Christian marketing

I've heard some discussions in my book world, in my video production world and speculated that the same is true in music the music world. All of these in regard to Christian products.

I know that when a book or video distributor/printer becomes successful they have guidelines. This can be good in that it guides them to choose projects that are a good fit for their company, but I'm beginning to suspect that some of the parameters and rules placed on art by the big companies, publishers, distributors (THEM for lack of a better term) have turned it into a repetitious formula. The danger with this is that new artists or styles don't find a commercial voice even if they have minor success on local levels.

It's like THEY by finding a formula of movies, books, or dare I say it music, dictate what can and cannot be popular. Now this is true in both secular and Christian circles but I've been thinking about it in regard to the Christian market place.

I heard a lecture about the so-called rules for a Christian movie that places like Sony are putting on things they will distribute. It's not moral convictions. It's just that x + y has equaled marketing success. SO, no sex, no bad words, no, no whatever the rules fill in the blank. Christian books have similar limits. I once heard an acquiring editor for a Christian press say they did not accept any book with a divorced protagonist or significant other. So how believable and realistic are these pieces? Bad guys who aren't too bad (no swearing). Good guys who are, well, too perfect (no sins). Do you ever see something that doesn't quite ring true but it was pretty good, just not quite? Maybe it didn't have believable characters. Maybe it followed the formula for financial, marketing success but not necessarily the most satisfying story it could be. Maybe a tiny bit of reality was squeezed out of it so it would fit better in the Christian system.

I had been thinking these things in my head driving around and I was listening to the radio. I'm a station flipper when left alone. I flip til I like a song then flip again. I kept trying the Christian station and flipping away. It was all that sort of country sounding alternative songs and all sounding the same (and not to my taste). It occurred to me that the Christian radio mavens and masters have done the same thing that the Christian book and movie guardians had. Only one style is getting through because it fits the formula. I'm absolutely positive there are Christians out there with other musical sounds and granted I'm a flipper so there is much I miss, but still.

Not to say the secular world doesn't do the same thing, but it's disappointing as someone who wants to move in those circles to think I have to fit some odd uncomfortable formula to be considered "legitimate." Sorry to say I'm probably not gonna fit.

Two for the road

Well, many of you have been hanging with me during this odd disconnected journey of blogging in 2010. The update is that I'm behind. Shocking that, I'm sure.

Actually it's not for lack of ideas or things I want to write, it's about internet access and travel. If my math, is right, I can still make it. I'll have to do 2 posts a week rather than one. The trick will be access and probably a bit of perseverance.  I think now I have 3 or 4 ideas that are either started or waiting their turn plus a short story I'd still like to share with you.

I've enjoyed the interaction and feedback on the many random subjects. Writing can be so solitary, it's been fun to have more connections and you are all so kind and interesting in your comments. That keeps me going too. Hang in there as I have to put in 2 a week because of the road time this year. Anyone taking bets on whether I'll make it?

Any topic requests for the mad dash to the end of the year?

My Stuff

I'm staying in a single bedroom, a big one, but a single room with a bathroom attached. It has been five weeks more or less. This amount of time brings out one of my challenges. Stuff.

I don't mean to, but my stuff builds up. Now, I'm never going to be on Hoarders but I tend to feel like I need to hang on to pieces of paper in case I need them. You know, stray phone numbers, names of people we met, receipts, lists of what I need to get done. Then there's things that might be useful to me or might be able to be used again. (shopping bags, anyone?) These and other things have built up on all the flat surfaces in my room.

A desk-pseudo-cubical in one corner is having to work as the kitchen/hotpot breakfast area. I'm trying to stay mostly with food/plates in this area but it is next to the mirror so occasionally make up products migrate there. There's not enough light in the bathroom for these activities nor a plug in for the hair dryer.

On the other side of the mirror is the table with the microwave. This has caught the make up bag, hair goo products, etc. but you still need to get the microwave open and not knock all the receipts off. It's a little tricky.

The side tables by the bed have papers, books, work "stuff", pens, etc. Sadly no flat surface remains untouched.

