(3230,31,'2011-12-19 21:14:22','2011-12-20 05:14:22','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo-298x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"298\" height=\"300\" /></a>\n<p style=\"text-align: center\"><a href=\"http://patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson\">Anunciaion, Part I</a></p>\nThe coyote, dressed only in pink bathrobe, polishes a pair of heavy-duty black work boots in her mildewed bedroom. The single incandescent bulb lighting the room dangles from a twisted wire and makes the already small room seem to shrink. Her hands begin to shake and she steadies them against the claustrophobia only by focusing on the meticulous cadence of a stiff brush scuffing over her boots’ steel toes. Few things she fears more than being confined, but every time she picks up a job, she gambles with her fears, knowing she could end up in a cinderblock cell much worse than the one she calls home. But she can’t help it. She is good at what she does, and with her pixieish figure, her long raven black hair and deep brown eyes, the border guards are rarely suspicious of her. And when they are, all it usually takes is a casual flutter of her lashes or a suggestive hand on an arm before the guards let her pass.\n\nStill, the thought of prison sends a shiver down her bare spine, despite the desert heat. Restless, the coyote stands, allowing the bathrobe to drop to the floor in a damp heap, revealing a pair of intricate wings tattooed on her slender back. The ink begins at her shoulder blades and curves down her back to the outside of each thigh. She picks up a crumpled pack of Camel menthols from the dresser, fishes out a bent cigarette and pushes it between two chapped lips. A flame flickers to life and the cigarette glows as she pulls in the first, biting, beautiful smoke into her lungs.\n\nShe puts the cigarette to the wick of a red candle. It sputters and flares, revealing a faded icon of St. Christopher propped against the wall behind the candle. The image is of a bearded man, walking staff in his hand, a child on his back, traveling. It has always brought her comfort. She replaces the menthol to her lips, sucks and closes her eyes. She has made the trip across the border between Mexico and the United States hundreds of times, and her prayer never changes: that this trip would be no different than the last one, wholly uneventful.\n\nThe coyote opens her eyes, exhales the smoke, and embraces the urgency creeping through her body. She quickly dresses, lightweight beige cargo pants and a simple blue-checkered button down shirt. She packs a small knapsack with a change of clothes, a water bottle, iodine tablets, hearty snacks and a light blanket. She grabs a wad of cash, separated into five different bundles by paper clips, and shoves it into her cargo pants. It is enough, with a little leftover for incidentals, to pay the local gangs and police officers in hopes they will be left alone on the Mexican side of the border. She has two hours, plenty of time to make the bribes and meet her cargo a few miles from the border in an empty field.\n\nSeven men and two women are waiting for her when she arrives in the field, late. They are dressed as they always are, in sweatpants or tattered jeans and ill-fitting shirts with the names of American sports teams splashed across the fronts. Each has a knapsack — an old backpack, a pillowcase, an oversized purse — slung over a shoulder or resting by feet. They are startled to see the coyote approaching them; their grips on their knapsacks tighten and the coyote can tell the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in.\n\n“Who are you and where did you come from?” a young man in his 20s calls out.\n\n“Don’t be afraid. I’m with you,” she replies. “I’m your coyote.”\n\n“But you just appeared,” the man continues, puzzled. “I didn’t hear a car approaching and I certainly didn’t see you walking up, and there’s nowhere to hide out here.”\n\nThe man gestures at the expansive plains, covered with little more than a few mesquite trees and scrawny grasses that stretch from horizon to horizon.\n\n“You would be surprised exactly what can be hidden out here,” the coyote replies. She stops in front of the small group, assesses them and calculates about how long she thinks the trip will take. Everyone looks fit, even the women, and she hopes they can manage the crossing in a week, maybe less with a little luck, she thinks, rubbing the St. Christopher medallion that hangs on a silver chain from her neck.\n\n“We were expecting a man,” a teenager says, his voice sullen.\n\n“You’re welcome to leave, then,” the coyote shoots back icily, pulling her long hair back into tail. “For the rest of you, my name is Gabby and I’m the best coyote by half around here, and that’s all you need to know about me. The trip will take us somewhere between 7 and 10 days if we don’t run into trouble or get lost or have to stop to rest too often.\n\n“I’m here because I want to help you get across the border and, with all the increased border patrols on the other side, you can’t do it alone any more. I’m here because I know that after the trade agreement happened, jobs quit paying enough to put food on a family table. I will not leave you or forsake you in the desert. Either we all make it or we all get sent back.  The trip is hard. You will suffer. You will want to go back. But we will go on together. We will make it. Listen to me. Do what I say, when I say, and we should all be fine. Any questions?”\n\nThe small group of men and women shuffle and glance at their feet, at each other and finally at Gabby. They have lots of questions, but none that Gabby could answer. Would they encounter armed ranchers looking for target practice? Rattlesnakes? Angry wild boar? Would there be a place to refill their water bottles with water that wouldn’t make them all sick? How can it be that they would really be able to cross under her lead? But no one could manage to ask any of those questions, as if to ask them would make the reality of the task in front of them more real.\n\nInstead, a soft voice spoke, one of the women. “Thank you, Gabby, for helping us. Let it be just as you said. We will follow you.”\n\nThe days that follow blur together like the land around them, into seamless streak of bleakness. The group walks in the dark, stumbling over rocks and into each other, their movements barely enough to keep them warm in the chilled desert nights. During the day, with the oppressive heat, they seek cover to keep them hidden and shade under knobbly, stumpy mesquite trees to keep them cool.\n\nAfter two days, the group’s water bottles begin to run dry and several have eaten through too much of the dried beef and fruit they had brought with them. The rations of food left out by well-intentioned groups have been spoiled by local guards, the skins of water, slashed and drained. So, some of the men hunt during breaks from walking with slingshots for small game. On the third night of travel, thirsty and hungry, Gabby leads them to a pump and trough for cattle.\n\n“We’ll have to use this. It’s our only choice. There won’t be another chance for water until we make it across the border and several miles into America,” she announces. “Rest and refill. It will be your last chance to do both until we are safely across.”\n\nOne of the men pumps the handle and dirty, foul-smelling water spews out into the trough. <a href=\"http://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu/book/?GCOI=80140100496740\">Thirst, though, overcomes the natural revulsion and the group refills their bottles with the muddy, brackish water.</a>\n\nGabby pulls aside one of the young women, the one who thanked her when they began their trek.\n\n“Ave?” she says. “Ave. That’s your name, right?”\n\nThe woman smiles and nods. She has long black hair, demure porcelain features and a creamy complexion rouged from the hard travel. “Yes. Have I done something wrong?”\n\n“Put these in your water,” Gabby says, placing two small iodine tablets into Ave’s free hand. “There’s no choice but to drink that putrid mess, but, at least, don’t drink it untreated.”\n\nRelief washes over the young girl’s face. She drops the small white tables into her bottle. “Thank you, Gabby, thank you,” Ave says, eyes and lashes moist. “You’re an angel.”\n\n“They will all have diarrhea by tonight. It’s not safe to drink straight from the pump, especially for someone in your condition,” Gabby says, taking Ave’s bottle from her. “Here, shake it like this and it will help the tablets dissolve more quickly. I’d rather the rest of them not know I gave these to you.”\n\nGabby hands the bottle back to Ave, who immediately takes a drink.\n\n“What do you mean ‘my condition?’” Ave asks, capping the bottle.\n\nGabby raises a thin eyebrow and gives Ave an apprising look. The young girl, in response, withers, in shame or fear Gabby cannot tell. Staring at the ground, Ave begins to shrink away.\n\n“No, no, Ave, don’t be afraid. It’s okay,” Gabby says, reaching out a steadying arm onto the girl’s shoulder. “I know you’re pregnant.”\n\nAve stutters; her thin, rose lips quiver. She glances around and whispers urgently, “How do you know that? I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even my boyfriend.”\n\nGabby shrugs. “I can tell these things, Ave. Everything will be okay. I promise. I will get you through this journey. Ave, how old are you?”\n\n“I’m 19,” Ave replies, forcing herself to stand taller.\n\nGabby stifles a laugh. “If you’re 19, then I’m ancient. How old are you really?”\n\n“I’m almost 14,” Ave replies, bowing her head again. “But please don’t send me home. I’m sorry I lied about my age, but I had to cross and I couldn’t do it alone.”\n\nGabby shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to send you home, but why would you come on such a strenuous trek and take a chance with your health and the health of that baby?”\n\nTears begin to crest over Ave’s long black lashes. “I had no choice. My boyfriend, José, made the trip last month, and I still haven’t heard from him. He doesn’t know I’m pregnant, and I don’t have anyone back home who would understand. Even my parents would think I was slut if I told them, which I haven’t.”\n\n“So you’re a runaway?” Gabby interrupts.\n\nAve nods. “You don’t understand, though. If they found out, they would kick me out, and José’s family won’t believe its their son’s baby since he’s been gone for a month.”\n\n“So where are you going, then?”\n\n“To my cousin Isabella’s house,” Mary replies. “She lives in the hill country outside San Antonio. She’s the only one who will understand what’s going on. I have a phone card in my pack and I’ll call her when we get across to come pick me up.”\n\n“Does she know you’re coming?”\n\nAve shakes her head. “But I can stay with her until I can find a way over to Alabama. I have friends there who work in some factories. José said he was hoping to make it there, so maybe I will find him there.”\n\n“Transporting a undocumented crosser is dangerous business for you and for your cousin. Why not just get a job back home and raise the baby in safety and security?”\n\n“Safety? Security?” Ave snorts in derision. “The <em>maquiladoras</em> won’t hire a pregnant woman. Even if they do, when they find out I’m with child, they’ll just fire me. Pregnancies cost too much for them.\n\n“Besides, I want to see my baby grow up. Most of the women there can’t have babies any more and if they can, then they are born dead. The women start coughing, get sick. All so we can put together televisions bigger than you for a few <em>pesos</em>. You say the trip across the border is dangerous, but it is no more so than staying behind in my village, alone, poor and dying.”\n\nAve is weeping into her dirty hands now, and the other crossers are beginning to notice. Gabby closes around her with strong arms and shushes her. “Don’t be afraid, Ave. We will get you across. And when you get to Alabama, be careful. It’s a dangerous place. If you can avoid it, do. But, look, okay, calm down. It’s okay. Here, take this and wear it. It will keep you safe. God will be with you when you have it on.”\n\nGabby lifts the St. Christopher medallion from around her neck and places it around Ave’s long, slender neck. “Do you really think God will be with me?” Ave responds, the innocence of hope reviving her.\n\nThe coyote places a hand on Ave’s belly. “I think God already is with you. This child is a miracle and he has a saint for a mother. God is with you and so am I. So are all of us. God is watching over us, Ave, and if he’s not, or gets distracted, well, then we’ll just have to look out for each other. So don’t be afraid.”\n\nAve nods. “Let it be so, then.”\n\n“With any luck, we’ll be in America in 24 hours. The river is not far from here.”\n\nThe story continues tomorrow ... <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciacion, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3228-revision','','','2011-12-19 21:14:22','2011-12-20 05:14:22','',3228,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/19/3228-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3232,31,'2011-12-21 08:00:56','2011-12-21 16:00:56','<p style=\"text-align: left;\">(Read <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\">Part I here</a>)</p>\r\nTerror and fear run the next few days together. She remembers stripping naked with the rest of the group and crossing the muddy river in the shivering dark into America with her clothes and knapsack wrapped in plastic and held high over her head. There were Gabby’s warnings about sensors buried on the riverbanks to detect their passing, and there was the hole clipped in the fence. There were the flashes of light from the sky when routine patrols searched for border crossers. The pursuit of border guards, the hiding, the running from snarling dogs, the walking and stumbling through dense brambles of agave and prickly pear that tore at her clothes, her flesh and her will to keep going. There were blisters, cracked, bleeding and painful on her feet and lips. Freezing at night, yet walking on. Sweating during the day, exhaustion overcoming even the heat and fear to bring on sleep.\r\n\r\nAt last, the bedraggled group arrives at their destination, the town of Uvalde.\r\n\r\n“This is as far as I go with you,” Gabby says on the outskirts of town. “The town is to the north and east. Just follow the power lines and you’ll find it. If you don’t wander off, you won’t find any hostile citizens, no border patrols and no more checkpoints to dodge. It’s a straight shot.”\r\n\r\nThe group sloughs off their packs and sits in the dusty grass, exhausted, hurting and tired. Gabby sits down, too, next to Ave.\r\n\r\n“What are you writing?” she asks, pointing to Ave’s palm-sized pink notebook, its spiral binding unrolling at the ends.\r\n\r\nAve shuts the book and places a nervous hand over the top to keep it closed. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of writing.”\r\n\r\n“May I see? What kind of writing? Like a journal?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “I like poetry, but I don’t let anyone read it.”\r\n\r\n“A poet?” Gabby muses. “I’m sure you are wonderful writer.”\r\n\r\nAn uneasy silence hangs between the two women. Unable to find a tactful way to ask the question in her mind, Gabby decides simply to be frank.\r\n\r\n“Have you miscarried?” Gabby asks, turning her body to face Ave’s. “I have worried about this since we began. It is such a long, difficult journey.”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “I don’t think so,” she says, placing a hand on her womb. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I feel like I know he’s in there and he’s happy.\r\n\r\n“A son,” Gabby says, more affirmation of fact than question.\r\n\r\nAve nods. “A son. And he survived. We survived. We made it, just like you said we would.”\r\n\r\nGabby smiles, rising from her seat. “A miracle then. God was indeed with you.”\r\n\r\nAve pondered Gabby’s final words as she remembered the hardships of her journey. Then she remembered the St. Christopher medallion hanging from a chain around her neck. She rises, slowly and painfully, intending to return the necklace to its owner. But when she looks around for Gabby, however, the coyote has vanished into the desert as mysteriously as she had originally appeared.\r\n\r\nShe turns the medallion over in her hand. There is a scuffed inscription on the back, and it looks older than the earth. It reads, “Call him Jesus.” Puzzled, Ave wonders what it means. She puts the necklace back on, says goodbye to the rest of the group and heads toward Uvalde, occasionally looking around to see if she can spot Gabby ahead of her in the desert.\r\n\r\nWhen she arrives in town, Ave finds a pay phone, digs her phone card from her bag and dials her cousin’s number. Her call is answered after two rings, but no one says hello on the other end.\r\n\r\n“Hello? Hello? Isabella? Is that you?” Ave shouts into the receiver. “Can you hear me? Hello?”\r\n\r\nSuddenly, fear consumes her again. She had not consider that Isabella might not want to help her, might not want to speak with her. What if she didn’t have a place to go here in this foreign country full of suspicious eyes toward immigrants. Ave removes the phone from her ear and is about to replace it in its cradle when she hear’s a woman’s voice shouting on the other end.\r\n\r\n“Hello! Wait, wait! Don’t hang up! Hello? Who’s there?” Relief exhales through her body as she recognizes her cousin’s voice. “Zach, if you’re going to pick up the phone, at least grunt or something to let them know you’re there. Or, better yet, say hello!”\r\n\r\nAve smiles. Isabella has not changed. “Tia, it’s Ave. I need your help. I’m pregnant, I’m in Uvalde and I’m illegal.”\r\n\r\nAve jerks the phone back from her hear as Isabella erupts in shouts. There is the loud clatter of a receiver falling to the floor and the hasty scuffling sound of Isabella retrieving it. “I’m so sorry dear girl, I could not help but leap the moment I heard your voice and your news! God be with you dear child. I’m coming now. I’ll see you in an hour.”\r\n\r\n“So you don’t mind?”\r\n\r\n“Mind? Dear child, no!” Isabella says. “I’m lonely here. I could use the company. And I have news for you, as well. I’m pregnant, too! At my age! Can you believe it?”\r\n\r\nAve smiles again. She is in America, undetected by the border patrol. Her baby has survived, despite the arduous journey. Soon, she would be in the safety of her cousin’s home and filled with good food, tamales and salsa. So, yes, at this point, she would believe just about anything.\r\n\r\nThe story continues tomorrow … <a href=\"../wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciation, Part II','','publish','open','open','','christmas-undocumented-anunciation-part-ii','','','2011-12-20 14:54:05','2011-12-20 22:54:05','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3232',0,'post','',0),(3233,31,'2011-12-19 21:16:03','2011-12-20 05:16:03','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo-298x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"298\" height=\"300\" /></a>\n<p style=\"text-align: center\">The Anunciaion</p>\nTerror and fear run the next few days together. She remembers stripping naked with the rest of the group and crossing the muddy river in the shivering dark into America with her clothes and knapsack wrapped in plastic and held high over her head. There were Gabby’s warnings about sensors buried on the riverbanks to detect their passing, and there was the hole clipped in the fence. There were the flashes of light from the sky when routine patrols searched for border crossers. The pursuit of border guards, the hiding, the running from snarling dogs, the walking and stumbling through dense brambles of agave and prickly pear that tore at her clothes, her flesh and her will to keep going. There were blisters, cracked, bleeding and painful on her feet and lips. Freezing at night, yet walking on. Sweating during the day, exhaustion overcoming even the heat and fear to bring on sleep.\n\nAt last, the bedraggled group arrives at their destination, the town of Uvalde.\n\n“This is as far as I go with you,” Gabby says on the outskirts of town. “The town is to the north and east. Just follow the power lines and you’ll find it. If you don’t wander off, you won’t find any hostile citizens, no border patrols and no more checkpoints to dodge. It’s a straight shot.”\n\nThe group sloughs off their packs and sits in the dusty grass, exhausted, hurting and tired. Gabby sits down, too, next to Ave.\n\n“What are you writing?” she asks, pointing to Ave’s palm-sized pink notebook, its spiral binding unrolling at the ends.\n\nAve shuts the book and places a nervous hand over the top to keep it closed. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of writing.”\n\n“May I see? What kind of writing? Like a journal?”\n\nAve shakes her head. “I like poetry, but I don’t let anyone read it.”\n\n“A poet?” Gabby muses. “I’m sure you are wonderful writer.”\n\nAn uneasy silence hangs between the two women. Unable to find a tactful way to ask the question in her mind, Gabby decides simply to be frank.\n\n“Have you miscarried?” Gabby asks, turning her body to face Ave’s. “I have worried about this since we began. It is such a long, difficult journey.”\n\nAve shakes her head. “I don’t think so,” she says, placing a hand on her womb. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I feel like I know he’s in there and he’s happy.\n\n“A son,” Gabby says, more affirmation of fact than question.\n\nAve nods. “A son. And he survived. We survived. We made it, just like you said we would.”\n\nGabby smiles, rising from her seat. “A miracle then. God was indeed with you.”\n\nAve pondered Gabby’s final words as she remembered the hardships of her journey. Then she remembered the St. Christopher medallion hanging from a chain around her neck. She rises, slowly and painfully, intending to return the necklace to its owner. But when she looks around for Gabby, however, the coyote has vanished into the desert as mysteriously as she had originally appeared.\n\nShe turns the medallion over in her hand. There is a scuffed inscription on the back, and it looks older than the earth. It reads, “Call him Jesus.” Puzzled, Ave wonders what it means. She puts the necklace back on, says goodbye to the rest of the group and heads toward Uvalde, occasionally looking around to see if she can spot Gabby ahead of her in the desert.\n\nWhen she arrives in town, Ave finds a pay phone, digs her phone card from her bag and dials her cousin’s number. Her call is answered after two rings, but no one says hello on the other end.\n\n“Hello? Hello? Isabella? Is that you?” Ave shouts into the receiver. “Can you hear me? Hello?”\n\nSuddenly, fear consumes her again. She had not consider that Isabella might not want to help her, might not want to speak with her. What if she didn’t have a place to go here in this foreign country full of suspicious eyes toward immigrants. Ave removes the phone from her ear and is about to replace it in its cradle when she hear’s a woman’s voice shouting on the other end.\n\n“Hello! Wait, wait! Don’t hang up! Hello? Who’s there?” Relief exhales through her body as she recognizes her cousin’s voice. “Zach, if you’re going to pick up the phone, at least grunt or something to let them know you’re there. Or, better yet, say hello!”\n\nAve smiles. Isabella has not changed. “Tia, it’s Ave. I need your help. I’m pregnant, I’m in Uvalde and I’m illegal.”\n\nAve jerks the phone back from her hear as Isabella erupts in shouts. There is the loud clatter of a receiver falling to the floor and the hasty scuffling sound of Isabella retrieving it. “I’m so sorry dear girl, I could not help but leap the moment I heard your voice and your news! God be with you dear child. I’m coming now. I’ll see you in an hour.”