Lifestyle photographer Grace Chon recently turned the camera on her 10-month-old baby Jasper and their 7-year-old rescue dog Zoey, putting them side-by-side in the some of the most adorable portraits ever.
I know BRP was like a month ago (wow), but I wanted to post something about it, but I just never got around to writing a post, so I’ll just post a slightly edited version of a summary I gave to a couple of friends. Enjoy!
Uhhh…after we got there Saturday noon, we met our small groups and took a…
— J.S. (via jspark3000)
If a teenage girl in your church is pregnant, we talk with her. Not at her. Let her know her options and your beliefs. Whatever she chooses, love her like your own daughter, sister, and blood.
We do not judge. We do not storm the abortion clinic. We do not solely declare the birth of the baby as a victory: because this teenage mother and her baby have a long road ahead, and “pro-choice” or “pro-life” don’t even begin to meet the entirety of their needs.
If a young man approaches you about his homosexual feelings, we are not going to blame the President or point out scientific studies or go into a holy monologue. We will love him, listen to him, and show him what we believe is true. Whatever he chooses, love him like your own son, brother, and blood.
We do not condemn. We do not solely declare a change of his sexuality as a victory: because no human being is merely his sexual orientation, and he will need gentleness and patience and wisdom for all the areas of his life for the rest of his life.
If you’re fighting for social reform in the legal arena, then I hope you’re also caring for girls who have had abortions and listening to teenagers confess their sexual orientations.
I hope we’re not just clamoring for faceless disembodied ideology, but that our sleeves are rolled up in the mess of hurt people."
Here’s what I’ve learned about choosing the things of God.
I’ve noticed that after I disciple a young kid and see his eyes light up from the truth of the Bible, I can’t go back to how I was. It’s too good to give up. After I serve food at the homeless ministry, after I volunteer at a retreat, after I go on a mission trip, after I serve at an orphanage or a prison or the projects — the attraction of sin loses its grip on me.
Because the things of God are so much brighter and bigger and deeper than the things of this world. This is what Thomas Chalmers called the Expulsive Power of a New Affection.
Ever notice that after the gym, you’re too tired to fight anyone? Ever notice that after a healthy meal, you’re much less willing to eat a bag of Cheetos? And whether you “feel like” going to the gym or eating healthy, you choose it anyway: because not only is the alternative bad for you, but it makes the alternative less attractive.
Sometimes people wait to “feel right with God” to go serve Him. You don’t have to wait. You don’t have to be qualified or clean or deserving to serve. Your choices change your heart just as much as your heart changes your choices. What you do comes out of who you are, but who you are also comes out of what you do."
Can nothing settle my uncertain breast
And fix my rambling love?
Can my affections find out nothing blessed?
But still and still remove?
Has earth no mercy? Will no ark of rest
Receive my restless dove?
Is there no good, than which there’s nothing higher
To bless my full desire
With joys that never change; with joys that never expire?
I wanted wealth; and at my dear request,
Earth lent a quick supply;
I wanted mirth to charm my sullen breast;
And who more brisk than I?
I wanted fame to glorify the rest;
My fame flew eagle-high;
My joy not fully ripe, but all decayed;
Wealth vanished like a shade,
My mirth began to flag, my fame began to fade.
The world’s an ocean, hurried to and fro
With every blast of passion:
Her lustful streams, when either ebb or flow,
Are tides of man’s vexation:
They alter daily, and they daily grow
The worse by alteration:
The earth’s a cask full-tunned, yet wanting measure;
Her precious wind, is pleasure;
Her yeast is honor’s puff; her less are worldly treasure.
My trust is in the Cross: let beauty flag
Her loose, her wanton sail;
Let countenance-gilding honor cease to brag
In courtly terms, and veil;
Let ditch-bred wealth henceforth forget to wag
Her base though golden tail;
False beauty’s conquest is but real loss,
And wealth but golden dross;
Best honor’s but a blast: my trust is in the Cross.
My trust is in the Cross: There lies my rest;
My fast, my soul delight:
Let cold-mouthed Boreas, or hot-mouthed East
Blow till they burst with spite:
Let earth and hell conspire their worst, their best,
And join their twisted might:
Let showers of thunderbolts dart down and wound me,
And troops of fiends surround me,
All this may well confront; all this shall never confound me.
Francis Quarles, English Poet (1592-1644)
— Eugene Cho (via jspark3000)
— J.S. (via jspark3000)
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God pursues us DESPERATELY.
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