I try to keep my "stuff" in check and I'm better than I used to be. In danger of sounding like an advertisement, I'll say something that has helped me is evernote.com. You can keep lists, webpages, and other stuff there for free. This helped me get rid of many random bits of paper I felt like I might need while we were in the USA. In Spain, I  put the info on my evernote pages and I have it without carrying it. Very good for a paper pack rat! (free too).

Another problem I've had with stuff, is the word itself. It's such an all purpose word that I discovered after writing my first (unpublished) novel that I use the word entirely too much. I think I've weeded it out of my writing mostly -- this post excepted.

And now in the next few days, I have to get all that stuff back in two suitcases. Oh boy.

Together or Apart?

So I'm spending some time on my own in New England. Things happen all the time that I think, oh I should tell someone...funny things, odd things, strange events.

I started thinking are things better experienced together or apart? With the risk of sounding a bit like a sesame street episode: together or apart? Together - sometimes you are busy with your own conversation or your own stuff and you don't notice things. But...together sometimes you can see something and just give each other a look and know that weird guy in aisle 5 caught both your eyes. Is it funnier together or apart? Because sometimes things get funnier in the retelling. I don't retell something when I saw it with someone but I might retell it to a third party thus expanding the funny factor. So together or separate?

I've noticed sometimes I get an artistic eye when things quiet down or I look around more in general when I don't have anyone to talk to (guilty of being of talker). I went on a walking tour this week without a companion on the tour with me and I found myself trying to be creative with the camera (didn't turn out but I tried).

I know my significant other has said he saw a lot of sites in Europe by himself in the Army and it was less satisfying because there wasn't anyone to share it with, so I suppose it depends on where and when.

I know I found myself laughing this week a few times even though I was by myself - so things are still funny even though I'm by myself. Maybe that makes them funnier because then I'm the crazy lady by myself laughing out loud. So I can see good on both sides: the together side and the apart one. Maybe the trick for everyone is not too much of either one.

What's a missionary?

When I was a kid, in the (ahem) 70s, it was getting to the end of a legalistic battle of generations. The culture of rules defining the evidence of your faith was struggling. Even though my family wasn't big on the rule scene, it permeated the landscape and my grandparents were definitely in the old school camp.

So slacks or jeans at church were bad for women. Missing church was bad. The judge was still out on pierced ears.  Movie theaters could keep you from the rapture (not in my family but in my friend's). Rock music was blasted by many as of the devil though some would tolerate "Christian" rock. Drinking and smoking were straight tracks to...well you get the idea.

So somewhere in all of that without really meaning for it to happen a subliminal idea of "holiness" lodged in my mind. So as a (ahem) 30 something person God started dealing with to become a missionary, I felt at a distinct disadvantage. I am not all these "holiness" things that my mind would tell me I must be to fit the "missionary" mold.

I mean "real" missionaries would never watch movies or listen to *gulp* rock music. Right? Or prefer jeans over skirts and high heels? Or like reading secular novels?

It seems the deeper I go with God, the more I realize that by some remarkable miracle God uses damaged people. Even more amazing, He redeems us bit by bit from our brokenness and occasionally we do something good for his kingdom with a vast amount of His mercy and help. But that's the point, He did the miracle and we are evidence of His love.

Flash FIction - a story in 250 words or less

author's note: I wrote this for a contest a couple years ago. I did place in the contest - I believe I won a poster. : ) So is this post for Halloween or the Elections?


Undercover Protection by Denise Hartman Godwin

Jeff adjusted the hood of his sweatshirt, then raised his fist with the rest of the mob.

“No more heroes, no more war.”

He didn’t shout. He was concentrating.

The radio erupted in his ear, “Agent Clark? You have departed from the plan. You are not supposed to be in that crowd.”

The FBI received a tip at midnight on a terrorist suspect infiltrating the protest with a bomb.  The agents had worked their list of possibles all night.

Jeff was the only one who’d deviated to the protest. As they neared the plaza where the senator would speak, his mark broke off speaking to a police officer guarding the stage. The officer nodded. His mark ducked under the security tape.

Jeff started to jog. Had a member of the force just betrayed the community?

When Jeff came around on the opposite side from the traitorous officer, his mark crawled under the back of the platform. Jeff called for assistance and described the police officer in soft tones before approaching the cloth draping the stage. He saw his fellow agents gathering, two isolating the police officer. 