\n\n“So you don’t mind?”\n\n“Mind? Dear child, no!” Isabella says. “I’m lonely here. I could use the company. And I have news for you, as well. I’m pregnant, too! At my age! Can you believe it?”\n\nAve smiles again. She is in America, undetected by the border patrol. Her baby has survived, despite the arduous journey. Soon, she would be in the safety of her cousin’s home and filled with good food, tamales and salsa. So, yes, at this point, she would believe just about anything.<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciaion, Part II','','inherit','open','open','','3232-revision','','','2011-12-19 21:16:03','2011-12-20 05:16:03','',3232,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/19/3232-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3273,1,'2011-12-20 14:41:34','2011-12-20 22:41:34','The coyote, dressed only in pink bathrobe, polishes a pair of heavy-duty black work boots in her mildewed bedroom. The single incandescent bulb lighting the room dangles from a twisted wire and makes the already small room seem to shrink. Her hands begin to shake and she steadies them against the claustrophobia only by focusing on the meticulous cadence of a stiff brush scuffing over her boots’ steel toes. Few things she fears more than being confined, but every time she picks up a job, she gambles with her fears, knowing she could end up in a cinderblock cell much worse than the one she calls home. But she can’t help it. She is good at what she does, and with her pixieish figure, her long raven black hair and deep brown eyes, the border guards are rarely suspicious of her. And when they are, all it usually takes is a casual flutter of her lashes or a suggestive hand on an arm before the guards let her pass.\r\n\r\nStill, the thought of prison sends a shiver down her bare spine, despite the desert heat. Restless, the coyote stands, allowing the bathrobe to drop to the floor in a damp heap, revealing a pair of intricate wings tattooed on her slender back. The ink begins at her shoulder blades and curves down her back to the outside of each thigh. She picks up a crumpled pack of Camel menthols from the dresser, fishes out a bent cigarette and pushes it between two chapped lips. A flame flickers to life and the cigarette glows as she pulls in the first, biting, beautiful smoke into her lungs.\r\n\r\nShe puts the cigarette to the wick of a red candle. It sputters and flares, revealing a faded icon of St. Christopher propped against the wall behind the candle. The image is of a bearded man, walking staff in his hand, a child on his back, traveling. It has always brought her comfort. She replaces the menthol to her lips, sucks and closes her eyes. She has made the trip across the border between Mexico and the United States hundreds of times, and her prayer never changes: that this trip would be no different than the last one, wholly uneventful.\r\n\r\nThe coyote opens her eyes, exhales the smoke, and embraces the urgency creeping through her body. She quickly dresses, lightweight beige cargo pants and a simple blue-checkered button down shirt. She packs a small knapsack with a change of clothes, a water bottle, iodine tablets, hearty snacks and a light blanket. She grabs a wad of cash, separated into five different bundles by paper clips, and shoves it into her cargo pants. It is enough, with a little leftover for incidentals, to pay the local gangs and police officers in hopes they will be left alone on the Mexican side of the border. She has two hours, plenty of time to make the bribes and meet her cargo a few miles from the border in an empty field.\r\n\r\nSeven men and two women are waiting for her when she arrives in the field, late. They are dressed as they always are, in sweatpants or tattered jeans and ill-fitting shirts with the names of American sports teams splashed across the fronts. Each has a knapsack — an old backpack, a pillowcase, an oversized purse — slung over a shoulder or resting by feet. They are startled to see the coyote approaching them; their grips on their knapsacks tighten and the coyote can tell the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in.\r\n\r\n“Who are you and where did you come from?” a young man in his 20s calls out.\r\n\r\n“Don’t be afraid. I’m with you,” she replies. “I’m your coyote.”\r\n\r\n“But you just appeared,” the man continues, puzzled. “I didn’t hear a car approaching and I certainly didn’t see you walking up, and there’s nowhere to hide out here.”\r\n\r\nThe man gestures at the expansive plains, covered with little more than a few mesquite trees and scrawny grasses that stretch from horizon to horizon.\r\n\r\n“You would be surprised exactly what can be hidden out here,” the coyote replies. She stops in front of the small group, assesses them and calculates about how long she thinks the trip will take. Everyone looks fit, even the women, and she hopes they can manage the crossing in a week, maybe less with a little luck, she thinks, rubbing the St. Christopher medallion that hangs on a silver chain from her neck.\r\n\r\n“We were expecting a man,” a teenager says, his voice sullen.\r\n\r\n“You’re welcome to leave, then,” the coyote shoots back icily, pulling her long hair back into tail. “For the rest of you, my name is Gabby and I’m the best coyote by half around here, and that’s all you need to know about me. The trip will take us somewhere between 7 and 10 days if we don’t run into trouble or get lost or have to stop to rest too often.\r\n\r\n“I’m here because I want to help you get across the border and, with all the increased border patrols on the other side, you can’t do it alone any more. I’m here because I know that after the trade agreement happened, jobs quit paying enough to put food on a family table. I will not leave you or forsake you in the desert. Either we all make it or we all get sent back.  The trip is hard. You will suffer. You will want to go back. But we will go on together. We will make it. Listen to me. Do what I say, when I say, and we should all be fine. Any questions?”\r\n\r\nThe small group of men and women shuffle and glance at their feet, at each other and finally at Gabby. They have lots of questions, but none that Gabby could answer. Would they encounter armed ranchers looking for target practice? Rattlesnakes? Angry wild boar? Would there be a place to refill their water bottles with water that wouldn’t make them all sick? How can it be that they would really be able to cross under her lead? But no one could manage to ask any of those questions, as if to ask them would make the reality of the task in front of them more real.\r\n\r\nInstead, a soft voice spoke, one of the women. “Thank you, Gabby, for helping us. Let it be just as you said. We will follow you.”\r\n\r\nThe days that follow blur together like the land around them, into seamless streak of bleakness. The group walks in the dark, stumbling over rocks and into each other, their movements barely enough to keep them warm in the chilled desert nights. During the day, with the oppressive heat, they seek cover to keep them hidden and shade under knobbly, stumpy mesquite trees to keep them cool.\r\n\r\nAfter two days, the group’s water bottles begin to run dry and several have eaten through too much of the dried beef and fruit they had brought with them. The rations of food left out by well-intentioned groups have been spoiled by local guards, the skins of water, slashed and drained. So, some of the men hunt during breaks from walking with slingshots for small game. On the third night of travel, thirsty and hungry, Gabby leads them to a pump and trough for cattle.\r\n\r\n“We’ll have to use this. It’s our only choice. There won’t be another chance for water until we make it across the border and several miles into America,” she announces. “Rest and refill. It will be your last chance to do both until we are safely across.”\r\n\r\nOne of the men pumps the handle and dirty, foul-smelling water spews out into the trough. <a href=\"http://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu/book/?GCOI=80140100496740\">Thirst, though, overcomes the natural revulsion and the group refills their bottles with the muddy, brackish water.</a>\r\n\r\nGabby pulls aside one of the young women, the one who thanked her when they began their trek.\r\n\r\n“Ave?” she says. “Ave. That’s your name, right?”\r\n\r\nThe woman smiles and nods. She has long black hair, demure porcelain features and a creamy complexion rouged from the hard travel. “Yes. Have I done something wrong?”\r\n\r\n“Put these in your water,” Gabby says, placing two small iodine tablets into Ave’s free hand. “There’s no choice but to drink that putrid mess, but, at least, don’t drink it untreated.”\r\n\r\nRelief washes over the young girl’s face. She drops the small white tables into her bottle. “Thank you, Gabby, thank you,” Ave says, eyes and lashes moist. “You’re an angel.”\r\n\r\n“They will all have diarrhea by tonight. It’s not safe to drink straight from the pump, especially for someone in your condition,” Gabby says, taking Ave’s bottle from her. “Here, shake it like this and it will help the tablets dissolve more quickly. I’d rather the rest of them not know I gave these to you.”\r\n\r\nGabby hands the bottle back to Ave, who immediately takes a drink.\r\n\r\n“What do you mean ‘my condition?’” Ave asks, capping the bottle.\r\n\r\nGabby raises a thin eyebrow and gives Ave an apprising look. The young girl, in response, withers, in shame or fear Gabby cannot tell. Staring at the ground, Ave begins to shrink away.\r\n\r\n“No, no, Ave, don’t be afraid. It’s okay,” Gabby says, reaching out a steadying arm onto the girl’s shoulder. “I know you’re pregnant.”\r\n\r\nAve stutters; her thin, rose lips quiver. She glances around and whispers urgently, “How do you know that? I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even my boyfriend.”\r\n\r\nGabby shrugs. “I can tell these things, Ave. Everything will be okay. I promise. I will get you through this journey. Ave, how old are you?”\r\n\r\n“I’m 19,” Ave replies, forcing herself to stand taller.\r\n\r\nGabby stifles a laugh. “If you’re 19, then I’m ancient. How old are you really?”\r\n\r\n“I’m almost 14,” Ave replies, bowing her head again. “But please don’t send me home. I’m sorry I lied about my age, but I had to cross and I couldn’t do it alone.”\r\n\r\nGabby shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to send you home, but why would you come on such a strenuous trek and take a chance with your health and the health of that baby?”\r\n\r\nTears begin to crest over Ave’s long black lashes. “I had no choice. My boyfriend, José, made the trip last month, and I still haven’t heard from him. He doesn’t know I’m pregnant, and I don’t have anyone back home who would understand. Even my parents would think I was slut if I told them, which I haven’t.”\r\n\r\n“So you’re a runaway?” Gabby interrupts.\r\n\r\nAve nods. “You don’t understand, though. If they found out, they would kick me out, and José’s family won’t believe it\'s their son’s baby since he’s been gone for a month.”\r\n\r\n“So where are you going, then?”\r\n\r\n“To my cousin Isabella’s house,” Ave replies. “She lives in the hill country outside San Antonio. She’s the only one who will understand what’s going on. I have a phone card in my pack and I’ll call her when we get across to come pick me up.”\r\n\r\n“Does she know you’re coming?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “But I can stay with her until I can find a way over to Alabama. I have friends there who work in some factories. José said he was hoping to make it there, so maybe I will find him there.”\r\n\r\n“Transporting a undocumented crosser is dangerous business for you and for your cousin. Why not just get a job back home and raise the baby in safety and security?”\r\n\r\n“Safety? Security?” Ave snorts in derision. “The <em>maquiladoras</em> won’t hire a pregnant woman. Even if they do, when they find out I’m with child, they’ll just fire me. Pregnancies cost too much for them.\r\n\r\n“Besides, I want to see my baby grow up. Most of the women there can’t have babies any more and if they can, then they are born dead. The women start coughing, get sick. All so we can put together televisions bigger than you for a few <em>pesos</em>. You say the trip across the border is dangerous, but it is no more so than staying behind in my village, alone, poor and dying.”\r\n\r\nAve is weeping into her dirty hands now, and the other crossers are beginning to notice. Gabby closes around her with strong arms and shushes her. “Don’t be afraid, Ave. We will get you across. And when you get to Alabama, be careful. It’s a dangerous place. If you can avoid it, do. But, look, okay, calm down. It’s okay. Here, take this and wear it. It will keep you safe. God will be with you when you have it on.”\r\n\r\nGabby lifts the St. Christopher medallion from around her neck and places it around Ave’s long, slender neck. “Do you really think God will be with me?” Ave responds, the innocence of hope reviving her.\r\n\r\nThe coyote places a hand on Ave’s belly. “I think God already is with you. This child is a miracle and he has a saint for a mother. God is with you and so am I. So are all of us. God is watching over us, Ave, and if he’s not, or gets distracted, well, then we’ll just have to look out for each other. So don’t be afraid.”\r\n\r\nAve nods. “Let it be so, then.”\r\n\r\n“With any luck, we’ll be in America in 24 hours. The river is not far from here.”\r\n\r\nThe story continues tomorrow ... <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Annunciation, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3228-revision-6','','','2011-12-20 14:41:34','2011-12-20 22:41:34','',3228,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3228-revision-6/',0,'revision','',0),(3234,31,'2011-12-19 21:14:43','2011-12-20 05:14:43','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo-298x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"298\" height=\"300\" /></a>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center\"><a href=\"http://patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson\">Anunciaion, Part I</a></p>\r\nThe coyote, dressed only in pink bathrobe, polishes a pair of heavy-duty black work boots in her mildewed bedroom. The single incandescent bulb lighting the room dangles from a twisted wire and makes the already small room seem to shrink. Her hands begin to shake and she steadies them against the claustrophobia only by focusing on the meticulous cadence of a stiff brush scuffing over her boots’ steel toes. Few things she fears more than being confined, but every time she picks up a job, she gambles with her fears, knowing she could end up in a cinderblock cell much worse than the one she calls home. But she can’t help it. She is good at what she does, and with her pixieish figure, her long raven black hair and deep brown eyes, the border guards are rarely suspicious of her. And when they are, all it usually takes is a casual flutter of her lashes or a suggestive hand on an arm before the guards let her pass.\r\n\r\nStill, the thought of prison sends a shiver down her bare spine, despite the desert heat. Restless, the coyote stands, allowing the bathrobe to drop to the floor in a damp heap, revealing a pair of intricate wings tattooed on her slender back. The ink begins at her shoulder blades and curves down her back to the outside of each thigh. She picks up a crumpled pack of Camel menthols from the dresser, fishes out a bent cigarette and pushes it between two chapped lips. A flame flickers to life and the cigarette glows as she pulls in the first, biting, beautiful smoke into her lungs.\r\n\r\nShe puts the cigarette to the wick of a red candle. It sputters and flares, revealing a faded icon of St. Christopher propped against the wall behind the candle. The image is of a bearded man, walking staff in his hand, a child on his back, traveling. It has always brought her comfort. She replaces the menthol to her lips, sucks and closes her eyes. She has made the trip across the border between Mexico and the United States hundreds of times, and her prayer never changes: that this trip would be no different than the last one, wholly uneventful.\r\n\r\nThe coyote opens her eyes, exhales the smoke, and embraces the urgency creeping through her body. She quickly dresses, lightweight beige cargo pants and a simple blue-checkered button down shirt. She packs a small knapsack with a change of clothes, a water bottle, iodine tablets, hearty snacks and a light blanket. She grabs a wad of cash, separated into five different bundles by paper clips, and shoves it into her cargo pants. It is enough, with a little leftover for incidentals, to pay the local gangs and police officers in hopes they will be left alone on the Mexican side of the border. She has two hours, plenty of time to make the bribes and meet her cargo a few miles from the border in an empty field.\r\n\r\nSeven men and two women are waiting for her when she arrives in the field, late. They are dressed as they always are, in sweatpants or tattered jeans and ill-fitting shirts with the names of American sports teams splashed across the fronts. Each has a knapsack — an old backpack, a pillowcase, an oversized purse — slung over a shoulder or resting by feet. They are startled to see the coyote approaching them; their grips on their knapsacks tighten and the coyote can tell the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in.\r\n\r\n“Who are you and where did you come from?” a young man in his 20s calls out.\r\n\r\n“Don’t be afraid. I’m with you,” she replies. “I’m your coyote.”\r\n\r\n“But you just appeared,” the man continues, puzzled. “I didn’t hear a car approaching and I certainly didn’t see you walking up, and there’s nowhere to hide out here.”\r\n\r\nThe man gestures at the expansive plains, covered with little more than a few mesquite trees and scrawny grasses that stretch from horizon to horizon.\r\n\r\n“You would be surprised exactly what can be hidden out here,” the coyote replies. She stops in front of the small group, assesses them and calculates about how long she thinks the trip will take. Everyone looks fit, even the women, and she hopes they can manage the crossing in a week, maybe less with a little luck, she thinks, rubbing the St. Christopher medallion that hangs on a silver chain from her neck.\r\n\r\n“We were expecting a man,” a teenager says, his voice sullen.\r\n\r\n“You’re welcome to leave, then,” the coyote shoots back icily, pulling her long hair back into tail. “For the rest of you, my name is Gabby and I’m the best coyote by half around here, and that’s all you need to know about me. The trip will take us somewhere between 7 and 10 days if we don’t run into trouble or get lost or have to stop to rest too often.\r\n\r\n“I’m here because I want to help you get across the border and, with all the increased border patrols on the other side, you can’t do it alone any more. I’m here because I know that after the trade agreement happened, jobs quit paying enough to put food on a family table. I will not leave you or forsake you in the desert. Either we all make it or we all get sent back.  The trip is hard. You will suffer. You will want to go back. But we will go on together. We will make it. Listen to me. Do what I say, when I say, and we should all be fine. Any questions?”\r\n\r\nThe small group of men and women shuffle and glance at their feet, at each other and finally at Gabby. They have lots of questions, but none that Gabby could answer. Would they encounter armed ranchers looking for target practice? Rattlesnakes? Angry wild boar? Would there be a place to refill their water bottles with water that wouldn’t make them all sick? How can it be that they would really be able to cross under her lead? But no one could manage to ask any of those questions, as if to ask them would make the reality of the task in front of them more real.\r\n\r\nInstead, a soft voice spoke, one of the women. “Thank you, Gabby, for helping us. Let it be just as you said. We will follow you.”\r\n\r\nThe days that follow blur together like the land around them, into seamless streak of bleakness. The group walks in the dark, stumbling over rocks and into each other, their movements barely enough to keep them warm in the chilled desert nights. During the day, with the oppressive heat, they seek cover to keep them hidden and shade under knobbly, stumpy mesquite trees to keep them cool.\r\n\r\nAfter two days, the group’s water bottles begin to run dry and several have eaten through too much of the dried beef and fruit they had brought with them. The rations of food left out by well-intentioned groups have been spoiled by local guards, the skins of water, slashed and drained. So, some of the men hunt during breaks from walking with slingshots for small game. On the third night of travel, thirsty and hungry, Gabby leads them to a pump and trough for cattle.\r\n\r\n“We’ll have to use this. It’s our only choice. There won’t be another chance for water until we make it across the border and several miles into America,” she announces. “Rest and refill. It will be your last chance to do both until we are safely across.”\r\n\r\nOne of the men pumps the handle and dirty, foul-smelling water spews out into the trough. <a href=\"http://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu/book/?GCOI=80140100496740\">Thirst, though, overcomes the natural revulsion and the group refills their bottles with the muddy, brackish water.</a>\r\n\r\nGabby pulls aside one of the young women, the one who thanked her when they began their trek.\r\n\r\n“Ave?” she says. “Ave. That’s your name, right?”\r\n\r\nThe woman smiles and nods. She has long black hair, demure porcelain features and a creamy complexion rouged from the hard travel. “Yes. Have I done something wrong?”\r\n\r\n“Put these in your water,” Gabby says, placing two small iodine tablets into Ave’s free hand. “There’s no choice but to drink that putrid mess, but, at least, don’t drink it untreated.”\r\n\r\nRelief washes over the young girl’s face. She drops the small white tables into her bottle. “Thank you, Gabby, thank you,” Ave says, eyes and lashes moist. “You’re an angel.”\r\n\r\n“They will all have diarrhea by tonight. It’s not safe to drink straight from the pump, especially for someone in your condition,” Gabby says, taking Ave’s bottle from her. “Here, shake it like this and it will help the tablets dissolve more quickly. I’d rather the rest of them not know I gave these to you.”\r\n\r\nGabby hands the bottle back to Ave, who immediately takes a drink.\r\n\r\n“What do you mean ‘my condition?’” Ave asks, capping the bottle.\r\n\r\nGabby raises a thin eyebrow and gives Ave an apprising look. The young girl, in response, withers, in shame or fear Gabby cannot tell. Staring at the ground, Ave begins to shrink away.\r\n\r\n“No, no, Ave, don’t be afraid. It’s okay,” Gabby says, reaching out a steadying arm onto the girl’s shoulder. “I know you’re pregnant.”\r\n\r\nAve stutters; her thin, rose lips quiver. She glances around and whispers urgently, “How do you know that? I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even my boyfriend.”\r\n\r\nGabby shrugs. “I can tell these things, Ave. Everything will be okay. I promise. I will get you through this journey. Ave, how old are you?”\r\n\r\n“I’m 19,” Ave replies, forcing herself to stand taller.\r\n\r\nGabby stifles a laugh. “If you’re 19, then I’m ancient. How old are you really?”\r\n\r\n“I’m almost 14,” Ave replies, bowing her head again. “But please don’t send me home. I’m sorry I lied about my age, but I had to cross and I couldn’t do it alone.”