left.

i woke up happy

why did i wake up happy?

the morning was full of prospect

i went to classes, they were fine.

then it happened

i wasn’t okay.

i walked out of class cold

it is 14 degrees out and piles of snow

and to tell the truth i have gotten used to it. i can’t use Brasil as an excuse anymore.

really.

but not now

inside me was cold

and it made my hands unbearably stiff

and my nose incredibly tingly

thoughts swirled around the top of my forehead

i could see them form and blow out

“you don’t belong here”

“this isn’t you”

“what is this? this life isn’t yours–this place isn’t yours”

i was dizzy and i grabbed the banister

because it happened

here isn’t me–but neither is Brasil

i can’t claim either

i reached for one–trying to keep ahold of the other

but i couldn’t reach and i lost hold of both.

“i can’t do this”

and the mall began to crush me clastraphobically.

the glass walkway felt refreshing. two birds flew past me.

“maybe i could find my place. maybe i could make this mine.”

but i turned around in pain

because i don’t want to MAKE it happen. i am sick of MAKING things happen.

and then i turned around and went to work.

how do you explain the cold to someone who has never felt it?

should i tell you how when you breathe in you can feel every hair shiver in your nose and the air rushes to the back of your throat and sticks there like an ice cube so you can’t swallow? Should i explain that then it slowly drips down into your lungs and makes your heart beat out your ears? Your arms and legs feel like brittle sticks that will crack if you bend them and your fingers and toes feel bloated or don’t feel at all. The wind slaps your back if you are lucky, whips your face is you are not. And it all feels so harsh and violent, like mother nature has taken personal offence again you.

maybe i would start like that. now i just need to translated it into Portuguese.

But the snow is better. when it falls, the bigger the better. when there is no wind you are sure the stars are falling, and when there is sunlight you realize they are really diamonds. i love them when they hit my windshield and i see their six points before they disolve like a tiny smile someone gives you before they turn their head. if you are lucky you can catch the world before the snow plows and determind laborers leave for work. it is a baby blanket spread out over the floor, waiting for you to sink your feet into its fleece. all the tree branches have their sleves on their arms and all the houses have their white caps on. When the snow does begin to turn gray, piles are pushed aside everywhere, transforming flat Indiana into a cave or fort in every corner. i find myself looking to see if some head will pop out of one and say “see? i’ve remembered how–how to stop and see the snow and do something about it like when we were kids. i’m not too caught up in life to miss this beauty.” i haven’t found anyone like that yet.