He peeked under and saw the guy crawling on all fours toward the front of the stage, a device in one hand. Jeff dove under, grabbed the suspect by the ankles and yanked him out from under the stage. He kicked the device away and cuffed the screaming terrorist with the help of another agent. Meanwhile the protestors shouted, “No more heroes…

When? American Culture shock

I've never been a morning person. That is my first confession. I have a good time if I get up and join along a party going somewhere early on a Saturday (a trip to the lake), but there is usually a soul searching moment before I agree wondering if I really want to or if it is worth it. In Spain, we meet at 8:30am for a trip to the mountains. Still feels early.

In Spain, things usually start later. Our church started at 11:30 (out at 2pm). The church we went to in language school only had evening church at 6pm. No one ever wants to meet for breakfast because they don't do that and there's no where to go eat breakfast. Events in general don't start exactly on time.

On the other hand, they think nothing of meeting at 9 or 10pm for dinner and then going out after that. I did go to hear my brother play in a band recently leaving the house at 9pm and that didn't cross my mind at all as unusual at all.

I was recently at an American event that started at 8:30am. Someone made the comment about starting on time and getting "up and running" in the morning and how satisfying those two things are.

I recognized that my own personality of late rising and the combo of being in Spain where things aren't started on time generally makes me less and less comfortable with strong punctuality and early meetings. It was a very North American moment. On the other hand, I'm a grown up and know when I'm home I need to get with the US system. It's just funny to find yourself outside your cultural norm.

Arrest Stop

author's note: this is my first attempt at Sci-Fi. Something I don't normally want to write, but this was for a contest that intrigued me. I didn't make the cut for the contest or magazine. 

By Denise Hartman Godwin

Three thousand habitable planets in the known universe, and I'm stuck on the only one without a public toilet. Guess they don’t get visitors much. It wasn’t bad enough being human and sticking out like a sore thumb, but I had to go. This would be a good time for one of those male style urination kits, but I didn’t have one.

I went into a café and ordered a faux coffee. While the barrista made my drink, I asked for the toilet. He pointed to a dark corner and I scurried back. The door was coin operated. You gotta give me a break. Who uses money anymore? This planet was driving me crazy.

I pretended to fiddle in my pockets knowing I didn’t have money. I heard water and hoped I could catch the door.  It swooshed open in the wall socket and a large gray skinned Svabodan stepped out. I bumped her but made it inside before the door swished closed. Two white stalls, one with boots from last century and an empty. Relief was in sight.

As I settled myself, the telltale swoosh of the door indicated another customer.  Mid-tinkle I heard a sound that chilled me.  It was the unmistakable hiss of a deadly and illegal cone pistol.

In spite of myself, the tinkle stream stopped. I saw a drip of blood in the next stall. The shifty feet of the killer moved my way. I forced the urine to flow again like I hadn’t noticed anything. Lord knows, I still had more in me.

The girl in the old school boots dripped blood on the white tile but made no sound. It must have been a clean shot.  My hand shook as I reached for the drying paper. Was I gonna meet my maker with my pants down? Sheesh. Not my day.

I peeked through a vandal’s carving in the wall and saw an orange forearm with a luz guild tattoo, and a cone pistol.

The door swooshed and I saw the feet back away, heard running water, smelled my own fear and then the door closed again.  I realized I was holding my breath and my forehead was clammy. I dried my face and listened with all my might.

Shifting feet. The quiet dragged on and a high voice obviously coming through a translator box said, “You girls are taking forever. I gotta go.”

I took a deep breath. Was this a newcomer or the killer? I stepped out and looked past the dyed-pink body of a Thraxian. She about shoved me over going into the stall. I figured she was another victim of the toiletless planet.

I’d landed my transporter because of a faulty silinoid stack. I’m handy at flying and I even did an EMT stint, but mechanics I don’t do. Two more planets and I’d have been able to make my delivery, but when your electrics go, you gotta do something fast. You don’t want to end up floating through space hoping for a barge to bump into you. Been there, done that, learned the lesson.