\r\n\r\nGabby shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to send you home, but why would you come on such a strenuous trek and take a chance with your health and the health of that baby?”\r\n\r\nTears begin to crest over Ave’s long black lashes. “I had no choice. My boyfriend, José, made the trip last month, and I still haven’t heard from him. He doesn’t know I’m pregnant, and I don’t have anyone back home who would understand. Even my parents would think I was slut if I told them, which I haven’t.”\r\n\r\n“So you’re a runaway?” Gabby interrupts.\r\n\r\nAve nods. “You don’t understand, though. If they found out, they would kick me out, and José’s family won’t believe its their son’s baby since he’s been gone for a month.”\r\n\r\n“So where are you going, then?”\r\n\r\n“To my cousin Isabella’s house,” Mary replies. “She lives in the hill country outside San Antonio. She’s the only one who will understand what’s going on. I have a phone card in my pack and I’ll call her when we get across to come pick me up.”\r\n\r\n“Does she know you’re coming?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “But I can stay with her until I can find a way over to Alabama. I have friends there who work in some factories. José said he was hoping to make it there, so maybe I will find him there.”\r\n\r\n“Transporting a undocumented crosser is dangerous business for you and for your cousin. Why not just get a job back home and raise the baby in safety and security?”\r\n\r\n“Safety? Security?” Ave snorts in derision. “The <em>maquiladoras</em> won’t hire a pregnant woman. Even if they do, when they find out I’m with child, they’ll just fire me. Pregnancies cost too much for them.\r\n\r\n“Besides, I want to see my baby grow up. Most of the women there can’t have babies any more and if they can, then they are born dead. The women start coughing, get sick. All so we can put together televisions bigger than you for a few <em>pesos</em>. You say the trip across the border is dangerous, but it is no more so than staying behind in my village, alone, poor and dying.”\r\n\r\nAve is weeping into her dirty hands now, and the other crossers are beginning to notice. Gabby closes around her with strong arms and shushes her. “Don’t be afraid, Ave. We will get you across. And when you get to Alabama, be careful. It’s a dangerous place. If you can avoid it, do. But, look, okay, calm down. It’s okay. Here, take this and wear it. It will keep you safe. God will be with you when you have it on.”\r\n\r\nGabby lifts the St. Christopher medallion from around her neck and places it around Ave’s long, slender neck. “Do you really think God will be with me?” Ave responds, the innocence of hope reviving her.\r\n\r\nThe coyote places a hand on Ave’s belly. “I think God already is with you. This child is a miracle and he has a saint for a mother. God is with you and so am I. So are all of us. God is watching over us, Ave, and if he’s not, or gets distracted, well, then we’ll just have to look out for each other. So don’t be afraid.”\r\n\r\nAve nods. “Let it be so, then.”\r\n\r\n“With any luck, we’ll be in America in 24 hours. The river is not far from here.”\r\n\r\nThe story continues tomorrow ... <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciacion, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3228-revision-2','','','2011-12-19 21:14:43','2011-12-20 05:14:43','',3228,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/19/3228-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3235,31,'2011-12-22 09:36:21','2011-12-22 17:36:21','(Read <a href=\"../2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\">Part I here</a>)\r\n\r\n(Read <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/21/christmas-undocumented-anunciation-part-ii/\">Part II here</a>)\r\n\r\nAve remains with Isabella for three months, until her cousin gives birth to her son and settles into her new life as a mother.\r\n\r\nIn her time in America, Ave has managed to find enough work — paid only in cash — to purchase a few incidentals and a bus ticket to a small town in Alabama where a job in a factory and a few friends await her. Despite her best efforts, she’s not managed to find any more information on her boyfriend. She has tried all the names and aliases he might be using — José Mann, José David, José David Mann — but all her leads turn into dead ends. Maybe once she makes it to Alabama, her search will get easier, but she fears the worst, death or detention.\r\n\r\nAve is sitting at the breakfast table worrying over her boyfriend’s fate when Isabella offers her a plate of eggs, beans and corn grits.\r\n\r\n“Eat, your baby needs it even if you don’t feel like it,” Isabella says, sitting down next to her. “I wish you’d reconsider this trip. You can stay here as long as you like. I could use the extra hands. And my baby could use a little brother to grow up with”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “No, no. You have been kind enough. I have a job waiting for me and friends. And maybe José will be there and I can tell him about the baby. Don’t worry, Isabella. I’ll be fine in Alabama.”\r\n\r\nIsabella clucks her tongue. “It’s different there than here is all I’m saying. They don’t like us over there, not one bit. Don’t give them any excuse to talk to you. You’ve got that baby to think about.”\r\n\r\nBoth women fall silent as they run through various worst-case scenarios better left unsaid.\r\n\r\n“I leave tomorrow,” Ave reminds her. “I can’t thank you and Zach enough for all your help and generosity. I would have been lost without you both.”\r\n\r\nIsabella grins. “I know. Well, let’s get you packed. We’ll go up to the store and get you a few things for your trip.”\r\n\r\n“Thank you, Tia,” Ave says, leaning over to kiss her cousin on the forehead. “I think I hear baby Juan crying. He must be awake. Would you like me to rock him back to sleep?”\r\n\r\nRelieved, Isabella replies, “You wouldn’t mind?”\r\n\r\n“Not at all,” Ave says. “I want all the time I can get with him before I leave.”\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">***</p>\r\nThere is more Spanish than English in the San Antonio bus terminal which reassures Ave after Isabella and Juan leave her on her own. Her belly has begun to show now that she is four months with child. The baby growing inside her is strong, loves to kick and wakes her up at all hours. The trip on the bus won’t be the most enjoyable, but she has been in more uncomfortable traveling arrangements before, she thinks, remembering the 12 days she spent crossing the border.\r\n\r\nHer trip and arrival in Alabama are blessedly uneventful. Her job in the factory is tiring and monotonous but the pay is better than back home. More to the point, they actually hired her in the first place, even though she was clearly pregnant. In fact, her belly might have helped her get the job as her lie about her age seemed more believable to the hiring boss. For the next four months, her life falls into a pleasant routine unlike she has ever known and she comes to think of the tiny Alabama town as her home.\r\n\r\nShe rooms with three other women, all from her state in Mexico, and they all commute together to work. None of them are in the country legally, but each has managed to obtain forged papers. Every so often rumors of immigration raids on the factory ripple through the ranks, but nothing ever pans out, so eventually, the edge that comes with the warnings diminish, replaced by a generalized anxiety that becomes easy to ignore.\r\n\r\nOne morning, Ave announces to her roommates that she is leaving the factory floor.\r\n\r\n“Today is my last day,” Ave says on their way to work. “I’m eight months pregnant, my back is killing me, feet are swollen and my hands are so puffy I can hardly work the machines any more.”\r\n\r\nIt doesn’t surprise her friends. They have been urging her to stop working, but Ave has insisted, explaining that every little bit of extra cash will help with all the baby expenses soon to come, especially with José nowhere to be found and unable to offer any financial support. The last anyone had heard of him, he had gone two counties over to pick a harvest of peaches. He had never returned. No one knew any more of his whereabouts, and her greatest fears about him — his death or detention — seemed more likely the longer no one heard from him.\r\n\r\n“Well, it’s about time,” says the oldest woman in the group, Anna, a woman the rest consider a kind of surrogate mother in America. She cooks, fusses and reminds them to go to worship every Saturday night instead of out dancing. “You’ve been needing to get off your feet for a month now at least. It will be nice to have a little baby around the house again. Mine are all grown and gone and scattered throughout the Southeast.”\r\n\r\n“Let’s throw her a party,” one of the girls suggests from the backseat. And for the remainder of the commute, the talk is all of streamers, and baby shower games and cakes and presents. Ave smiles.\r\n\r\nOn the factory floor, the day thrums along as it always does. The factory break room at lunch is filled with smells of home mixed with the aroma of greasy fast food, reheated. The afternoon churns on, until about 2 p.m., when the factory doors burst open and black-armored men, guns drawn and chests emblazoned with the letters I-C-E, flood into the cavernous room like ants scurrying from a caved-in hill. The clatter of chairs falling to the floor, shrieks of fear and deep, gravelly shouts to halt echo in a nightmarish cacophony.\r\n\r\nAve feels her breath grow shallow and then her body sinks on weak knees. When she wakes, her head is throbbing but she cannot reach her hand to feel the knot on her forehead. Her hands are in plastic cuffs behind her back, and she is slumped on her side against a wall with the other factory women. She hears them crying, sobbing about the children who will return from school to homes without mothers, and perhaps fathers, about the thousands of miles that will soon separate them from their sons and daughters.\r\n\r\nReality begins to sink in for Ave as one of the ICE agents lifts her to her feet and helps her to one of the buses in the parking lot that will take her and the other workers to the immigration detention center. The bus ride to the detention center takes an hour. Some of the women whisper. Some sleep. Many weep.\r\n\r\n“I just can’t believe my luck,” Ave whispers to no one in particular. “Today was my last day at the factory. My last day and ICE shows up. If only I’d just stayed at home.”\r\n\r\nAcross the aisle, an older woman, her gray hair wrapped in bun on top of her head, replies, “It’s got nothing to do with luck, <em>niña</em>. It’s not a matter of if but when you get sent back to Mexico when you live in Alabama. If they didn’t get you today, they would’ve found you in a couple of weeks when the census takers come out knocking on doors.”\r\n\r\nAfter an uncomfortable hour on the bus, it arrives at the detention center, a massive, lifeless gray building with slits for windows like narrowed, suspicious eyes. A female guard boards the bus to greet them.\r\n\r\n“Welcome to the Stable, my <em>vacas</em>,” the scrawny-haired guard shouts. “Hope y’all enjoy your stay here on your way back to whatever rotten country you came from. Showers are mandatory. I don’t want to smell you heifers any more than I have to. Now, off the bus for processing!”\r\n\r\nThe story continues tomorrow … <a href=\"../2011/12/21/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I','','publish','open','open','','christmas-undocumented-nochebuena-part-i','','','2011-12-22 09:58:05','2011-12-22 17:58:05','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3235',0,'post','',0),(3236,31,'2011-12-19 21:18:59','2011-12-20 05:18:59','','Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3235-revision','','','2011-12-19 21:18:59','2011-12-20 05:18:59','',3235,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/19/3235-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3237,31,'2011-12-19 21:21:10','2011-12-20 05:21:10','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo-298x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"298\" height=\"300\" /></a>\n<p style=\"text-align: center\">Noc</p>\nAve remains with Isabella for three months, until her cousin gives birth to her son and settles into her new life as a mother.\n\nIn her time in America, Ave has managed to find enough work — paid only in cash — to purchase a few incidentals and a bus ticket to a small town in Alabama where a job in a factory and a few friends await her. Despite her best efforts, she’s not managed to find any more information on her boyfriend. She has tried all the names and aliases he might be using — José Mann, José David, José David Mann — but all her leads turn into dead ends. Maybe once she makes it to Alabama, her search will get easier, but she fears the worst, death or detention.\n\nAve is sitting at the breakfast table worrying over her boyfriend’s fate when Isabella offers her a plate of eggs, beans and corn grits.\n\n“Eat, your baby needs it even if you don’t feel like it,” Isabella says, sitting down next to her. “I wish you’d reconsider this trip. You can stay here as long as you like. I could use the extra hands. And my baby could use a little brother to grow up with”\n\nAve shakes her head. “No, no. You have been kind enough. I have a job waiting for me and friends. And maybe José will be there and I can tell him about the baby. Don’t worry, Isabella. I’ll be fine in Alabama.”\n\nIsabella clucks her tongue. “It’s different there than here is all I’m saying. They don’t like us over there, not one bit. Don’t give them any excuse to talk to you. You’ve got that baby to think about.”\n\nBoth women fall silent as they run through various worst-case scenarios better left unsaid.\n\n“I leave tomorrow,” Ave reminds her. “I can’t thank you and Zach enough for all your help and generosity. I would have been lost without you both.”\n\nIsabella grins. “I know. Well, let’s get you packed. We’ll go up to the store and get you a few things for your trip.”\n\n“Thank you, Tia,” Ave says, leaning over to kiss her cousin on the forehead. “I think I hear baby Juan crying. He must be awake. Would you like me to rock him back to sleep?”\n\nRelieved, Isabella replies, “You wouldn’t mind?”\n\n“Not at all,” Ave says. “I want all the time I can get with him before I leave.”\n\n***\n\nThere is more Spanish than English in the San Antonio bus terminal which reassures Ave after Isabella and Juan leave her on her own. Her belly has begun to show now that she is four months with child. The baby growing inside her is strong, loves to kick and wakes her up at all hours. The trip on the bus won’t be the most enjoyable, but she has been in more uncomfortable traveling arrangements before, she thinks, remembering the 12 days she spent crossing the border.\n\nHer trip and arrival in Alabama are blessedly uneventful. Her job in the factory is tiring and monotonous but the pay is better than back home. More to the point, they actually hired her in the first place, even though she was clearly pregnant. In fact, her belly might have helped her get the job as her lie about her age seemed more believable to the hiring boss. For the next four months, her life falls into a pleasant routine unlike she has ever known and she comes to think of the tiny Alabama town as her home.\n\nShe rooms with three other women, all from her state in Mexico, and they all commute together to work. None of them are in the country legally, but each has managed to obtain forged papers. Every so often rumors of immigration raids on the factory ripple through the ranks, but nothing ever pans out, so eventually, the edge that comes with the warnings diminish, replaced by a generalized anxiety that becomes easy to ignore.\n\nOne morning, Ave announces to her roommates that she is leaving the factory floor.\n\n“Today is my last day,” Ave says on their way to work. “I’m eight months pregnant, my back is killing me, feet are swollen and my hands are so puffy I can hardly work the machines any more.”\n\nIt doesn’t surprise her friends. They have been urging her to stop working, but Ave has insisted, explaining that every little bit of extra cash will help with all the baby expenses soon to come, especially with José nowhere to be found and unable to offer any financial support. The last anyone had heard of him, he had gone two counties over to pick a harvest of peaches. He had never returned. No one knew any more of his whereabouts, and her greatest fears about him — his death or detention — seemed more likely the longer no one heard from him.\n\n“Well, it’s about time,” says the oldest woman in the group, Anna, a woman the rest consider a kind of surrogate mother in America. She cooks, fusses and reminds them to go to worship every Saturday night instead of out dancing. “You’ve been needing to get off your feet for a month now at least. It will be nice to have a little baby around the house again. Mine are all grown and gone and scattered throughout the Southeast.”\n\n“Let’s throw her a party,” one of the girls suggests from the backseat. And for the remainder of the commute, the talk is all of streamers, and baby shower games and cakes and presents. Ave smiles.\n\nOn the factory floor, the day thrums along as it always does. The factory break room at lunch is filled with smells of home mixed with the aroma of greasy fast food, reheated. The afternoon churns on, until about 2 p.m., when the factory doors burst open and black-armored men, guns drawn and chests emblazoned with the letters I-C-E, flood into the cavernous room like ants scurrying from a caved-in hill. The clatter of chairs falling to the floor, shrieks of fear and deep, gravelly shouts to halt echo in a nightmarish cacophony.\n\nAve feels her breath grow shallow and then her body sinks on weak knees. When she wakes, her head is throbbing but she cannot reach her hand to feel the knot on her forehead. Her hands are in plastic cuffs behind her back, and she is slumped on her side against a wall with the other factory women. She hears them crying, sobbing about the children who will return from school to homes without mothers, and perhaps fathers, about the thousands of miles that will soon separate them from their sons and daughters.\n\nReality begins to sink in for Ave as one of the ICE agents lifts her to her feet and helps her to one of the buses in the parking lot that will take her and the other workers to the immigration detention center. The bus ride to the detention center takes an hour. Some of the women whisper. Some sleep. Many weep.\n\n“I just can’t believe my luck,” Ave whispers to no one in particular. “Today was my last day at the factory. My last day and ICE shows up. If only I’d just stayed at home.”\n\nAcross the aisle, an older woman, her gray hair wrapped in bun on top of her head, replies, “It’s got nothing to do with luck, <em>niña</em>. It’s not a matter of if but when you get sent back to Mexico when you live in Alabama. If they didn’t get you today, they would’ve found you in a couple of weeks when the census takers come out knocking on doors.”\n\nAfter an uncomfortable hour on the bus, it arrives at the detention center, a massive, lifeless gray building with slits for windows like narrowed, suspicious eyes. A female guard boards the bus to greet them.\n\n“Welcome to the Stable, my <em>vacas</em>,” the scrawny-haired guard shouts. “Hope y’all enjoy your stay here on your way back to whatever rotten country you came from. Showers are mandatory. I don’t want to smell you heifers any more than I have to. Now, off the bus for processing!”<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3235-revision-2','','','2011-12-19 21:21:10','2011-12-20 05:21:10','',3235,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/19/3235-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3281,82,'2011-12-29 08:00:31','2011-12-29 16:00:31','Our American, western culture has become prideful in one aspect that has created a deep unsettling in the mass majority when anything comes to attack it.\r\n\r\n<em>Reality</em>.\r\n\r\nFor example, reality TV is at an all time high on prime time television…for more and more people are desiring “reality” to be injected into life, all in the name of avoiding hypocrisy.\r\n\r\nHowever, reality TV has actually become the most unreliable source of reality our nation has ever seen – yet it’s still highly desired. In fact, it’s so desired that it has become an unhealthy addiction.\r\n\r\nWhat really has brought this all to the surface lately in my heart has been the fever pitch surrounding Tim Tebow.\r\n\r\n[caption id=\"attachment_3282\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"193\" caption=\"Knees to the Earth by Juliet Towner\"]<a href=\"http://www.creationswap.com/7ulio\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-3282 \" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/prayingunashamed1-193x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"193\" height=\"300\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\nNow I’m not a huge football fan – in fact, I’m not the most avid sports fan. I like my fair share of catching a hockey game on the TV now and again (Detroit Redwings, you have my support), and I enjoy the Olympics (USA!) – but beyond that, football, basketball, baseball and soccer…I honestly could live without. Yet, it’s hard to ignore the constant media coverage of Tim Tebow lately as he becomes a prominent target of contention in our American society.\r\n\r\n<em>“Don’t mix religion with football – it’s just not realistic.”</em>\r\n\r\nSeriously?...<em>Seriously</em>?\r\n\r\nCome on folks…let’s get “<em>real</em>” here for a moment. Whether we like it or not, religion (just like politics) is in our face every day we live and breathe. Yet, go figure, these are the very two things we’re “instructed” to avoid discussing because of the huge disagreements they can cause.\r\n\r\nThe truth is though, these are the very topics of discussion that need to be addressed in our lives, for these topics actually target reality. They target core heart issues that define our very lives by the beliefs we hold within each of these two areas. They single-handedly go hand in hand with our daily lives.\r\n\r\nPerhaps this is the very reason most want to avoid discussion of such topics and just want to focus on mind-numbing nothingness…because it provides an escape from the reality of life. However, this isn’t how Christians are called to live out life.\r\n\r\n<em>“Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord!”</em> -Lamentations 3:40 (ESV)\r\n\r\nIt’s right here in scripture, yet so many overlook this vitally important aspect of the Christian life. Most would rather turn a blind eye to the true aspects of life, rather than truly face them head on and examine their own lives against them, along side the very word of God.\r\n\r\nIn all honesty folks, this is why Tim Tebow has become the very thorn in most peoples’ sides. His outward expression of His devoted faith in God shines a light on all our sinful lives to the point it mirrors an image back to us that honestly is just hideous. And sincerely, who really wants to look at an ugly reflection?\r\n\r\nFriends, I get it. I really don’t like some of the reflections I get shown to me either – but it doesn’t mean the problems that I have within me go away by avoiding them by seeking to demolish anything that comes along to reveal the truth of my own depravity to my blind-shaded eyes.\r\n\r\nThe reality is, I am a human, I am sinful, and I need constant correction. And the only way to do this is to constantly keep myself in a realistic check that despite my sin, I am still loved by an almighty God who loves me amidst my failings. Praise Him for His grace! So why shouldn’t I constantly praise Him in all areas of my life…wherever I go…despite the hecklings I will endure? Why shouldn’t we all?\r\n\r\nGod will have His way, and reveal who He is through whomever He can in any arena He’s given the ability to shine in. Tim Tebow is merely one person who deeply loves Christ, and it unashamed to live it out boldly. For this, I can only commend him – and in turn, hope I continue to grow in ways that leads me to be just as bold for Christ.\r\n\r\nFor the reality is…Christ is everything, and this world is nothing without Him.','What is Reality?','','publish','open','open','','what-is-reality','','','2011-12-23 09:46:29','2011-12-23 17:46:29','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3281',0,'post','',5),(3238,0,'2011-12-19 22:40:13','2011-12-20 06:40:13','Hi!\r\n\r\nWould your magazine like to get even wider audience?\r\n\r\nBublaa, a new topic-based social network, is running a competition with a grand total of $10,000 in prize money.\r\n \r\nYou compete by creating a new community, a bubble, around your topic of interest. Then you grow your bubble as big as possible by encouraging people with similar interests to join it. The three biggest bubbles by January 21th 2012 win either $6,000, $3,000 or $1,000.\r\n \r\nGranted, competitions might not be your traditional way of collecting funds, but it is all for additional visibility for your site. At the same time you will establish a new place for people to connect online. To give you an incentive on how easy it could be for you to win: The #1 bubble at the moment is \"Mac Miller Fans\" with only 91 members.\r\n \r\nI hope this opportunity is of help to you. The competition is called Flowbar Bubble Race. You can find all the information about the competition here: http://www.bublaa.com/race.\r\n \r\nBest of luck!\r\n\r\nSanna\r\nhttp://flowbar.com/\n<!--more-->\nAUTHOR: Sanna Nygren\nAUTHOR EMAIL: sanna.nygren@bublaa.com\nAUTHOR URL: \nSUBJECT: [Provoketive Magazine] Contact Us\nIP: 80.221.28.246\nArray\n(\n    [Name] =&gt; Sanna Nygren\n    [Email] =&gt; sanna.nygren@bublaa.com\n    [Comment] =&gt; Hi!\r\n\r\nWould your magazine like to get even wider audience?\r\n\r\nBublaa, a new topic-based social network, is running a competition with a grand total of $10,000 in prize money.\r\n \r\nYou compete by creating a new community, a bubble, around your topic of interest. Then you grow your bubble as big as possible by encouraging people with similar interests to join it. The three biggest bubbles by January 21th 2012 win either $6,000, $3,000 or $1,000.\r\n \r\nGranted, competitions might not be your traditional way of collecting funds, but it is all for additional visibility for your site. At the same time you will establish a new place for people to connect online. To give you an incentive on how easy it could be for you to win: The #1 bubble at the moment is \"Mac Miller Fans\" with only 91 members.\r\n \r\nI hope this opportunity is of help to you. The competition is called Flowbar Bubble Race. You can find all the information about the competition here: http://www.bublaa.com/race.\r\n \r\nBest of luck!\r\n\r\nSanna\r\nhttp://flowbar.com/\r\n\r\n\n)\n','Sanna Nygren - 2011-12-19 22:40:13','','publish','open','open','','0be9915a871350478a397a9d05fd4a82','','','2011-12-19 22:40:13','2011-12-20 06:40:13','',16,'http://provoketive.com/?post_type=feedback&p=3238',0,'feedback','',0),(3239,106,'2011-12-21 10:00:59','2011-12-21 18:00:59','As I consider the Advent season, I am reminded and inspired to think that Jesus’ birth on earth transformed everything, whether I (or you) have ‘met’ Him or not. I have always stumbled on the questions: “Have you met Jesus?” or “Do you know Jesus?”. I recall the first time I heard them as a teenager at a Young Life Weekend. Although I had been raised Christian and knew the story of Jesus, I was fairly certain I hadn’t had a specific “meeting.” After all, one would remember such an incident, right?\r\n\r\nFifteen years later, I still wrestle with the concept of “knowing” God. This assumption - that you either “know” God or you don’t - seems to turn the active process of faith into a stagnant, one-time realization.\r\n\r\nOf course, the one-time meeting would make things so easy; we’d have a guaranteed spot on the List to Heaven. Perhaps Jesus was speaking to our tendency to seek this quick assurance when he warned, “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven.” (Matthew 7:21) Entering heaven, to me, seems less of a one-time meeting with God, and more of a lifetime endeavor to do God’s will.\r\n\r\nI like what the 18th century theologian Emanuel Swedenborg said about how to genuinely love and worship God: “Many suppose that they worship the Lord by faith when they believe the things of the doctrine of the church, and that they worship the Lord by love when they love Him. Yet the Lord is not worshiped by merely believing, and by merely loving, but by living according to His commandments” (Secrets of Heaven 1064:2). More recently, Rob Bell, in his work Love Wins, also offers some insight about how hard it can be to really “know” Jesus. He writes: “In the stories about Jesus a lot of people, including his own family, are uncertain about exactly who Jesus is and what he’s up to—except demons, who know exactly who he is and what he is doing.”\r\n\r\nAs I reflect on the Christmas story, and celebrate the Lord’s birth on earth, I won’t be focusing on a time that I “met” Jesus, or thinking of his presence on earth as a one-time event. Still, I want to celebrate the miracle of the invisible becoming visible, a new illumination of the path of compassion, kindness, forgiveness, and deep love. Probably the greatest gift I could give to the Divine, and especially to those around me, is to follow that path, to embody those qualities. I want to let my life (not just my words) become a testament to the beauty and transformative power of the Christmas story. That’s the only way I know how to “know” Jesus. And if that’s what they meant by the question all those years ago, then, my answer would be “I’m getting to know him more all the time.”','Meeting Jesus Is Not the Point','','publish','open','open','','meeting-jesus-is-not-the-point','','','2011-12-20 09:52:44','2011-12-20 17:52:44','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3239',0,'post','',1),(3240,106,'2011-12-20 07:05:20','2011-12-20 15:05:20','','Auto Draft','','inherit','open','open','','3239-revision','','','2011-12-20 07:05:20','2011-12-20 15:05:20','',3239,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3239-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3242,106,'2011-12-20 07:12:34','2011-12-20 15:12:34','As I consider the Advent season, I am reminded and inspired to think that Jesus’ birth on earth transformed everything, whether I (or you) have ‘met’ Him or not. I have always stumbled on the questions: “Have you met Jesus?” or “Do you know Jesus?”. I recall the first time I heard them as a teenager at a Young Life Weekend. Although I had been raised Christian and knew the story of Jesus, I was fairly certain I hadn’t had a specific “meeting.” After all, one would remember such an incident, right?\n\nFifteen years later, I still wrestle with the concept of “knowing” God. This assumption - that you either “know” God or you don’t - seems to turn the active process of faith into a stagnant, one-time realization.\n\nOf course, the one-time meeting would make things so easy; we’d have a guaranteed spot on the List to Heaven. Perhaps Jesus was speaking to our tendency to seek this quick assurance when he warned, “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven.” (Matthew 7:21) Entering heaven, to me, seems less of a one-time meeting with God, and more of a lifetime endeavor to do God’s will.\n\nI like what the 18th century theologian Emanuel Swedenborg said about how to genuinely love and worship God: “Many suppose that they worship the Lord by faith when they believe the things of the doctrine of the church, and that they worship the Lord by love when they love Him. Yet the Lord is not worshiped by merely believing, and by merely loving, but by living according to His commandments” (Secrets of Heaven 1064:2). More recently, Rob Bell, in his work Love Wins, also offers some insight about how hard it can be to really “know” Jesus. He writes: “In the stories about Jesus a lot of people, including his own family, are uncertain about exactly who Jesus is and what he’s up to—except demons, who know exactly who he is and what he is doing.”\n\nAs I reflect on the Christmas story, and celebrate the Lord’s birth on earth, I won’t be focusing on a time that I “met” Jesus, or thinking of his presence on earth as a one-time event. Still, I want to celebrate the miracle of the invisible becoming visible, a new illumination of the path of compassion, kindness, forgiveness, and deep love. Probably the greatest gift I could give to the Divine, and especially to those around me, is to follow that path, to embody those qualities. I want to let my life (not just my words) become a testament to the beauty and transformative power of the Christmas story. That’s the only way I know how to “know” Jesus. And if that’s what they meant by the question all those years ago, then, my answer would be “I’m getting to know him more all the time.”','Meeting Jesus Is Not the Point','','inherit','open','open','','3239-revision-2','','','2011-12-20 07:12:34','2011-12-20 15:12:34','',3239,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3239-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3243,1,'2011-12-20 09:41:04','2011-12-20 17:41:04','As I consider the Advent season, I am reminded and inspired to think that Jesus’ birth on earth transformed everything, whether I (or you) have ‘met’ Him or not. I have always stumbled on the questions: “Have you met Jesus?” or “Do you know Jesus?”. I recall the first time I heard them as a teenager at a Young Life Weekend. Although I had been raised Christian and knew the story of Jesus, I was fairly certain I hadn’t had a specific “meeting.” After all, one would remember such an incident, right?\n\nFifteen years later, I still wrestle with the concept of “knowing” God. This assumption - that you either “know” God or you don’t - seems to turn the active process of faith into a stagnant, one-time realization.\n\nOf course, the one-time meeting would make things so easy; we’d have a guaranteed spot on the List to Heaven. Perhaps Jesus was speaking to our tendency to seek this quick assurance when he warned, “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven.” (Matthew 7:21) Entering heaven, to me, seems less of a one-time meeting with God, and more of a lifetime endeavor to do God’s will.\n\nI like what the 18th century theologian Emanuel Swedenborg said about how to genuinely love and worship God: “Many suppose that they worship the Lord by faith when they believe the things of the doctrine of the church, and that they worship the Lord by love when they love Him. Yet the Lord is not worshiped by merely believing, and by merely loving, but by living according to His commandments” (Secrets of Heaven 1064:2). More recently, Rob Bell, in his work Love Wins, also offers some insight about how hard it can be to really “know” Jesus. He writes: “In the stories about Jesus a lot of people, including his own family, are uncertain about exactly who Jesus is and what he’s up to—except demons, who know exactly who he is and what he is doing.”\n\nAs I reflect on the Christmas story, and celebrate the Lord’s birth on earth, I won’t be focusing on a time that I “met” Jesus, or thinking of his presence on earth as a one-time event. Still, I want to celebrate the miracle of the invisible becoming visible, a new illumination of the path of compassion, kindness, forgiveness, and deep love. Probably the greatest gift I could give to the Divine, and especially to those around me, is to follow that path, to embody those qualities. I want to let my life (not just my words) become a testament to the beauty and transformative power of the Christmas story. That’s the only way I know how to “know” Jesus. And if that’s what they meant by the question all those years ago, then, my answer would be “I’m getting to know him more all the time.”','Meeting Jesus Is Not the Point','','inherit','open','open','','3239-autosave','','','2011-12-20 09:41:04','2011-12-20 17:41:04','',3239,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3239-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3400,35,'2011-12-27 13:53:15','2011-12-27 21:53:15','','How To Hear From God','','inherit','open','open','','how-to-hear-from-god','','','2011-12-27 13:53:15','2011-12-27 21:53:15','',3399,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/How-To-Hear-From-God.jpg',0,'attachment','image/jpeg',0),(3245,35,'2011-12-22 10:00:53','2011-12-22 18:00:53','In the carport are some shelves that store old cans of paint, odds and ends, and needs-to-be-sorted-out junk.  Behind this assorted barrier, several families of small birds have built condos for raising families and sheltering from the cold.  Last spring, God sent me a visual aid through a couple of feathered babies.\r\n\r\nThey sat in the middle of the carport, eyes wide with terror, unable to move even when I got near enough to touch them.  Obviously this was their first or second flying lesson.  They had figured out how to get down, but not back up to home.  And now here was this giant with no Mama bird in sight.  I went back in the house, and when I looked out the door in a few hours, they were gone (hopefully not as some four-legged beastie’s lunch).\r\n\r\nAlmost two years ago, our youngest son moved seven hours away to start life on his own.  In addition to being in the Marine reserves, he added college, a part-time job, and adult responsibilities like paying rent, cooking, and living with his lover and her child.  The stress was huge from the beginning, and increased dramatically over the last year as their relationship disintegrated.  Now he’s got to find a place to live, but can’t afford an apartment without a roommate.  Due to monthly Marine drill and college, moving back here isn’t an option.  He’s stuck where he is for now – sitting in the carport, eyes wide with fear, unable to fly.\r\n\r\nAnd this Mama can’t help him, and wouldn’t rescue him if I could.  He took some big risks and much of what he’s experienced has been painful.  At the moment, he’s surrounded by giant obstacles that seem insurmountable, and both of us are afraid he might end up living in his car.  His job is to make the best of things and try to find his own solutions.  My job is to encourage him, pray like crazy…and let go.  Because if I don’t, he’ll never learn to fly.  But God it’s hard.\r\n\r\n<strong>Long-Distance Love</strong>\r\n\r\nAbsolutely helpless to stop\r\nthe coming catastrophe\r\nI can’t alter one iota\r\nor offer any solace\r\nthat makes any sense\r\nto the life of one I love\r\ngoing down without a trace.\r\n\r\nI can see his face\r\nin the long-distance line,\r\nhear the terror from entrapment,\r\nall escape routes closed.\r\n\r\nI knew this was coming\r\nbefore it even began –\r\na risk he had to make\r\nin adult-sized plans\r\nwith gambler’s odds against him\r\nthat I had to let happen\r\nso he could learn that life isn’t fair,\r\nespecially for the foolish,\r\nbut failure isn’t final,\r\nthough it feels that way.\r\n\r\nI have to let him sink without rescue\r\nand let his hopes die,\r\ntrusting God to take care of him\r\nwhen I can’t.','Letting Go','','publish','open','open','','letting-go','','','2011-12-20 14:53:51','2011-12-20 22:53:51','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3245',0,'post','',4),(3246,35,'2011-12-20 08:13:52','2011-12-20 16:13:52','','Baby Bird Hungry','','inherit','open','open','','baby-bird-hungry','','','2011-12-20 08:13:52','2011-12-20 16:13:52','',3245,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Baby-Bird-Hungry.jpg',0,'attachment','image/jpeg',0),(3247,35,'2011-12-20 08:10:52','2011-12-20 16:10:52','<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">In the carport are some shelves that store old cans of paint, odds and ends, and needs-to-be-sorted-out junk.  Behind this assorted barrier, several families of small birds have built condos for raising families and sheltering from the cold.  Last spring, God sent me a visual aid through a couple of feathered babies.</span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">They sat in the middle of the carport, eyes wide with terror, unable to move even when I got near enough to touch them.  Obviously this was their first or second flying lesson.  They had figured out how to get down, but not back up to home.  And now here was this giant with no Mama bird in sight.  I went back in the house, and when I looked out the door in a few hours, they were gone (hopefully not as some four-legged beastie’s lunch).</span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">Almost two years ago, our youngest son moved seven hours away to start life on his own.  In addition to being in the Marine reserves, he added college, a part-time job, and adult responsibilities like paying rent, cooking, and living with his lover and her child.  The stress was huge from the beginning, and increased dramatically over the last year as their relationship disintegrated.  Now he’s got to find a place to live, but can’t afford an apartment without a roommate.  Due to monthly Marine drill and college, moving back here isn’t an option.  He’s stuck where he is for now – sitting in the carport, eyes wide with fear, unable to fly.</span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">And this Mama can’t help him, and wouldn’t rescue him if I could.  He took some big risks and much of what he’s experienced has been painful.  At the moment, he’s surrounded by giant obstacles that seem insurmountable, and both of us are afraid he might end up living in his car.  His job is to make the best of things and try to find his own solutions.  My job is to encourage him, pray like crazy…and let go.  Because if I don’t, he’ll never learn to fly.  But God it’s hard. </span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">Long-Distance Love</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">Absolutely helpless to stop</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">the coming catastrophe</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I can’t alter one iota</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">or offer any solace</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">that makes any sense</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">to the life of one I love</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">going down without a trace.</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I can see his face</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">in the long-distance line,</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">hear the terror from entrapment,</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">all escape routes closed.</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I knew this was coming</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">before it even began – </span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">a risk he had to make</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">in adult-sized plans</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">with gambler’s odds against him</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">that I had to let happen</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">so he could learn that life isn’t fair,</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">especially for the foolish,</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">but failure isn’t final,</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">though it feels that way.</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I have to let him sink without rescue</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">and let his hopes die,</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">trusting God to take care of him</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">when I can’t.</span></span>\n\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>','Letting Go','','inherit','open','open','','3245-revision','','','2011-12-20 08:10:52','2011-12-20 16:10:52','',3245,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3245-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3279,1,'2011-12-20 14:44:42','2011-12-20 22:44:42','<p style=\"text-align: left;\">(Read <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\">Part I here</a>)</p>\r\nTerror and fear run the next few days together. She remembers stripping naked with the rest of the group and crossing the muddy river in the shivering dark into America with her clothes and knapsack wrapped in plastic and held high over her head. There were Gabby’s warnings about sensors buried on the riverbanks to detect their passing, and there was the hole clipped in the fence. There were the flashes of light from the sky when routine patrols searched for border crossers. The pursuit of border guards, the hiding, the running from snarling dogs, the walking and stumbling through dense brambles of agave and prickly pear that tore at her clothes, her flesh and her will to keep going. There were blisters, cracked, bleeding and painful on her feet and lips. Freezing at night, yet walking on. Sweating during the day, exhaustion overcoming even the heat and fear to bring on sleep.\r\n\r\nAt last, the bedraggled group arrives at their destination, the town of Uvalde.\r\n\r\n“This is as far as I go with you,” Gabby says on the outskirts of town. “The town is to the north and east. Just follow the power lines and you’ll find it. If you don’t wander off, you won’t find any hostile citizens, no border patrols and no more checkpoints to dodge. It’s a straight shot.”\r\n\r\nThe group sloughs off their packs and sits in the dusty grass, exhausted, hurting and tired. Gabby sits down, too, next to Ave.\r\n\r\n“What are you writing?” she asks, pointing to Ave’s palm-sized pink notebook, its spiral binding unrolling at the ends.\r\n\r\nAve shuts the book and places a nervous hand over the top to keep it closed. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of writing.”\r\n\r\n“May I see? What kind of writing? Like a journal?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “I like poetry, but I don’t let anyone read it.”\r\n\r\n“A poet?” Gabby muses. “I’m sure you are wonderful writer.”\r\n\r\nAn uneasy silence hangs between the two women. Unable to find a tactful way to ask the question in her mind, Gabby decides simply to be frank.\r\n\r\n“Have you miscarried?” Gabby asks, turning her body to face Ave’s. “I have worried about this since we began. It is such a long, difficult journey.”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “I don’t think so,” she says, placing a hand on her womb. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I feel like I know he’s in there and he’s happy.\r\n\r\n“A son,” Gabby says, more affirmation of fact than question.\r\n\r\nAve nods. “A son. And he survived. We survived. We made it, just like you said we would.”\r\n\r\nGabby smiles, rising from her seat. “A miracle then. God was indeed with you.”\r\n\r\nAve pondered Gabby’s final words as she remembered the hardships of her journey. Then she remembered the St. Christopher medallion hanging from a chain around her neck. She rises, slowly and painfully, intending to return the necklace to its owner. But when she looks around for Gabby, however, the coyote has vanished into the desert as mysteriously as she had originally appeared.