Another lesson I’d learned is don’t get involved. My mom was an illegal in the United Western Hemisphere on earth and she worried about getting caught. Never under any circumstances were we to notice anything or talk to off-planeters or report that we’d been robbed.

The EMT training countermanded that with the sense I should do something.

I peeked under the stall and saw the Verdian was past helping. Now the don’t-get-involved voice was back. I looked over at the blood pooling.

The thing was I seemed to be the only human on the block, an obvious out-of-towner, an easy scapegoat for those wanting to deny local crime. Plus I didn’t know if they did camera chips. If so, they’d know I was in this bathroom. If not, I could hide out, wait for the silinoid stack and be off with no one the wiser. I’d been accused of crimes before because of the camera chips. I’d better play it safe and tell the barrista.

I walked up grabbed my beverage and blurted it out before I got cold feet. “Someone in the ladies’ is bleeding on your floor. She didn’t say anything when I…..uh.” Stop talking. Don’t involve yourself.

The barrista looked blank and finally moved to take a look. I could make a run for it, but that would look more suspicious, especially if there were cameras.  He came back with the pink Thraxian frustrated and put out.  He muttered through his mustache as he punched the phone, “Like I want to spend my day with cops in here kicking the place down. Why’d she have to get it in my toilet?”

He spoke up to someone on the line, “I’m at the Crust and Ketchup Café in the white zone. Yeah, I got a human who found a dead Verdian in my toilet. Yeah, we’ll stay here.”

“It’s not my fault.” I told him when he got off the phone. “I just had to pee.”            “Everything was fine til you got here.” 

I could see all too fast how this day was going to go. “You got cameras in here? A Svabodan came out when I was going in. Then while I was in the stall someone came in and I could only see her shoes.  It was red platform pumps with built in levitators. They sell those on this planet?”

“What are you now, the cops?”

I pushed my brown human untreated hair away from my forehead in a heap. “No, I’m hoping I don’t have to stay here forever and you can give the cops the screens. I don’t want to get caught up with cops either.”

“Speak of the devil,” the barrista said picking up a rag. “Hola, Officer Jones.”

A familiar voice said, “Why Mr. Crust, it’s nice to make your acquaintance again.”

I stiffened. Surely on a planet all the way out here it couldn’t be. I only knew a few human Joneses and it was a big universe. I squinted at the shiny bottles of flavorings behind the café bar.

That familiar voice behind me said, “No way on the freaking planet. I’d recognize that tush anywhere.”

I turned to see a stunned Officer Jones sporting a local brown cop uniform taunt across his still broad shoulders and dark hair still a little too long. Indeed the one who had gone through EMT training with me. We’d dated and had a serious thing, but we were going different directions. I was afraid to get involved.

“What? Did they demote you that you are out on the edge of the galaxy?” I smirked and he gave my arm a squeeze.

“Tell me, Cat, you didn’t off a Verdian in the ladies’?”

“I didn’t off anyone. What do you think I am? Sheesh, I had to pee.”

“Park it here while I go inspect.” He took an all-purpose off his belt. She saw him switch it to camera mode and he started narrating the cop speak into it as he walked. A light beam popped on. Good quality stuff for the far reaches.

The pink Thraxian sipped the free Maximum Dew. The green glow of the drink was reflecting off her face. “Are we gonna be stuck here all day?” Her high-pitched translator grated hard on the ear.

“I hope not. Who went out when you came in?”

            The screechy translator box shrilled, “What are you, the cops?”

            Jones called out from the other room. “No talking between witnesses. That’s an order, Cat.”

            Sheesh. Just trying to move things on. I sipped my drink without talking. Jones came back. He stood a little closer than necessary and asked for screens.

            Crust shimmied his mustache and poked some buttons on a console. After a while he muttered, “The system’s down again. I can’t seem to raise anything.”

            Jones swore. I thought I could have bolted and been off this rock by now. Not my day.

            Pinky couldn’t seem to remember anyone coming out when she was going in. I wasn’t buying it, but it wasn’t mine to investigate. Jones sighed and took her information. I was grateful the squeaky translator box was leaving.

            “Here’s my impression of what went down.”