\r\n\r\nShe turns the medallion over in her hand. There is a scuffed inscription on the back, and it looks older than the earth. It reads, “Call him Jesus.” Puzzled, Ave wonders what it means. She puts the necklace back on, says goodbye to the rest of the group and heads toward Uvalde, occasionally looking around to see if she can spot Gabby ahead of her in the desert.\r\n\r\nWhen she arrives in town, Ave finds a pay phone, digs her phone card from her bag and dials her cousin’s number. Her call is answered after two rings, but no one says hello on the other end.\r\n\r\n“Hello? Hello? Isabella? Is that you?” Ave shouts into the receiver. “Can you hear me? Hello?”\r\n\r\nSuddenly, fear consumes her again. She had not consider that Isabella might not want to help her, might not want to speak with her. What if she didn’t have a place to go here in this foreign country full of suspicious eyes toward immigrants. Ave removes the phone from her ear and is about to replace it in its cradle when she hear’s a woman’s voice shouting on the other end.\r\n\r\n“Hello! Wait, wait! Don’t hang up! Hello? Who’s there?” Relief exhales through her body as she recognizes her cousin’s voice. “Zach, if you’re going to pick up the phone, at least grunt or something to let them know you’re there. Or, better yet, say hello!”\r\n\r\nAve smiles. Isabella has not changed. “Tia, it’s Ave. I need your help. I’m pregnant, I’m in Uvalde and I’m illegal.”\r\n\r\nAve jerks the phone back from her hear as Isabella erupts in shouts. There is the loud clatter of a receiver falling to the floor and the hasty scuffling sound of Isabella retrieving it. “I’m so sorry dear girl, I could not help but leap the moment I heard your voice and your news! God be with you dear child. I’m coming now. I’ll see you in an hour.”\r\n\r\n“So you don’t mind?”\r\n\r\n“Mind? Dear child, no!” Isabella says. “I’m lonely here. I could use the company. And I have news for you, as well. I’m pregnant, too! At my age! Can you believe it?”\r\n\r\nAve smiles again. She is in America, undetected by the border patrol. Her baby has survived, despite the arduous journey. Soon, she would be in the safety of her cousin’s home and filled with good food, tamales and salsa. So, yes, at this point, she would believe just about anything.<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciation, Part II','','inherit','open','open','','3232-revision-4','','','2011-12-20 14:44:42','2011-12-20 22:44:42','',3232,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3232-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3248,35,'2011-12-20 08:14:32','2011-12-20 16:14:32','<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">In the carport are some shelves that store old cans of paint, odds and ends, and needs-to-be-sorted-out junk.  Behind this assorted barrier, several families of small birds have built condos for raising families and sheltering from the cold.  Last spring, God sent me a visual aid through a couple of feathered babies.</span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">They sat in the middle of the carport, eyes wide with terror, unable to move even when I got near enough to touch them.  Obviously this was their first or second flying lesson.  They had figured out how to get down, but not back up to home.  And now here was this giant with no Mama bird in sight.  I went back in the house, and when I looked out the door in a few hours, they were gone (hopefully not as some four-legged beastie’s lunch).</span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">Almost two years ago, our youngest son moved seven hours away to start life on his own.  In addition to being in the Marine reserves, he added college, a part-time job, and adult responsibilities like paying rent, cooking, and living with his lover and her child.  The stress was huge from the beginning, and increased dramatically over the last year as their relationship disintegrated.  Now he’s got to find a place to live, but can’t afford an apartment without a roommate.  Due to monthly Marine drill and college, moving back here isn’t an option.  He’s stuck where he is for now – sitting in the carport, eyes wide with fear, unable to fly.</span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">And this Mama can’t help him, and wouldn’t rescue him if I could.  He took some big risks and much of what he’s experienced has been painful.  At the moment, he’s surrounded by giant obstacles that seem insurmountable, and both of us are afraid he might end up living in his car.  His job is to make the best of things and try to find his own solutions.  My job is to encourage him, pray like crazy…and let go.  Because if I don’t, he’ll never learn to fly.  But God it’s hard. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">Long-Distance Love</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">Absolutely helpless to stop</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">the coming catastrophe</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I can’t alter one iota</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">or offer any solace</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">that makes any sense</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">to the life of one I love</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">going down without a trace.</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I can see his face</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">in the long-distance line,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">hear the terror from entrapment,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">all escape routes closed.</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I knew this was coming</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">before it even began – </span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">a risk he had to make</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">in adult-sized plans</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">with gambler’s odds against him</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">that I had to let happen</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">so he could learn that life isn’t fair,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">especially for the foolish,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">but failure isn’t final,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">though it feels that way.</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I have to let him sink without rescue</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">and let his hopes die,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">trusting God to take care of him</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">when I can’t.</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>','Letting Go','','inherit','open','open','','3245-revision-2','','','2011-12-20 08:14:32','2011-12-20 16:14:32','',3245,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3245-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3249,1,'2011-12-20 10:00:31','2011-12-20 18:00:31','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\r\n\r\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes in the <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_NBA_lockout\" target=\"_blank\">NBA couldn\'t agree on how to split three million dollars</a>, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten-year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a goofy kid with a over-sized body that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for the love of the game. He enjoys the moment for what it is: the now.\r\n\r\nAnd then there\'s his faith.\r\n\r\nI actually don\'t mind Tim\'s expression of his faith.  As a follower of Jesus I revel in my capacity as a United States citizen to share my thoughts without concern for imprisonment.  It\'s everyone\'s human right to speak their mind and share what is important to him.  We love Tebow\'s love for the game but some just can\'t stand his love for God.  And when I sit back and listen to the chatter, I can begin to see the concern.  We like to separate our lives into neat little compartments, hoping that none the two shall meet. But they do. Tim brings the church pew onto the field and says, \"I\'m gonna make you think about it.\" Tim has so far been an upstanding guy as well.  He\'s so far avoided the scandal that would shutter a major beloved star (read Tiger Woods).  His character is in line with his faith.\r\n\r\nWhich makes me wonder why some like to hate on Tim Tebow.  And recently I read an article that seemed to highlight, at least for me, what the tension is.  In a postmodern, media-driven age, we\'re now recognizing our capacity to question everyone\'s stand.  And Tim Tebow has aligned himself with a specific type of evangelical Christianity, one that it known as much for what it is against as much as what it is for.\r\n\r\nCharles P. Pierce <a href=\"http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7369021/fair-game\" target=\"_blank\">asks a really Provoketive question </a>on ESPN\'s column Grantland.\r\n<blockquote>Let us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\r\n\r\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>\r\n\r\nIt so happens that 95 percent of the population of the Philippines is Roman Catholic. Catholic doctrine just happens to be in conflict with what Bob Tebow and his son preach in regard to personal salvation. (To devout Catholics, for example, sins are not forgiven \"by faith alone,\" but through the sacrament of reconciliation as administered by a priest.) Bob Tebow\'s goal is not to convert unbelievers. It is to supplant an existing form of Christianity. So who\'s the actual Christian here?</blockquote>\r\nIs the hate fueled by Tim\'s love for God or his strong association with Evangelical Christianity, which pits itself against other faiths? The very foundations of it are rooted in the idea of Protest.  In other words, is the public\'s disdain for Tim really a statement against Tim\'s evangelical version of Christianity, which publicly begins with what it is against as much as what it is for.  And this stance is now being questioned and sifted. The public is asking if this is the best representation of Jesus in the public sphere.  Does \"Christian\" look like someone who is known for finding the separation as much as the connection between two individuals?\r\n\r\nWhat do you think?','Does Tim Tebow Represent Christianity','','publish','open','open','','does-tim-tebow-represent-christianity','','','2011-12-20 09:32:44','2011-12-20 17:32:44','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3249',0,'post','',6),(3250,1,'2011-12-20 09:02:47','2011-12-20 17:02:47','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\n\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes can\'t agree on how to split three million dollars, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a frat kid with a beanie that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for\n\n&nbsp;\n\nCharles P. Pierce asks a really Provoketive question.  Does\n\nLet us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\n\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>','Does Tim Tebo Represent Christianity','','inherit','open','open','','3249-revision','','','2011-12-20 09:02:47','2011-12-20 17:02:47','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3249-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3251,1,'2011-12-20 09:05:10','2011-12-20 17:05:10','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\n\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes can\'t agree on how to split three million dollars, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a frat kid with a beanie that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for the love of the game.\n\nAnd then there\'s his faith.\n\nI actually don\'t mind Tim\'s expression of his faith.  It\'s everyone\'s human right to speak their mind and share what is important to him.  We love his love for the game but some just can\'t stand his love for God.  And I get that.  We like to separate our lives into neat little\n\n&nbsp;\n\nCharles P. Pierce asks a really Provoketive question.  Does\n\nLet us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\n\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>','Does Tim Tebo Represent Christianity','','inherit','open','open','','3249-revision-2','','','2011-12-20 09:05:10','2011-12-20 17:05:10','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3249-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3252,1,'2011-12-20 09:17:35','2011-12-20 17:17:35','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\n\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes in the NBA couldn\'t agree on how to split three million dollars, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten-year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a frat kid with a beanie that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for the love of the game. He enjoys the moment for what it is, the now.\n\nAnd then there\'s his faith.\n\nI actually don\'t mind Tim\'s expression of his faith.  As a follower of Jesus I revel in my capacity as a United States citizen to share my thoughts without concern for imprisonment.  It\'s everyone\'s human right to speak their mind and share what is important to him.  We love Tebow\'s love for the game but some just can\'t stand his love for God.  And I get that.  We like to separate our lives into neat little compartments, hoping that none the two shall meet. But they do.  Tim has so far been an upstanding guy as well.  He\'s so far avoided the scandal that would shutter a major beloved star (read Tiger Woods).\n\nWhich makes me wonder why some like to hate on Tim Tebow.  In a postmodern, media-driven age, we\'re now recognizing our capacity to question everyone\'s stand.  And Tim Tebow has aligned himself with a specific type of evangelical Christianity, one that some voluntarily pits itself against other expressions of that same faith.\n\nCharles P. Pierce <a href=\"http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7369021/fair-game\" target=\"_blank\">asks a really Provoketive question </a>on ESPN\'s column Grantland.\n<blockquote>Let us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\n\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>\n\nIt so happens that 95 percent of the population of the Philippines is Roman Catholic. Catholic doctrine just happens to be in conflict with what Bob Tebow and his son preach in regard to personal salvation. (To devout Catholics, for example, sins are not forgiven \"by faith alone,\" but through the sacrament of reconciliation as administered by a priest.) Bob Tebow\'s goal is not to convert unbelievers. It is to supplant an existing form of Christianity. So who\'s the actual Christian here?</blockquote>\nIs the hate fueled by Tim\'s love for God or his strong association with Evangelical Christianity, which pits itself against other faiths?  What do you think?','Does Tim Tebo Represent Christianity','','inherit','open','open','','3249-revision-3','','','2011-12-20 09:17:35','2011-12-20 17:17:35','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3249-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3253,1,'2011-12-20 09:31:08','2011-12-20 17:31:08','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\n\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes in the <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_NBA_lockout\" target=\"_blank\">NBA couldn\'t agree on how to split three million dollars</a>, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten-year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a goofy kid with a over-sized body that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for the love of the game. He enjoys the moment for what it is: the now.\n\nAnd then there\'s his faith.\n\nI actually don\'t mind Tim\'s expression of his faith.  As a follower of Jesus I revel in my capacity as a United States citizen to share my thoughts without concern for imprisonment.  It\'s everyone\'s human right to speak their mind and share what is important to him.  We love Tebow\'s love for the game but some just can\'t stand his love for God.  And when I sit back and listen to the chatter, I can begin to see the concern.  We like to separate our lives into neat little compartments, hoping that none the two shall meet. But they do. Tim brings the church pew onto the field and says, \"I\'m gonna make you think about it.\" Tim has so far been an upstanding guy as well.  He\'s so far avoided the scandal that would shutter a major beloved star (read Tiger Woods).  His character is in line with his\n\nWhich makes me wonder why some like to hate on Tim Tebow.  In a postmodern, media-driven age, we\'re now recognizing our capacity to question everyone\'s stand.  And Tim Tebow has aligned himself with a specific type of evangelical Christianity, one that some voluntarily pits itself against other expressions of that same faith.\n\nCharles P. Pierce <a href=\"http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7369021/fair-game\" target=\"_blank\">asks a really Provoketive question </a>on ESPN\'s column Grantland.\n<blockquote>Let us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\n\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>\n\nIt so happens that 95 percent of the population of the Philippines is Roman Catholic. Catholic doctrine just happens to be in conflict with what Bob Tebow and his son preach in regard to personal salvation. (To devout Catholics, for example, sins are not forgiven \"by faith alone,\" but through the sacrament of reconciliation as administered by a priest.) Bob Tebow\'s goal is not to convert unbelievers. It is to supplant an existing form of Christianity. So who\'s the actual Christian here?</blockquote>\nIs the hate fueled by Tim\'s love for God or his strong association with Evangelical Christianity, which pits itself against other faiths? The very foundations of it are rooted in the idea of Protest.  In other words, is the public\'s disdain for Tim really a statement against Tim\'s evangelical version of Christianity, which publicly begins with what it is against as much as what it is for.  And this stance is now being questioned and sifted. The public is asking if this is the best representation of Jesus in the public sphere.  Does \"Christian\" look like someone who is known for finding the separation as much as the connection between two individuals?\n\nWhat do you think?','Does Tim Tebow Represent Christianity','','inherit','open','open','','3249-autosave','','','2011-12-20 09:31:08','2011-12-20 17:31:08','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3249-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3254,1,'2011-12-20 09:19:56','2011-12-20 17:19:56','','tim_tebow','','inherit','open','open','','tim_tebow','','','2011-12-20 09:19:56','2011-12-20 17:19:56','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/tim_tebow.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3255,1,'2011-12-20 09:17:40','2011-12-20 17:17:40','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\r\n\r\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes in the NBA couldn\'t agree on how to split three million dollars, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten-year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a frat kid with a beanie that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for the love of the game. He enjoys the moment for what it is, the now.\r\n\r\nAnd then there\'s his faith.\r\n\r\nI actually don\'t mind Tim\'s expression of his faith.  As a follower of Jesus I revel in my capacity as a United States citizen to share my thoughts without concern for imprisonment.  It\'s everyone\'s human right to speak their mind and share what is important to him.  We love Tebow\'s love for the game but some just can\'t stand his love for God.  And I get that.  We like to separate our lives into neat little compartments, hoping that none the two shall meet. But they do.  Tim has so far been an upstanding guy as well.  He\'s so far avoided the scandal that would shutter a major beloved star (read Tiger Woods).\r\n\r\nWhich makes me wonder why some like to hate on Tim Tebow.  In a postmodern, media-driven age, we\'re now recognizing our capacity to question everyone\'s stand.  And Tim Tebow has aligned himself with a specific type of evangelical Christianity, one that some voluntarily pits itself against other expressions of that same faith.\r\n\r\nCharles P. Pierce <a href=\"http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7369021/fair-game\" target=\"_blank\">asks a really Provoketive question </a>on ESPN\'s column Grantland.\r\n<blockquote>Let us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\r\n\r\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>\r\n\r\nIt so happens that 95 percent of the population of the Philippines is Roman Catholic. Catholic doctrine just happens to be in conflict with what Bob Tebow and his son preach in regard to personal salvation. (To devout Catholics, for example, sins are not forgiven \"by faith alone,\" but through the sacrament of reconciliation as administered by a priest.) Bob Tebow\'s goal is not to convert unbelievers. It is to supplant an existing form of Christianity. So who\'s the actual Christian here?</blockquote>\r\nIs the hate fueled by Tim\'s love for God or his strong association with Evangelical Christianity, which pits itself against other faiths?  What do you think?','Does Tim Tebo Represent Christianity','','inherit','open','open','','3249-revision-4','','','2011-12-20 09:17:40','2011-12-20 17:17:40','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3249-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3256,1,'2011-12-20 09:27:33','2011-12-20 17:27:33','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\r\n\r\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes in the <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_NBA_lockout\" target=\"_blank\">NBA couldn\'t agree on how to split three million dollars</a>, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten-year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a frat kid with a beanie that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for the love of the game. He enjoys the moment for what it is, the now.\r\n\r\nAnd then there\'s his faith.\r\n\r\nI actually don\'t mind Tim\'s expression of his faith.  As a follower of Jesus I revel in my capacity as a United States citizen to share my thoughts without concern for imprisonment.  It\'s everyone\'s human right to speak their mind and share what is important to him.  We love Tebow\'s love for the game but some just can\'t stand his love for God.  And I get that.  We like to separate our lives into neat little compartments, hoping that none the two shall meet. But they do.  Tim has so far been an upstanding guy as well.  He\'s so far avoided the scandal that would shutter a major beloved star (read Tiger Woods).\r\n\r\nWhich makes me wonder why some like to hate on Tim Tebow.  In a postmodern, media-driven age, we\'re now recognizing our capacity to question everyone\'s stand.  And Tim Tebow has aligned himself with a specific type of evangelical Christianity, one that some voluntarily pits itself against other expressions of that same faith.\r\n\r\nCharles P. Pierce <a href=\"http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7369021/fair-game\" target=\"_blank\">asks a really Provoketive question </a>on ESPN\'s column Grantland.