            “Hold it right there, fellow human.” His tone made me pull up. “Since you don’t have an address on this planet, I’d like to take your statement somewhere official.” The crime scene droids arrived and he gave orders. He directed me to his on-planet vehicle. Something was fishy out here at the end of the galaxy, so I just went along acting put out.

            Once he’d deposited me in the passenger seat and secured the vehicle with blinder screens he said, “The walls in this town have ears, I’m telling you,” he paused to look too deeply into my eyes and a stirring of long blown-off emotion bubbled into my memory. “I know you’re observant and you have something for me. I didn’t want it all over the planet before I could log it.”

            “What are you doing out here beyond forever? You get demoted?” I tried to tease and hide how good it was to see him. I thought I’d cut that out and thrown it away. I shoved the mop of my hair self-consciously away from my face. “I walked in as a gray Svabodan walked out. I took a stall and someone with red platform pumps with built in levitators came in with a cone pistol and offed the chick in the next stall. No noise, no threats. Whoever it was, was coming after me when Pinky walked in. They sell those kind of levitators around here?”

            Jones ran a hand across his eyes like it was too much. “Did you tell anyone this?”

            “Uh, I mentioned it to the barrista.”

            “Not good. Why’d you have to do that?”

            “I thought about cutting. I was worried about cameras and trying to cover my own…”

            “I’m sure. I’m out here under cover.  This sector has a serious Lunar mafia problem and it’s based on this planet. The levitators are their product, but they sell them too, so we can’t use that to pin them. Red, you say? I’ve never seen red ones. That might be something.  I’m working on evidence for a sting, but I’m not there yet. We think there are components operating in the planet police department.”

            “You are up a creek and I don’t see a boat.”

            “You could help me set up the sting. Say you actually saw the criminal and we put you in a hostel and stake it out. I have a few cops I can trust. Off-planeters who’ve migrated here.”

            I shook my head while he spoke.  “Nuh, uh, no way, no how, not in this century. I’m not being a piece of meat in your trap. I’ve got a delivery to make two planets away and when my transport is ready I’m out of here. I wouldn’t have left the garage, except I had to pee. Sheesh.”

            “Oh. That’s right.” His voice oozed sarcasm, “You won’t commit to anything. That’s why we aren’t together; you aren’t in an official industry, and why you can’t be a good citizen.”

            “Think what you want. I’m still me.”

“You know what, Cat? Sometime, somewhere you’re gonna have to get involved. Why not in rescuing a planet that’s being slowly strangled by mafia? Is a planet’s quality of life, maybe a whole sector’s, worth a little kindness?”

I put my hand on the handle, “If I were you, I’d look for someone with a luz guild tattoo on their orange forearm.”

            Jones grabbed my arm as I went to get out, “You saw that?” His eyes sparkled with the scent of a good lead. I nodded. “You mention THAT?” I shook my head. He growled to himself, “I only have 10 minutes left to file my report.”

            “Been good seeing you, Jonesy.” I popped the handle and set out down the street with a small sting of regret for having left him behind again. I sighed and trotted into the garage. My transporter was up on the rack, but pieces of it appeared to be strewn around the facility. Not a good sign for an immediate take off. One hour the droid assured me.

I flung myself into a seat and flipped screens of magazines in languages I didn’t know how to read, trying not to think of the days at EMT school when it looked like Jones and I could be a real item. He was right.  I always had to run in the end. My whole life was running. I pitched the worthless foreign language digital onto the table and walked to the window. The transporter pieces reassembled slowly. The droid was precise if not fast. I sighed and then tuned in to the outside view. Not good. In maybe 15 minutes I could be out of here, but a bevy of police vehicles hurtled down on the garage.

            Without a conscious thought, I turned and ran out a back door of the garage right into Jonesy’s  muscled chest. “Cat, listen fast.” He grabbed my arms. “The mob got to Pinky and she turned on you. I’ve got all the people and camera chips I need in place to watch my dirty lieutenant and catch him talking to Pinky or planting evidence on you, if you’ll play along and let me arrest you. I’m asking. Otherwise you can sock me and run around this planet avoiding the Lunar mafia and me and the not-so-upright cops. Your choice. You have 10 seconds.”