\r\n<blockquote>Let us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\r\n\r\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>\r\n\r\nIt so happens that 95 percent of the population of the Philippines is Roman Catholic. Catholic doctrine just happens to be in conflict with what Bob Tebow and his son preach in regard to personal salvation. (To devout Catholics, for example, sins are not forgiven \"by faith alone,\" but through the sacrament of reconciliation as administered by a priest.) Bob Tebow\'s goal is not to convert unbelievers. It is to supplant an existing form of Christianity. So who\'s the actual Christian here?</blockquote>\r\nIs the hate fueled by Tim\'s love for God or his strong association with Evangelical Christianity, which pits itself against other faiths? The very foundations of it are rooted in the idea of Protest.  In other words, is the public\'s disdain for Tim really a statement against Tim\'s evangelical version of Christianity, which publicly begins with what it is against as much as what it is for.  And this stance is now being questioned and sifted. The public is asking if this is the best representation of Jesus in the public sphere.  Does \"Christian\" look like someone who is known for finding the separation as much as the connection between two individuals?\r\n\r\nWhat do you think?','Does Tim Tebo Represent Christianity','','inherit','open','open','','3249-revision-5','','','2011-12-20 09:27:33','2011-12-20 17:27:33','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3249-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3257,1,'2011-12-20 09:28:02','2011-12-20 17:28:02','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\r\n\r\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes in the <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_NBA_lockout\" target=\"_blank\">NBA couldn\'t agree on how to split three million dollars</a>, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten-year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a frat kid with a beanie that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for the love of the game. He enjoys the moment for what it is, the now.\r\n\r\nAnd then there\'s his faith.\r\n\r\nI actually don\'t mind Tim\'s expression of his faith.  As a follower of Jesus I revel in my capacity as a United States citizen to share my thoughts without concern for imprisonment.  It\'s everyone\'s human right to speak their mind and share what is important to him.  We love Tebow\'s love for the game but some just can\'t stand his love for God.  And I get that.  We like to separate our lives into neat little compartments, hoping that none the two shall meet. But they do.  Tim has so far been an upstanding guy as well.  He\'s so far avoided the scandal that would shutter a major beloved star (read Tiger Woods).\r\n\r\nWhich makes me wonder why some like to hate on Tim Tebow.  In a postmodern, media-driven age, we\'re now recognizing our capacity to question everyone\'s stand.  And Tim Tebow has aligned himself with a specific type of evangelical Christianity, one that some voluntarily pits itself against other expressions of that same faith.\r\n\r\nCharles P. Pierce <a href=\"http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7369021/fair-game\" target=\"_blank\">asks a really Provoketive question </a>on ESPN\'s column Grantland.\r\n<blockquote>Let us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\r\n\r\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>\r\n\r\nIt so happens that 95 percent of the population of the Philippines is Roman Catholic. Catholic doctrine just happens to be in conflict with what Bob Tebow and his son preach in regard to personal salvation. (To devout Catholics, for example, sins are not forgiven \"by faith alone,\" but through the sacrament of reconciliation as administered by a priest.) Bob Tebow\'s goal is not to convert unbelievers. It is to supplant an existing form of Christianity. So who\'s the actual Christian here?</blockquote>\r\nIs the hate fueled by Tim\'s love for God or his strong association with Evangelical Christianity, which pits itself against other faiths? The very foundations of it are rooted in the idea of Protest.  In other words, is the public\'s disdain for Tim really a statement against Tim\'s evangelical version of Christianity, which publicly begins with what it is against as much as what it is for.  And this stance is now being questioned and sifted. The public is asking if this is the best representation of Jesus in the public sphere.  Does \"Christian\" look like someone who is known for finding the separation as much as the connection between two individuals?\r\n\r\nWhat do you think?','Does Tim Tebow Represent Christianity','','inherit','open','open','','3249-revision-6','','','2011-12-20 09:28:02','2011-12-20 17:28:02','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3249-revision-6/',0,'revision','',0),(3258,1,'2011-12-20 09:31:17','2011-12-20 17:31:17','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\r\n\r\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes in the <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_NBA_lockout\" target=\"_blank\">NBA couldn\'t agree on how to split three million dollars</a>, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten-year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a goofy kid with a over-sized body that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for the love of the game. He enjoys the moment for what it is: the now.\r\n\r\nAnd then there\'s his faith.\r\n\r\nI actually don\'t mind Tim\'s expression of his faith.  As a follower of Jesus I revel in my capacity as a United States citizen to share my thoughts without concern for imprisonment.  It\'s everyone\'s human right to speak their mind and share what is important to him.  We love Tebow\'s love for the game but some just can\'t stand his love for God.  And when I sit back and listen to the chatter, I can begin to see the concern.  We like to separate our lives into neat little compartments, hoping that none the two shall meet. But they do. Tim brings the church pew onto the field and says, \"I\'m gonna make you think about it.\" Tim has so far been an upstanding guy as well.  He\'s so far avoided the scandal that would shutter a major beloved star (read Tiger Woods).  His character is in line with his faith.\r\n\r\nWhich makes me wonder why some like to hate on Tim Tebow.  In a postmodern, media-driven age, we\'re now recognizing our capacity to question everyone\'s stand.  And Tim Tebow has aligned himself with a specific type of evangelical Christianity, one that some voluntarily pits itself against other expressions of that same faith.\r\n\r\nCharles P. Pierce <a href=\"http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7369021/fair-game\" target=\"_blank\">asks a really Provoketive question </a>on ESPN\'s column Grantland.\r\n<blockquote>Let us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\r\n\r\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>\r\n\r\nIt so happens that 95 percent of the population of the Philippines is Roman Catholic. Catholic doctrine just happens to be in conflict with what Bob Tebow and his son preach in regard to personal salvation. (To devout Catholics, for example, sins are not forgiven \"by faith alone,\" but through the sacrament of reconciliation as administered by a priest.) Bob Tebow\'s goal is not to convert unbelievers. It is to supplant an existing form of Christianity. So who\'s the actual Christian here?</blockquote>\r\nIs the hate fueled by Tim\'s love for God or his strong association with Evangelical Christianity, which pits itself against other faiths? The very foundations of it are rooted in the idea of Protest.  In other words, is the public\'s disdain for Tim really a statement against Tim\'s evangelical version of Christianity, which publicly begins with what it is against as much as what it is for.  And this stance is now being questioned and sifted. The public is asking if this is the best representation of Jesus in the public sphere.  Does \"Christian\" look like someone who is known for finding the separation as much as the connection between two individuals?\r\n\r\nWhat do you think?','Does Tim Tebow Represent Christianity','','inherit','open','open','','3249-revision-7','','','2011-12-20 09:31:17','2011-12-20 17:31:17','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3249-revision-7/',0,'revision','',0),(3259,1,'2011-12-20 09:32:06','2011-12-20 17:32:06','I love Tim Tebow. There I said it.  But not for the reasons you think.  Tim is not a great football player, as evidenced by his <a href=\"http://scores.espn.go.com/nfl/boxscore?gameId=311218007\" target=\"_blank\">absolute drubbing</a> by the New England Patriots.  Although his statistics as a quarterback have been improving, and his capacity as a leader to instill a competitive fire in his teammates is unquestionable, he\'s still young and NOT the second coming of the Messiah.  He\'s just a human being who loves the game like a little kid.\r\n\r\nAnd that\'s what I love about Tim Tebow.  When the millionaire athletes in the <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2011_NBA_lockout\" target=\"_blank\">NBA couldn\'t agree on how to split three million dollars</a>, it\'s awesome to see someone willing to sit on the pine, anxiously waiting like a ten-year old kid, wondering, \"Can I go in coach?  Can I go in?\" Tebow plays the game with a sense of juvenile glee that is infectious.  He\'s like a goofy kid with a over-sized body that would play \'til the street lights came on, and then want to play some more.  What I love about Tim Tebow is his love and appreciation for the love of the game. He enjoys the moment for what it is: the now.\r\n\r\nAnd then there\'s his faith.\r\n\r\nI actually don\'t mind Tim\'s expression of his faith.  As a follower of Jesus I revel in my capacity as a United States citizen to share my thoughts without concern for imprisonment.  It\'s everyone\'s human right to speak their mind and share what is important to him.  We love Tebow\'s love for the game but some just can\'t stand his love for God.  And when I sit back and listen to the chatter, I can begin to see the concern.  We like to separate our lives into neat little compartments, hoping that none the two shall meet. But they do. Tim brings the church pew onto the field and says, \"I\'m gonna make you think about it.\" Tim has so far been an upstanding guy as well.  He\'s so far avoided the scandal that would shutter a major beloved star (read Tiger Woods).  His character is in line with his faith.\r\n\r\nWhich makes me wonder why some like to hate on Tim Tebow.  And recently I read an article that seemed to highlight, at least for me, what the tension is.  In a postmodern, media-driven age, we\'re now recognizing our capacity to question everyone\'s stand.  And Tim Tebow has aligned himself with a specific type of evangelical Christianity, one that some voluntarily pits itself against other expressions of that same faith.\r\n\r\nCharles P. Pierce <a href=\"http://www.grantland.com/story/_/id/7369021/fair-game\" target=\"_blank\">asks a really Provoketive question </a>on ESPN\'s column Grantland.\r\n<blockquote>Let us be quite clear — Tim Tebow adheres to a particular form of American Protestantism. He belongs to — and proselytizes for — a splinter of a splinter, no more or less than Mitt Romney once did. This particular splinter has a long record in America of fostering anti-Enlightenment thought, retrograde social policies, and, more discreetly, religious bigotry. To call Tim Tebow a \"Christian,\" and to leave it at that — as though there were one definition of what a \"Christian\" is — is to say nothing and everything at once. Roman Catholics are Christians. So are Lutherans, Episcopalians, Melkites, Maronites, and members of the Greek and Russian Orthodox faiths. You can see how insidious this is when discussion turns to the missionary work that Tebow\'s family has done in the Philippines. This is from the Five Priorities of the Bob Tebow ministries, regarding its work overseas:\r\n\r\n<em>It is the goal of the Bob Tebow Evangelistic Association to preach the gospel to every person who has never had an opportunity to hear the good news of eternal life in Jesus Christ. Most of the world\'s population has never once had the opportunity to hear the only true message of forgiveness of sins by faith alone, in Jesus Christ alone.</em>\r\n\r\nIt so happens that 95 percent of the population of the Philippines is Roman Catholic. Catholic doctrine just happens to be in conflict with what Bob Tebow and his son preach in regard to personal salvation. (To devout Catholics, for example, sins are not forgiven \"by faith alone,\" but through the sacrament of reconciliation as administered by a priest.) Bob Tebow\'s goal is not to convert unbelievers. It is to supplant an existing form of Christianity. So who\'s the actual Christian here?</blockquote>\r\nIs the hate fueled by Tim\'s love for God or his strong association with Evangelical Christianity, which pits itself against other faiths? The very foundations of it are rooted in the idea of Protest.  In other words, is the public\'s disdain for Tim really a statement against Tim\'s evangelical version of Christianity, which publicly begins with what it is against as much as what it is for.  And this stance is now being questioned and sifted. The public is asking if this is the best representation of Jesus in the public sphere.  Does \"Christian\" look like someone who is known for finding the separation as much as the connection between two individuals?\r\n\r\nWhat do you think?','Does Tim Tebow Represent Christianity','','inherit','open','open','','3249-revision-8','','','2011-12-20 09:32:06','2011-12-20 17:32:06','',3249,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3249-revision-8/',0,'revision','',0),(3261,1,'2011-12-19 18:40:31','2011-12-20 02:40:31','<em><a href=\"http://feeds.feedburner.com/JoyInThisJourney\" rel=\"alternate\"><img class=\"aligncenter size-full wp-image-1115\" src=\"http://joyinthisjourney.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/02/rollercoaster.jpg\" alt=\"roller coaster\" width=\"230\" height=\"337\" /></a></em>\r\n\r\n<em></em>Dear friend,\r\n\r\n<strong>You possess a rock-solid certainty </strong>of the truth and accuracy of your faith. <strong>This is a gift.</strong> Did you know that? Certainty is not a universal thing.\r\n\r\n<strong>I long for it.</strong> But, at least for now, I don\'t have it.\r\n\r\nSometimes I think you fail to understand that about those of us who are less certain.\r\n\r\n<strong>I often wonder if you think doubters <em>want </em>to doubt,</strong> that we like this uncertain world and make a conscious choice to stay there.\r\n\r\nIs this why you declare your answers to my questions as though pummeling them into me with a sledgehammer? <strong>It\'s as if you think that saying it hard enough or often enough will transform doubt into certainty.</strong>\r\n\r\nSometimes when you speak about doubt, <strong>it sounds like you think doubt is contagious.</strong> And not only contagious but deadly. Like you think it must be isolated at minimum and ideally, destroyed.\r\n\r\nI may not know <em>for certain </em>what God has said on certain issues, but<strong> I know this</strong>. <em><strong>You have never doubted. </strong></em>If you had, you would know better.\r\n\r\nYou would know that it doesn\'t work that way.\r\n\r\nIt isn\'t that easy.\r\n\r\n<em>If only it were that easy.</em>\r\n\r\n<strong>For those of us who wrestle with doubt, </strong><strong>your confident faith is like a lush amusement park in the middle of the Nevada desert. </strong>Inside, everyone is smiling, riding, eating, splashing in refreshing water fountains, having fun.\r\n\r\nI am stuck on the outside. I want the carefree joy I see on your face. I\'m parched, starving, my skin is burned and cracking from the sun and the heat. <strong></strong>\r\n\r\n<strong>But I can\'t find the way in. </strong>\r\n\r\nI stagger along the perimeter, searching for a way in. Hope rises as I spot something... I\'ve finally found it!... only to be shattered again ... it\'s a mirage dissolving into dust. Or a new question sends me on another detour.... waaaaay out into the desert.\r\n\r\nDo you get it?\r\n\r\n<strong>When you scold or rebuke or pound on me for doubting, it\'s like you\'re yelling \"Why aren\'t you in here, you stupid person? GET IN HERE.\" </strong>\r\n\r\n<strong>But you don\'t tell me <em>how</em>.\r\n</strong>\r\n\r\nThat doesn\'t work, does it?\r\n\r\n<strong>I  need directions,</strong> a map, the secret word, a key, the keypad code, <em>something</em> that will lead me to the gate and, at long last, gain me entry.\r\n\r\nI <em>want </em>to get in. I want that confidence and peace that you have.\r\n\r\nI just haven\'t found it yet.','I Want In','','inherit','open','open','','3225-revision-2','','','2011-12-19 18:40:31','2011-12-20 02:40:31','',3225,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/19/3225-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3263,1,'2011-12-20 07:21:22','2011-12-20 15:21:22','As I consider the Advent season, I am reminded and inspired to think that Jesus’ birth on earth transformed everything, whether I (or you) have ‘met’ Him or not. I have always stumbled on the questions: “Have you met Jesus?” or “Do you know Jesus?”. I recall the first time I heard them as a teenager at a Young Life Weekend. Although I had been raised Christian and knew the story of Jesus, I was fairly certain I hadn’t had a specific “meeting.” After all, one would remember such an incident, right?\r\n\r\nFifteen years later, I still wrestle with the concept of “knowing” God. This assumption - that you either “know” God or you don’t - seems to turn the active process of faith into a stagnant, one-time realization.\r\n\r\nOf course, the one-time meeting would make things so easy; we’d have a guaranteed spot on the List to Heaven. Perhaps Jesus was speaking to our tendency to seek this quick assurance when he warned, “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven.” (Matthew 7:21) Entering heaven, to me, seems less of a one-time meeting with God, and more of a lifetime endeavor to do God’s will.\r\n\r\nI like what the 18th century theologian Emanuel Swedenborg said about how to genuinely love and worship God: “Many suppose that they worship the Lord by faith when they believe the things of the doctrine of the church, and that they worship the Lord by love when they love Him. Yet the Lord is not worshiped by merely believing, and by merely loving, but by living according to His commandments” (Secrets of Heaven 1064:2). More recently, Rob Bell, in his work Love Wins, also offers some insight about how hard it can be to really “know” Jesus. He writes: “In the stories about Jesus a lot of people, including his own family, are uncertain about exactly who Jesus is and what he’s up to—except demons, who know exactly who he is and what he is doing.”\r\n\r\nAs I reflect on the Christmas story, and celebrate the Lord’s birth on earth, I won’t be focusing on a time that I “met” Jesus, or thinking of his presence on earth as a one-time event. Still, I want to celebrate the miracle of the invisible becoming visible, a new illumination of the path of compassion, kindness, forgiveness, and deep love. Probably the greatest gift I could give to the Divine, and especially to those around me, is to follow that path, to embody those qualities. I want to let my life (not just my words) become a testament to the beauty and transformative power of the Christmas story. That’s the only way I know how to “know” Jesus. And if that’s what they meant by the question all those years ago, then, my answer would be “I’m getting to know him more all the time.”','Meeting Jesus Is Not the Point','','inherit','open','open','','3239-revision-3','','','2011-12-20 07:21:22','2011-12-20 15:21:22','',3239,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3239-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3264,1,'2011-12-20 09:52:26','2011-12-20 17:52:26','As I consider the Advent season, I am reminded and inspired to think that Jesus’ birth on earth transformed everything, whether I (or you) have ‘met’ Him or not. I have always stumbled on the questions: “Have you met Jesus?” or “Do you know Jesus?”. I recall the first time I heard them as a teenager at a Young Life Weekend. Although I had been raised Christian and knew the story of Jesus, I was fairly certain I hadn’t had a specific “meeting.” After all, one would remember such an incident, right?\r\n\r\nFifteen years later, I still wrestle with the concept of “knowing” God. This assumption - that you either “know” God or you don’t - seems to turn the active process of faith into a stagnant, one-time realization.\r\n\r\nOf course, the one-time meeting would make things so easy; we’d have a guaranteed spot on the List to Heaven. Perhaps Jesus was speaking to our tendency to seek this quick assurance when he warned, “Not everyone who says to Me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ shall enter the kingdom of heaven, but he who does the will of My Father in heaven.” (Matthew 7:21) Entering heaven, to me, seems less of a one-time meeting with God, and more of a lifetime endeavor to do God’s will.\r\n\r\nI like what the 18th century theologian Emanuel Swedenborg said about how to genuinely love and worship God: “Many suppose that they worship the Lord by faith when they believe the things of the doctrine of the church, and that they worship the Lord by love when they love Him. Yet the Lord is not worshiped by merely believing, and by merely loving, but by living according to His commandments” (Secrets of Heaven 1064:2). More recently, Rob Bell, in his work Love Wins, also offers some insight about how hard it can be to really “know” Jesus. He writes: “In the stories about Jesus a lot of people, including his own family, are uncertain about exactly who Jesus is and what he’s up to—except demons, who know exactly who he is and what he is doing.”\r\n\r\nAs I reflect on the Christmas story, and celebrate the Lord’s birth on earth, I won’t be focusing on a time that I “met” Jesus, or thinking of his presence on earth as a one-time event. Still, I want to celebrate the miracle of the invisible becoming visible, a new illumination of the path of compassion, kindness, forgiveness, and deep love. Probably the greatest gift I could give to the Divine, and especially to those around me, is to follow that path, to embody those qualities. I want to let my life (not just my words) become a testament to the beauty and transformative power of the Christmas story. That’s the only way I know how to “know” Jesus. And if that’s what they meant by the question all those years ago, then, my answer would be “I’m getting to know him more all the time.”','Meeting Jesus Is Not the Point','','inherit','open','open','','3239-revision-4','','','2011-12-20 09:52:26','2011-12-20 17:52:26','',3239,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3239-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3265,1,'2011-12-20 14:40:40','2011-12-20 22:40:40','The coyote, dressed only in pink bathrobe, polishes a pair of heavy-duty black work boots in her mildewed bedroom. The single incandescent bulb lighting the room dangles from a twisted wire and makes the already small room seem to shrink. Her hands begin to shake and she steadies them against the claustrophobia only by focusing on the meticulous cadence of a stiff brush scuffing over her boots’ steel toes. Few things she fears more than being confined, but every time she picks up a job, she gambles with her fears, knowing she could end up in a cinderblock cell much worse than the one she calls home. But she can’t help it. She is good at what she does, and with her pixieish figure, her long raven black hair and deep brown eyes, the border guards are rarely suspicious of her. And when they are, all it usually takes is a casual flutter of her lashes or a suggestive hand on an arm before the guards let her pass.\n\nStill, the thought of prison sends a shiver down her bare spine, despite the desert heat. Restless, the coyote stands, allowing the bathrobe to drop to the floor in a damp heap, revealing a pair of intricate wings tattooed on her slender back. The ink begins at her shoulder blades and curves down her back to the outside of each thigh. She picks up a crumpled pack of Camel menthols from the dresser, fishes out a bent cigarette and pushes it between two chapped lips. A flame flickers to life and the cigarette glows as she pulls in the first, biting, beautiful smoke into her lungs.\n\nShe puts the cigarette to the wick of a red candle. It sputters and flares, revealing a faded icon of St. Christopher propped against the wall behind the candle. The image is of a bearded man, walking staff in his hand, a child on his back, traveling. It has always brought her comfort. She replaces the menthol to her lips, sucks and closes her eyes. She has made the trip across the border between Mexico and the United States hundreds of times, and her prayer never changes: that this trip would be no different than the last one, wholly uneventful.\n\nThe coyote opens her eyes, exhales the smoke, and embraces the urgency creeping through her body. She quickly dresses, lightweight beige cargo pants and a simple blue-checkered button down shirt. She packs a small knapsack with a change of clothes, a water bottle, iodine tablets, hearty snacks and a light blanket. She grabs a wad of cash, separated into five different bundles by paper clips, and shoves it into her cargo pants. It is enough, with a little leftover for incidentals, to pay the local gangs and police officers in hopes they will be left alone on the Mexican side of the border. She has two hours, plenty of time to make the bribes and meet her cargo a few miles from the border in an empty field.\n\nSeven men and two women are waiting for her when she arrives in the field, late. They are dressed as they always are, in sweatpants or tattered jeans and ill-fitting shirts with the names of American sports teams splashed across the fronts. Each has a knapsack — an old backpack, a pillowcase, an oversized purse — slung over a shoulder or resting by feet. They are startled to see the coyote approaching them; their grips on their knapsacks tighten and the coyote can tell the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in.\n\n“Who are you and where did you come from?” a young man in his 20s calls out.\n\n“Don’t be afraid. I’m with you,” she replies. “I’m your coyote.”\n\n“But you just appeared,” the man continues, puzzled. “I didn’t hear a car approaching and I certainly didn’t see you walking up, and there’s nowhere to hide out here.”\n\nThe man gestures at the expansive plains, covered with little more than a few mesquite trees and scrawny grasses that stretch from horizon to horizon.\n\n“You would be surprised exactly what can be hidden out here,” the coyote replies. She stops in front of the small group, assesses them and calculates about how long she thinks the trip will take. Everyone looks fit, even the women, and she hopes they can manage the crossing in a week, maybe less with a little luck, she thinks, rubbing the St. Christopher medallion that hangs on a silver chain from her neck.\n\n“We were expecting a man,” a teenager says, his voice sullen.\n\n“You’re welcome to leave, then,” the coyote shoots back icily, pulling her long hair back into tail. “For the rest of you, my name is Gabby and I’m the best coyote by half around here, and that’s all you need to know about me. The trip will take us somewhere between 7 and 10 days if we don’t run into trouble or get lost or have to stop to rest too often.\n\n“I’m here because I want to help you get across the border and, with all the increased border patrols on the other side, you can’t do it alone any more. I’m here because I know that after the trade agreement happened, jobs quit paying enough to put food on a family table. I will not leave you or forsake you in the desert. Either we all make it or we all get sent back.  The trip is hard. You will suffer. You will want to go back. But we will go on together. We will make it. Listen to me. Do what I say, when I say, and we should all be fine. Any questions?”\n\nThe small group of men and women shuffle and glance at their feet, at each other and finally at Gabby. They have lots of questions, but none that Gabby could answer. Would they encounter armed ranchers looking for target practice? Rattlesnakes? Angry wild boar? Would there be a place to refill their water bottles with water that wouldn’t make them all sick? How can it be that they would really be able to cross under her lead? But no one could manage to ask any of those questions, as if to ask them would make the reality of the task in front of them more real.\n\nInstead, a soft voice spoke, one of the women. “Thank you, Gabby, for helping us. Let it be just as you said. We will follow you.”\n\nThe days that follow blur together like the land around them, into seamless streak of bleakness. The group walks in the dark, stumbling over rocks and into each other, their movements barely enough to keep them warm in the chilled desert nights. During the day, with the oppressive heat, they seek cover to keep them hidden and shade under knobbly, stumpy mesquite trees to keep them cool.\n\nAfter two days, the group’s water bottles begin to run dry and several have eaten through too much of the dried beef and fruit they had brought with them. The rations of food left out by well-intentioned groups have been spoiled by local guards, the skins of water, slashed and drained. So, some of the men hunt during breaks from walking with slingshots for small game. On the third night of travel, thirsty and hungry, Gabby leads them to a pump and trough for cattle.\n\n“We’ll have to use this. It’s our only choice. There won’t be another chance for water until we make it across the border and several miles into America,” she announces. “Rest and refill. It will be your last chance to do both until we are safely across.”\n\nOne of the men pumps the handle and dirty, foul-smelling water spews out into the trough. <a href=\"http://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu/book/?GCOI=80140100496740\">Thirst, though, overcomes the natural revulsion and the group refills their bottles with the muddy, brackish water.</a>\n\nGabby pulls aside one of the young women, the one who thanked her when they began their trek.\n\n“Ave?” she says. “Ave. That’s your name, right?”\n\nThe woman smiles and nods. She has long black hair, demure porcelain features and a creamy complexion rouged from the hard travel. “Yes. Have I done something wrong?”\n\n“Put these in your water,” Gabby says, placing two small iodine tablets into Ave’s free hand. “There’s no choice but to drink that putrid mess, but, at least, don’t drink it untreated.”\n\nRelief washes over the young girl’s face. She drops the small white tables into her bottle. “Thank you, Gabby, thank you,” Ave says, eyes and lashes moist. “You’re an angel.”\n\n“They will all have diarrhea by tonight. It’s not safe to drink straight from the pump, especially for someone in your condition,” Gabby says, taking Ave’s bottle from her. “Here, shake it like this and it will help the tablets dissolve more quickly. I’d rather the rest of them not know I gave these to you.”\n\nGabby hands the bottle back to Ave, who immediately takes a drink.\n\n“What do you mean ‘my condition?’” Ave asks, capping the bottle.\n\nGabby raises a thin eyebrow and gives Ave an apprising look. The young girl, in response, withers, in shame or fear Gabby cannot tell. Staring at the ground, Ave begins to shrink away.\n\n“No, no, Ave, don’t be afraid. It’s okay,” Gabby says, reaching out a steadying arm onto the girl’s shoulder. “I know you’re pregnant.”\n\nAve stutters; her thin, rose lips quiver. She glances around and whispers urgently, “How do you know that? I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even my boyfriend.”\n\nGabby shrugs. “I can tell these things, Ave. Everything will be okay. I promise. I will get you through this journey. Ave, how old are you?”\n\n“I’m 19,” Ave replies, forcing herself to stand taller.\n\nGabby stifles a laugh. “If you’re 19, then I’m ancient. How old are you really?”\n\n“I’m almost 14,” Ave replies, bowing her head again. “But please don’t send me home. I’m sorry I lied about my age, but I had to cross and I couldn’t do it alone.”\n\nGabby shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to send you home, but why would you come on such a strenuous trek and take a chance with your health and the health of that baby?”\n\nTears begin to crest over Ave’s long black lashes. “I had no choice. My boyfriend, José, made the trip last month, and I still haven’t heard from him. He doesn’t know I’m pregnant, and I don’t have anyone back home who would understand. Even my parents would think I was slut if I told them, which I haven’t.”\n\n“So you’re a runaway?” Gabby interrupts.\n\nAve nods. “You don’t understand, though. If they found out, they would kick me out, and José’s family won’t believe it\'s their son’s baby since he’s been gone for a month.”\n\n“So where are you going, then?”\n\n“To my cousin Isabella’s house,” Ave replies. “She lives in the hill country outside San Antonio. She’s the only one who will understand what’s going on. I have a phone card in my pack and I’ll call her when we get across to come pick me up.”\n\n“Does she know you’re coming?”\n\nAve shakes her head. “But I can stay with her until I can find a way over to Alabama. I have friends there who work in some factories. José said he was hoping to make it there, so maybe I will find him there.”\n\n“Transporting a undocumented crosser is dangerous business for you and for your cousin. Why not just get a job back home and raise the baby in safety and security?”\n\n“Safety? Security?” Ave snorts in derision. “The <em>maquiladoras</em> won’t hire a pregnant woman. Even if they do, when they find out I’m with child, they’ll just fire me. Pregnancies cost too much for them.\n\n“Besides, I want to see my baby grow up. Most of the women there can’t have babies any more and if they can, then they are born dead. The women start coughing, get sick. All so we can put together televisions bigger than you for a few <em>pesos</em>. You say the trip across the border is dangerous, but it is no more so than staying behind in my village, alone, poor and dying.”\n\nAve is weeping into her dirty hands now, and the other crossers are beginning to notice. Gabby closes around her with strong arms and shushes her. “Don’t be afraid, Ave. We will get you across. And when you get to Alabama, be careful. It’s a dangerous place. If you can avoid it, do. But, look, okay, calm down. It’s okay. Here, take this and wear it. It will keep you safe. God will be with you when you have it on.”\n\nGabby lifts the St. Christopher medallion from around her neck and places it around Ave’s long, slender neck. “Do you really think God will be with me?” Ave responds, the innocence of hope reviving her.\n\nThe coyote places a hand on Ave’s belly. “I think God already is with you. This child is a miracle and he has a saint for a mother. God is with you and so am I. So are all of us. God is watching over us, Ave, and if he’s not, or gets distracted, well, then we’ll just have to look out for each other. So don’t be afraid.”\n\nAve nods. “Let it be so, then.”\n\n“With any luck, we’ll be in America in 24 hours. The river is not far from here.”\n\nThe story continues tomorrow ... <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Annunciation, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3228-autosave','','','2011-12-20 14:40:40','2011-12-20 22:40:40','',3228,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3228-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3269,1,'2011-12-20 10:30:25','2011-12-20 18:30:25','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo-298x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"298\" height=\"300\" /></a>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\"><a href=\"http://patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson\">Annunciation, Part I</a></p>\r\nThe coyote, dressed only in pink bathrobe, polishes a pair of heavy-duty black work boots in her mildewed bedroom. The single incandescent bulb lighting the room dangles from a twisted wire and makes the already small room seem to shrink. Her hands begin to shake and she steadies them against the claustrophobia only by focusing on the meticulous cadence of a stiff brush scuffing over her boots’ steel toes. Few things she fears more than being confined, but every time she picks up a job, she gambles with her fears, knowing she could end up in a cinderblock cell much worse than the one she calls home. But she can’t help it. She is good at what she does, and with her pixieish figure, her long raven black hair and deep brown eyes, the border guards are rarely suspicious of her. And when they are, all it usually takes is a casual flutter of her lashes or a suggestive hand on an arm before the guards let her pass.\r\n\r\nStill, the thought of prison sends a shiver down her bare spine, despite the desert heat. Restless, the coyote stands, allowing the bathrobe to drop to the floor in a damp heap, revealing a pair of intricate wings tattooed on her slender back. The ink begins at her shoulder blades and curves down her back to the outside of each thigh. She picks up a crumpled pack of Camel menthols from the dresser, fishes out a bent cigarette and pushes it between two chapped lips. A flame flickers to life and the cigarette glows as she pulls in the first, biting, beautiful smoke into her lungs.\r\n\r\nShe puts the cigarette to the wick of a red candle. It sputters and flares, revealing a faded icon of St. Christopher propped against the wall behind the candle. The image is of a bearded man, walking staff in his hand, a child on his back, traveling. It has always brought her comfort. She replaces the menthol to her lips, sucks and closes her eyes. She has made the trip across the border between Mexico and the United States hundreds of times, and her prayer never changes: that this trip would be no different than the last one, wholly uneventful.\r\n\r\nThe coyote opens her eyes, exhales the smoke, and embraces the urgency creeping through her body. She quickly dresses, lightweight beige cargo pants and a simple blue-checkered button down shirt. She packs a small knapsack with a change of clothes, a water bottle, iodine tablets, hearty snacks and a light blanket. She grabs a wad of cash, separated into five different bundles by paper clips, and shoves it into her cargo pants. It is enough, with a little leftover for incidentals, to pay the local gangs and police officers in hopes they will be left alone on the Mexican side of the border. She has two hours, plenty of time to make the bribes and meet her cargo a few miles from the border in an empty field.\r\n\r\nSeven men and two women are waiting for her when she arrives in the field, late. They are dressed as they always are, in sweatpants or tattered jeans and ill-fitting shirts with the names of American sports teams splashed across the fronts. Each has a knapsack — an old backpack, a pillowcase, an oversized purse — slung over a shoulder or resting by feet. They are startled to see the coyote approaching them; their grips on their knapsacks tighten and the coyote can tell the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in.\r\n\r\n“Who are you and where did you come from?” a young man in his 20s calls out.\r\n\r\n“Don’t be afraid. I’m with you,” she replies. “I’m your coyote.”\r\n\r\n“But you just appeared,” the man continues, puzzled. “I didn’t hear a car approaching and I certainly didn’t see you walking up, and there’s nowhere to hide out here.”\r\n\r\nThe man gestures at the expansive plains, covered with little more than a few mesquite trees and scrawny grasses that stretch from horizon to horizon.\r\n\r\n“You would be surprised exactly what can be hidden out here,” the coyote replies. She stops in front of the small group, assesses them and calculates about how long she thinks the trip will take. Everyone looks fit, even the women, and she hopes they can manage the crossing in a week, maybe less with a little luck, she thinks, rubbing the St. Christopher medallion that hangs on a silver chain from her neck.\r\n\r\n“We were expecting a man,” a teenager says, his voice sullen.\r\n\r\n“You’re welcome to leave, then,” the coyote shoots back icily, pulling her long hair back into tail. “For the rest of you, my name is Gabby and I’m the best coyote by half around here, and that’s all you need to know about me. The trip will take us somewhere between 7 and 10 days if we don’t run into trouble or get lost or have to stop to rest too often.\r\n\r\n“I’m here because I want to help you get across the border and, with all the increased border patrols on the other side, you can’t do it alone any more. I’m here because I know that after the trade agreement happened, jobs quit paying enough to put food on a family table. I will not leave you or forsake you in the desert. Either we all make it or we all get sent back.  The trip is hard. You will suffer. You will want to go back. But we will go on together. We will make it. Listen to me. Do what I say, when I say, and we should all be fine. Any questions?”\r\n\r\nThe small group of men and women shuffle and glance at their feet, at each other and finally at Gabby. They have lots of questions, but none that Gabby could answer. Would they encounter armed ranchers looking for target practice? Rattlesnakes? Angry wild boar? Would there be a place to refill their water bottles with water that wouldn’t make them all sick? How can it be that they would really be able to cross under her lead? But no one could manage to ask any of those questions, as if to ask them would make the reality of the task in front of them more real.\r\n\r\nInstead, a soft voice spoke, one of the women. “Thank you, Gabby, for helping us. Let it be just as you said. We will follow you.”\r\n\r\nThe days that follow blur together like the land around them, into seamless streak of bleakness. The group walks in the dark, stumbling over rocks and into each other, their movements barely enough to keep them warm in the chilled desert nights. During the day, with the oppressive heat, they seek cover to keep them hidden and shade under knobbly, stumpy mesquite trees to keep them cool.\r\n\r\nAfter two days, the group’s water bottles begin to run dry and several have eaten through too much of the dried beef and fruit they had brought with them. The rations of food left out by well-intentioned groups have been spoiled by local guards, the skins of water, slashed and drained. So, some of the men hunt during breaks from walking with slingshots for small game. On the third night of travel, thirsty and hungry, Gabby leads them to a pump and trough for cattle.\r\n\r\n“We’ll have to use this. It’s our only choice. There won’t be another chance for water until we make it across the border and several miles into America,” she announces. “Rest and refill. It will be your last chance to do both until we are safely across.”\r\n\r\nOne of the men pumps the handle and dirty, foul-smelling water spews out into the trough. <a href=\"http://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu/book/?GCOI=80140100496740\">Thirst, though, overcomes the natural revulsion and the group refills their bottles with the muddy, brackish water.</a>\r\n\r\nGabby pulls aside one of the young women, the one who thanked her when they began their trek.\r\n\r\n“Ave?” she says. “Ave. That’s your name, right?”\r\n\r\nThe woman smiles and nods. She has long black hair, demure porcelain features and a creamy complexion rouged from the hard travel. “Yes. Have I done something wrong?”\r\n\r\n“Put these in your water,” Gabby says, placing two small iodine tablets into Ave’s free hand. “There’s no choice but to drink that putrid mess, but, at least, don’t drink it untreated.”\r\n\r\nRelief washes over the young girl’s face. She drops the small white tables into her bottle. “Thank you, Gabby, thank you,” Ave says, eyes and lashes moist. “You’re an angel.”\r\n\r\n“They will all have diarrhea by tonight. It’s not safe to drink straight from the pump, especially for someone in your condition,” Gabby says, taking Ave’s bottle from her. “Here, shake it like this and it will help the tablets dissolve more quickly. I’d rather the rest of them not know I gave these to you.”\r\n\r\nGabby hands the bottle back to Ave, who immediately takes a drink.\r\n\r\n“What do you mean ‘my condition?’” Ave asks, capping the bottle.\r\n\r\nGabby raises a thin eyebrow and gives Ave an apprising look. The young girl, in response, withers, in shame or fear Gabby cannot tell. Staring at the ground, Ave begins to shrink away.\r\n\r\n“No, no, Ave, don’t be afraid. It’s okay,” Gabby says, reaching out a steadying arm onto the girl’s shoulder. “I know you’re pregnant.”\r\n\r\nAve stutters; her thin, rose lips quiver. She glances around and whispers urgently, “How do you know that? I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even my boyfriend.”\r\n\r\nGabby shrugs. “I can tell these things, Ave. Everything will be okay. I promise. I will get you through this journey. Ave, how old are you?”\r\n\r\n“I’m 19,” Ave replies, forcing herself to stand taller.\r\n\r\nGabby stifles a laugh. “If you’re 19, then I’m ancient. How old are you really?”\r\n\r\n“I’m almost 14,” Ave replies, bowing her head again. “But please don’t send me home. I’m sorry I lied about my age, but I had to cross and I couldn’t do it alone.”\r\n\r\nGabby shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to send you home, but why would you come on such a strenuous trek and take a chance with your health and the health of that baby?”\r\n\r\nTears begin to crest over Ave’s long black lashes. “I had no choice. My boyfriend, José, made the trip last month, and I still haven’t heard from him. He doesn’t know I’m pregnant, and I don’t have anyone back home who would understand. Even my parents would think I was slut if I told them, which I haven’t.”\r\n\r\n“So you’re a runaway?” Gabby interrupts.\r\n\r\nAve nods. “You don’t understand, though. If they found out, they would kick me out, and José’s family won’t believe it\'s their son’s baby since he’s been gone for a month.”\r\n\r\n“So where are you going, then?”\r\n\r\n“To my cousin Isabella’s house,” Ave replies. “She lives in the hill country outside San Antonio. She’s the only one who will understand what’s going on. I have a phone card in my pack and I’ll call her when we get across to come pick me up.”\r\n\r\n“Does she know you’re coming?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “But I can stay with her until I can find a way over to Alabama. I have friends there who work in some factories. José said he was hoping to make it there, so maybe I will find him there.”\r\n\r\n“Transporting a undocumented crosser is dangerous business for you and for your cousin. Why not just get a job back home and raise the baby in safety and security?”\r\n\r\n“Safety? Security?” Ave snorts in derision. “The <em>maquiladoras</em> won’t hire a pregnant woman. Even if they do, when they find out I’m with child, they’ll just fire me. Pregnancies cost too much for them.\r\n\r\n“Besides, I want to see my baby grow up. Most of the women there can’t have babies any more and if they can, then they are born dead. The women start coughing, get sick. All so we can put together televisions bigger than you for a few <em>pesos</em>. You say the trip across the border is dangerous, but it is no more so than staying behind in my village, alone, poor and dying.”