            “What a choice.” I held my hands out to be cuffed. “I guess I’ll do my good deed.” He trussed me up like a gourmet bird headed for a flash roaster and whispered in my ear, “I got people looking for the orange arm girl. She’s our missing link.”           

He reached and flipped a switch on his communicator and a local accent blared, “Report Officer Jones. Come in.”

            “My communicator malfunctioned. Can you hear me now? I have suspect. Report.”

            “I hear you. Bring her to the precinct.”

            “I’ll land on my feet, Jonesy.” I whispered.

            “You always do.”

I had to admit he’d been gentle with the plastic cuffs and tried to make it easy on me. I hate getting arrested. I knew it would take a few hours for the evidence bins to get collected and the interviews confirmed. Worst case scenario, we had to wait for orange arm to resurface. That could be days, but I wanted to be optimistic. Here I was doing my good deed for a planet helping them throw off Lunar mob rule, in spite of myself. I paced the cell staying clear of the electric bars and tried not to imagine things going bad.

            I’d laid down on the bed, feigning sleep and disinterest while my mind churned. It’s not good to be able to identify a killer. If they could make the link to those inside the force and clean up the planet’s leaders, what was a few hours?

A clang at the steel door announced an officer bringing food. My appetite wasn’t flying. When he leaned over to put the food down, he slipped a print out of an orange gal with levitators and a tattoo discreetly toward me. His back between me and the camera chips I assumed. He raised his eyebrows in a silent question. I nodded.

“Thanks for the chow.”

He backed out of the cell and re-engaged the electric bars. Even the station had eyes and ears apparently. I wondered if I’d get off this planet, but I felt Jonesy wouldn’t fail me. He was the kind of guy you could count on. That made me uneasy in my skin. I wasn’t always the most reliable. I took to pacing more and picked at the slack soybread meat product sandwich. The large carafe of water appealed, but I wondered if I’d have to pay to use the toilet here too. Or was this the only free toi-dy in the sector?

            The lights went to night mode, but I had no doubt the camera chips had night vision. The door suddenly opened and Jones hustled in turning off the bars and dragging me out in one swift motion. “My transmission back to the bureau was intercepted and we are both about to be hunted.” He muttered into my ear and I didn’t mind his close proximity, but the words were pretty disturbing. “I need to get you off this planet now. Your transport is ready, so blast off unannounced.”

            “What about you? Come with me. You’re in danger if they caught your report.”

            “I want you safe first. It’s easier if I only have to worry over my own skin.”

            He was speeding toward the garage dock.

            “What can I do for you?”

            “Seriously?”

            “I want to help.”

            “Well, glory be. She has a soul,” he said to the top of the car. “You can make my transmission to the bureau when you get to hyperspace away from the planet scanners.”

            “How will you get away?”

            “I’ll lay low til the cavalry comes. I’ll get you a message when it’s over.”

            I started pulling brake blocks on my transport as he talked. “What about…?” It was hard for me to form the words. “When will I see you?”

            “I have no idea but I’ll be in touch.” He reached out and touched my cheek. “Now, get out of here.” He slipped a chip in my palm.

            I scrambled the gravity reverse and blasted out without the usual preliminaries or announcements to air control. As I hit the jets for outer atmosphere, I saw a blast go across my back. Someone had noticed me. I juggled the chip into my communicator and hit send. A few quiet moments in space passed with nothing in my rear radar, then I got back a text screen: “International Bureau of Investigation confirms message receipt. Officer Jones.”

            Good deed done and cavalry on it’s way. That felt pretty good, even though I was worried about Jonesy. It was a nice change not to be running away from him this time. Maybe I could get used to this. Hopefully Jones would survive to see the new improved me.

            Two days later, I got a text. “All is well. Thanks to you. What sector are you in? Let’s meet.”

            Woooo-hoooo.

The end

It's not an easy discussion to have

Lately I've been pondering a very sticky issue. Pacifism - in regards to all of the variety of definitions, personal restraint from military participation, the belief that no country should resolve differences with war, and just a personal opposition to war or violence of any kind.

In the past, I would have answered quickly that well, yes, I believe in using war at times to resolve things. However, recently I've heard some compelling arguments using the New Testament for pacifism in all circumstances. I also have read recently of Ghandi and Martin Luther King Jr's use of nonviolent protest to cause change. Both the groups that followed these men used nonaggression in their protests and met with violence. The world and their nations grew in their compassion for the causes watching the unprovoked violence that was done to the protestors. Again very compelling.

I recognize as a believer that Jesus did not chose, at the ultimate hour of his suffering, to react with violence to what was done to him; nor did he endorse his followers using violence during that dark hour of his being taken by authorities and eventually killed. His "pacifism" in this case did not result in a physical change like Ghandi's. It was a spiritual triumph and a philosophical change for sure, but the Pharisees and Sadducees as a body of legislators did not become "converted" or changed as a system. Not a huge success physically in the non-agression annals, while I do believe it changed the universe spiritually.

The idea of love changing people and systems is very appealing to me. Convicting even. I think in Martin Luther King Jr's case it wasn't that it was love by the protesters as much as a non-agression policy. The same with Ghandi. Yet, it was powerful. But people did die. It wasn't a bloodless event in either case.

If this was followed very strictly, our country would not exist as we know it. While we can trust in God to be at work, it seems that we have Biblical precedent to act in behalf of others. "Greater love hath no man than he lay down his life for his brothers." (John 15:13, 1 John 3:16 and many more). Jesus indeed laid down his life for all of us without a personal benefit to himself.

So I ask myself if fighting tyranny and bringing liberty or freedom, to another group of people is worth sacrificing for? Or even to an individual? I mean that is what Ghandi and others have done with non-aggression, right? But would this same manner have worked in the Nazi situation or were drastic measures called for? I know many Jews tried to go along passively until suddenly they were out of opportunities to escape or resist or bring about change.

On an individual level, I realize we are called on to love. We are never to persecute an individual, but we also hold standards out to all individuals. We don't love them into complete acceptance of every action. (pedophilia, murder) So it seems limits, don't mean that we aren't loving. We may be introducing people to something better, healthier even by placing restrictions on them rather than tolerating everything. Not all things are good for an individual. So when is it our loving responsibility to take action? When a woman is being attacked, does she love or fight her attacker? Does a bystander stop the attacker or find a passive way to protest the situation?

Can the same argument be taken to a larger scale? Sometimes pacifism works - Romania's velvet revolution (though some died). But what do we do with Tienanmen Square in China where people were squelched and imprisoned? I want liberty and freedom for everyone so they have a chance to hear about Christ and make a decision for themselves and for them to live without physical tyranny. Surely that's not a bad motivation? I find personal liberty to be part of what Christ stood for. He didn't stone the woman caught in adultery - he set her free and stopped her attackers. (Yes, I acknowledge he did it without violence.)

Honestly, I haven't resolved this issue. I'm fascinated by both sides and find the subject more complicated than I used to. I know we are living under a different time period than the eye for an eye time period of the Bible, but I'm not sure I can go to complete pacifism in all circumstances either. Another stretching place in my character...

The 5k

Ode to the ones who passed me by, oh so many of you. Thank you four office ladies for keeping the pace in front of me and giving me such interesting conversation to hear. And yes, the answer is we were sore the next day. I think it was the hills.

Lady with the ancient dachsund, how were you able to pass me and disappear into the distance with that geriatric hound?

Oh you runners of the 10k, did you know you do funny things? I suppose all runners do as I am not among your class. There's the girl in the red sport bra top with the one hand that is floppy and keeps a different rhythm from the rest of her steady jog. There was the lady who appeared double my age, yes in a sports bra and matching jogging shorts. Yes, she passed me by and seemed just fine when I saw her at the finish line. An inspiration for sure but I'm still not taking up running.

Lady with the stroller and two walkable age children, was it necessary to keep stopping and passing and stopping and passing?

People I know, where were you in the crowd? I know I'm short, but I should have been able to find you.

Ode to you the ones that pick up the paper cups no longer filled with water that all the runners and walkers fling to the ground at the half way point, and the cute teen volunteers holding signs indicating how far we've gone - thank you for stolid encouragement.

I would do it again, yes indeed. In fact it was bliss to be involved in fund raising that didn't involve yours truly.