\r\n\r\nAve is weeping into her dirty hands now, and the other crossers are beginning to notice. Gabby closes around her with strong arms and shushes her. “Don’t be afraid, Ave. We will get you across. And when you get to Alabama, be careful. It’s a dangerous place. If you can avoid it, do. But, look, okay, calm down. It’s okay. Here, take this and wear it. It will keep you safe. God will be with you when you have it on.”\r\n\r\nGabby lifts the St. Christopher medallion from around her neck and places it around Ave’s long, slender neck. “Do you really think God will be with me?” Ave responds, the innocence of hope reviving her.\r\n\r\nThe coyote places a hand on Ave’s belly. “I think God already is with you. This child is a miracle and he has a saint for a mother. God is with you and so am I. So are all of us. God is watching over us, Ave, and if he’s not, or gets distracted, well, then we’ll just have to look out for each other. So don’t be afraid.”\r\n\r\nAve nods. “Let it be so, then.”\r\n\r\n“With any luck, we’ll be in America in 24 hours. The river is not far from here.”\r\n\r\nThe story continues tomorrow ... <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Annunciation, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3228-revision-4','','','2011-12-20 10:30:25','2011-12-20 18:30:25','',3228,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3228-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3266,1,'2011-12-19 21:17:54','2011-12-20 05:17:54','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo-298x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"298\" height=\"300\" /></a>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center\"><a href=\"http://patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson\">Anunciaion, Part I</a></p>\r\nThe coyote, dressed only in pink bathrobe, polishes a pair of heavy-duty black work boots in her mildewed bedroom. The single incandescent bulb lighting the room dangles from a twisted wire and makes the already small room seem to shrink. Her hands begin to shake and she steadies them against the claustrophobia only by focusing on the meticulous cadence of a stiff brush scuffing over her boots’ steel toes. Few things she fears more than being confined, but every time she picks up a job, she gambles with her fears, knowing she could end up in a cinderblock cell much worse than the one she calls home. But she can’t help it. She is good at what she does, and with her pixieish figure, her long raven black hair and deep brown eyes, the border guards are rarely suspicious of her. And when they are, all it usually takes is a casual flutter of her lashes or a suggestive hand on an arm before the guards let her pass.\r\n\r\nStill, the thought of prison sends a shiver down her bare spine, despite the desert heat. Restless, the coyote stands, allowing the bathrobe to drop to the floor in a damp heap, revealing a pair of intricate wings tattooed on her slender back. The ink begins at her shoulder blades and curves down her back to the outside of each thigh. She picks up a crumpled pack of Camel menthols from the dresser, fishes out a bent cigarette and pushes it between two chapped lips. A flame flickers to life and the cigarette glows as she pulls in the first, biting, beautiful smoke into her lungs.\r\n\r\nShe puts the cigarette to the wick of a red candle. It sputters and flares, revealing a faded icon of St. Christopher propped against the wall behind the candle. The image is of a bearded man, walking staff in his hand, a child on his back, traveling. It has always brought her comfort. She replaces the menthol to her lips, sucks and closes her eyes. She has made the trip across the border between Mexico and the United States hundreds of times, and her prayer never changes: that this trip would be no different than the last one, wholly uneventful.\r\n\r\nThe coyote opens her eyes, exhales the smoke, and embraces the urgency creeping through her body. She quickly dresses, lightweight beige cargo pants and a simple blue-checkered button down shirt. She packs a small knapsack with a change of clothes, a water bottle, iodine tablets, hearty snacks and a light blanket. She grabs a wad of cash, separated into five different bundles by paper clips, and shoves it into her cargo pants. It is enough, with a little leftover for incidentals, to pay the local gangs and police officers in hopes they will be left alone on the Mexican side of the border. She has two hours, plenty of time to make the bribes and meet her cargo a few miles from the border in an empty field.\r\n\r\nSeven men and two women are waiting for her when she arrives in the field, late. They are dressed as they always are, in sweatpants or tattered jeans and ill-fitting shirts with the names of American sports teams splashed across the fronts. Each has a knapsack — an old backpack, a pillowcase, an oversized purse — slung over a shoulder or resting by feet. They are startled to see the coyote approaching them; their grips on their knapsacks tighten and the coyote can tell the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in.\r\n\r\n“Who are you and where did you come from?” a young man in his 20s calls out.\r\n\r\n“Don’t be afraid. I’m with you,” she replies. “I’m your coyote.”\r\n\r\n“But you just appeared,” the man continues, puzzled. “I didn’t hear a car approaching and I certainly didn’t see you walking up, and there’s nowhere to hide out here.”\r\n\r\nThe man gestures at the expansive plains, covered with little more than a few mesquite trees and scrawny grasses that stretch from horizon to horizon.\r\n\r\n“You would be surprised exactly what can be hidden out here,” the coyote replies. She stops in front of the small group, assesses them and calculates about how long she thinks the trip will take. Everyone looks fit, even the women, and she hopes they can manage the crossing in a week, maybe less with a little luck, she thinks, rubbing the St. Christopher medallion that hangs on a silver chain from her neck.\r\n\r\n“We were expecting a man,” a teenager says, his voice sullen.\r\n\r\n“You’re welcome to leave, then,” the coyote shoots back icily, pulling her long hair back into tail. “For the rest of you, my name is Gabby and I’m the best coyote by half around here, and that’s all you need to know about me. The trip will take us somewhere between 7 and 10 days if we don’t run into trouble or get lost or have to stop to rest too often.\r\n\r\n“I’m here because I want to help you get across the border and, with all the increased border patrols on the other side, you can’t do it alone any more. I’m here because I know that after the trade agreement happened, jobs quit paying enough to put food on a family table. I will not leave you or forsake you in the desert. Either we all make it or we all get sent back.  The trip is hard. You will suffer. You will want to go back. But we will go on together. We will make it. Listen to me. Do what I say, when I say, and we should all be fine. Any questions?”\r\n\r\nThe small group of men and women shuffle and glance at their feet, at each other and finally at Gabby. They have lots of questions, but none that Gabby could answer. Would they encounter armed ranchers looking for target practice? Rattlesnakes? Angry wild boar? Would there be a place to refill their water bottles with water that wouldn’t make them all sick? How can it be that they would really be able to cross under her lead? But no one could manage to ask any of those questions, as if to ask them would make the reality of the task in front of them more real.\r\n\r\nInstead, a soft voice spoke, one of the women. “Thank you, Gabby, for helping us. Let it be just as you said. We will follow you.”\r\n\r\nThe days that follow blur together like the land around them, into seamless streak of bleakness. The group walks in the dark, stumbling over rocks and into each other, their movements barely enough to keep them warm in the chilled desert nights. During the day, with the oppressive heat, they seek cover to keep them hidden and shade under knobbly, stumpy mesquite trees to keep them cool.\r\n\r\nAfter two days, the group’s water bottles begin to run dry and several have eaten through too much of the dried beef and fruit they had brought with them. The rations of food left out by well-intentioned groups have been spoiled by local guards, the skins of water, slashed and drained. So, some of the men hunt during breaks from walking with slingshots for small game. On the third night of travel, thirsty and hungry, Gabby leads them to a pump and trough for cattle.\r\n\r\n“We’ll have to use this. It’s our only choice. There won’t be another chance for water until we make it across the border and several miles into America,” she announces. “Rest and refill. It will be your last chance to do both until we are safely across.”\r\n\r\nOne of the men pumps the handle and dirty, foul-smelling water spews out into the trough. <a href=\"http://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu/book/?GCOI=80140100496740\">Thirst, though, overcomes the natural revulsion and the group refills their bottles with the muddy, brackish water.</a>\r\n\r\nGabby pulls aside one of the young women, the one who thanked her when they began their trek.\r\n\r\n“Ave?” she says. “Ave. That’s your name, right?”\r\n\r\nThe woman smiles and nods. She has long black hair, demure porcelain features and a creamy complexion rouged from the hard travel. “Yes. Have I done something wrong?”\r\n\r\n“Put these in your water,” Gabby says, placing two small iodine tablets into Ave’s free hand. “There’s no choice but to drink that putrid mess, but, at least, don’t drink it untreated.”\r\n\r\nRelief washes over the young girl’s face. She drops the small white tables into her bottle. “Thank you, Gabby, thank you,” Ave says, eyes and lashes moist. “You’re an angel.”\r\n\r\n“They will all have diarrhea by tonight. It’s not safe to drink straight from the pump, especially for someone in your condition,” Gabby says, taking Ave’s bottle from her. “Here, shake it like this and it will help the tablets dissolve more quickly. I’d rather the rest of them not know I gave these to you.”\r\n\r\nGabby hands the bottle back to Ave, who immediately takes a drink.\r\n\r\n“What do you mean ‘my condition?’” Ave asks, capping the bottle.\r\n\r\nGabby raises a thin eyebrow and gives Ave an apprising look. The young girl, in response, withers, in shame or fear Gabby cannot tell. Staring at the ground, Ave begins to shrink away.\r\n\r\n“No, no, Ave, don’t be afraid. It’s okay,” Gabby says, reaching out a steadying arm onto the girl’s shoulder. “I know you’re pregnant.”\r\n\r\nAve stutters; her thin, rose lips quiver. She glances around and whispers urgently, “How do you know that? I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even my boyfriend.”\r\n\r\nGabby shrugs. “I can tell these things, Ave. Everything will be okay. I promise. I will get you through this journey. Ave, how old are you?”\r\n\r\n“I’m 19,” Ave replies, forcing herself to stand taller.\r\n\r\nGabby stifles a laugh. “If you’re 19, then I’m ancient. How old are you really?”\r\n\r\n“I’m almost 14,” Ave replies, bowing her head again. “But please don’t send me home. I’m sorry I lied about my age, but I had to cross and I couldn’t do it alone.”\r\n\r\nGabby shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to send you home, but why would you come on such a strenuous trek and take a chance with your health and the health of that baby?”\r\n\r\nTears begin to crest over Ave’s long black lashes. “I had no choice. My boyfriend, José, made the trip last month, and I still haven’t heard from him. He doesn’t know I’m pregnant, and I don’t have anyone back home who would understand. Even my parents would think I was slut if I told them, which I haven’t.”\r\n\r\n“So you’re a runaway?” Gabby interrupts.\r\n\r\nAve nods. “You don’t understand, though. If they found out, they would kick me out, and José’s family won’t believe it\'s their son’s baby since he’s been gone for a month.”\r\n\r\n“So where are you going, then?”\r\n\r\n“To my cousin Isabella’s house,” Ave replies. “She lives in the hill country outside San Antonio. She’s the only one who will understand what’s going on. I have a phone card in my pack and I’ll call her when we get across to come pick me up.”\r\n\r\n“Does she know you’re coming?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “But I can stay with her until I can find a way over to Alabama. I have friends there who work in some factories. José said he was hoping to make it there, so maybe I will find him there.”\r\n\r\n“Transporting a undocumented crosser is dangerous business for you and for your cousin. Why not just get a job back home and raise the baby in safety and security?”\r\n\r\n“Safety? Security?” Ave snorts in derision. “The <em>maquiladoras</em> won’t hire a pregnant woman. Even if they do, when they find out I’m with child, they’ll just fire me. Pregnancies cost too much for them.\r\n\r\n“Besides, I want to see my baby grow up. Most of the women there can’t have babies any more and if they can, then they are born dead. The women start coughing, get sick. All so we can put together televisions bigger than you for a few <em>pesos</em>. You say the trip across the border is dangerous, but it is no more so than staying behind in my village, alone, poor and dying.”\r\n\r\nAve is weeping into her dirty hands now, and the other crossers are beginning to notice. Gabby closes around her with strong arms and shushes her. “Don’t be afraid, Ave. We will get you across. And when you get to Alabama, be careful. It’s a dangerous place. If you can avoid it, do. But, look, okay, calm down. It’s okay. Here, take this and wear it. It will keep you safe. God will be with you when you have it on.”\r\n\r\nGabby lifts the St. Christopher medallion from around her neck and places it around Ave’s long, slender neck. “Do you really think God will be with me?” Ave responds, the innocence of hope reviving her.\r\n\r\nThe coyote places a hand on Ave’s belly. “I think God already is with you. This child is a miracle and he has a saint for a mother. God is with you and so am I. So are all of us. God is watching over us, Ave, and if he’s not, or gets distracted, well, then we’ll just have to look out for each other. So don’t be afraid.”\r\n\r\nAve nods. “Let it be so, then.”\r\n\r\n“With any luck, we’ll be in America in 24 hours. The river is not far from here.”\r\n\r\nThe story continues tomorrow ... <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciacion, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3228-revision-3','','','2011-12-19 21:17:54','2011-12-20 05:17:54','',3228,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/19/3228-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3270,1,'2011-12-20 14:40:57','2011-12-20 22:40:57','The coyote, dressed only in pink bathrobe, polishes a pair of heavy-duty black work boots in her mildewed bedroom. The single incandescent bulb lighting the room dangles from a twisted wire and makes the already small room seem to shrink. Her hands begin to shake and she steadies them against the claustrophobia only by focusing on the meticulous cadence of a stiff brush scuffing over her boots’ steel toes. Few things she fears more than being confined, but every time she picks up a job, she gambles with her fears, knowing she could end up in a cinderblock cell much worse than the one she calls home. But she can’t help it. She is good at what she does, and with her pixieish figure, her long raven black hair and deep brown eyes, the border guards are rarely suspicious of her. And when they are, all it usually takes is a casual flutter of her lashes or a suggestive hand on an arm before the guards let her pass.\r\n\r\nStill, the thought of prison sends a shiver down her bare spine, despite the desert heat. Restless, the coyote stands, allowing the bathrobe to drop to the floor in a damp heap, revealing a pair of intricate wings tattooed on her slender back. The ink begins at her shoulder blades and curves down her back to the outside of each thigh. She picks up a crumpled pack of Camel menthols from the dresser, fishes out a bent cigarette and pushes it between two chapped lips. A flame flickers to life and the cigarette glows as she pulls in the first, biting, beautiful smoke into her lungs.\r\n\r\nShe puts the cigarette to the wick of a red candle. It sputters and flares, revealing a faded icon of St. Christopher propped against the wall behind the candle. The image is of a bearded man, walking staff in his hand, a child on his back, traveling. It has always brought her comfort. She replaces the menthol to her lips, sucks and closes her eyes. She has made the trip across the border between Mexico and the United States hundreds of times, and her prayer never changes: that this trip would be no different than the last one, wholly uneventful.\r\n\r\nThe coyote opens her eyes, exhales the smoke, and embraces the urgency creeping through her body. She quickly dresses, lightweight beige cargo pants and a simple blue-checkered button down shirt. She packs a small knapsack with a change of clothes, a water bottle, iodine tablets, hearty snacks and a light blanket. She grabs a wad of cash, separated into five different bundles by paper clips, and shoves it into her cargo pants. It is enough, with a little leftover for incidentals, to pay the local gangs and police officers in hopes they will be left alone on the Mexican side of the border. She has two hours, plenty of time to make the bribes and meet her cargo a few miles from the border in an empty field.\r\n\r\nSeven men and two women are waiting for her when she arrives in the field, late. They are dressed as they always are, in sweatpants or tattered jeans and ill-fitting shirts with the names of American sports teams splashed across the fronts. Each has a knapsack — an old backpack, a pillowcase, an oversized purse — slung over a shoulder or resting by feet. They are startled to see the coyote approaching them; their grips on their knapsacks tighten and the coyote can tell the fight-or-flight instinct has kicked in.\r\n\r\n“Who are you and where did you come from?” a young man in his 20s calls out.\r\n\r\n“Don’t be afraid. I’m with you,” she replies. “I’m your coyote.”\r\n\r\n“But you just appeared,” the man continues, puzzled. “I didn’t hear a car approaching and I certainly didn’t see you walking up, and there’s nowhere to hide out here.”\r\n\r\nThe man gestures at the expansive plains, covered with little more than a few mesquite trees and scrawny grasses that stretch from horizon to horizon.\r\n\r\n“You would be surprised exactly what can be hidden out here,” the coyote replies. She stops in front of the small group, assesses them and calculates about how long she thinks the trip will take. Everyone looks fit, even the women, and she hopes they can manage the crossing in a week, maybe less with a little luck, she thinks, rubbing the St. Christopher medallion that hangs on a silver chain from her neck.\r\n\r\n“We were expecting a man,” a teenager says, his voice sullen.\r\n\r\n“You’re welcome to leave, then,” the coyote shoots back icily, pulling her long hair back into tail. “For the rest of you, my name is Gabby and I’m the best coyote by half around here, and that’s all you need to know about me. The trip will take us somewhere between 7 and 10 days if we don’t run into trouble or get lost or have to stop to rest too often.\r\n\r\n“I’m here because I want to help you get across the border and, with all the increased border patrols on the other side, you can’t do it alone any more. I’m here because I know that after the trade agreement happened, jobs quit paying enough to put food on a family table. I will not leave you or forsake you in the desert. Either we all make it or we all get sent back.  The trip is hard. You will suffer. You will want to go back. But we will go on together. We will make it. Listen to me. Do what I say, when I say, and we should all be fine. Any questions?”\r\n\r\nThe small group of men and women shuffle and glance at their feet, at each other and finally at Gabby. They have lots of questions, but none that Gabby could answer. Would they encounter armed ranchers looking for target practice? Rattlesnakes? Angry wild boar? Would there be a place to refill their water bottles with water that wouldn’t make them all sick? How can it be that they would really be able to cross under her lead? But no one could manage to ask any of those questions, as if to ask them would make the reality of the task in front of them more real.\r\n\r\nInstead, a soft voice spoke, one of the women. “Thank you, Gabby, for helping us. Let it be just as you said. We will follow you.”\r\n\r\nThe days that follow blur together like the land around them, into seamless streak of bleakness. The group walks in the dark, stumbling over rocks and into each other, their movements barely enough to keep them warm in the chilled desert nights. During the day, with the oppressive heat, they seek cover to keep them hidden and shade under knobbly, stumpy mesquite trees to keep them cool.\r\n\r\nAfter two days, the group’s water bottles begin to run dry and several have eaten through too much of the dried beef and fruit they had brought with them. The rations of food left out by well-intentioned groups have been spoiled by local guards, the skins of water, slashed and drained. So, some of the men hunt during breaks from walking with slingshots for small game. On the third night of travel, thirsty and hungry, Gabby leads them to a pump and trough for cattle.\r\n\r\n“We’ll have to use this. It’s our only choice. There won’t be another chance for water until we make it across the border and several miles into America,” she announces. “Rest and refill. It will be your last chance to do both until we are safely across.”\r\n\r\nOne of the men pumps the handle and dirty, foul-smelling water spews out into the trough. <a href=\"http://www.cornellpress.cornell.edu/book/?GCOI=80140100496740\">Thirst, though, overcomes the natural revulsion and the group refills their bottles with the muddy, brackish water.</a>\r\n\r\nGabby pulls aside one of the young women, the one who thanked her when they began their trek.\r\n\r\n“Ave?” she says. “Ave. That’s your name, right?”\r\n\r\nThe woman smiles and nods. She has long black hair, demure porcelain features and a creamy complexion rouged from the hard travel. “Yes. Have I done something wrong?”\r\n\r\n“Put these in your water,” Gabby says, placing two small iodine tablets into Ave’s free hand. “There’s no choice but to drink that putrid mess, but, at least, don’t drink it untreated.”\r\n\r\nRelief washes over the young girl’s face. She drops the small white tables into her bottle. “Thank you, Gabby, thank you,” Ave says, eyes and lashes moist. “You’re an angel.”\r\n\r\n“They will all have diarrhea by tonight. It’s not safe to drink straight from the pump, especially for someone in your condition,” Gabby says, taking Ave’s bottle from her. “Here, shake it like this and it will help the tablets dissolve more quickly. I’d rather the rest of them not know I gave these to you.”\r\n\r\nGabby hands the bottle back to Ave, who immediately takes a drink.\r\n\r\n“What do you mean ‘my condition?’” Ave asks, capping the bottle.\r\n\r\nGabby raises a thin eyebrow and gives Ave an apprising look. The young girl, in response, withers, in shame or fear Gabby cannot tell. Staring at the ground, Ave begins to shrink away.\r\n\r\n“No, no, Ave, don’t be afraid. It’s okay,” Gabby says, reaching out a steadying arm onto the girl’s shoulder. “I know you’re pregnant.”\r\n\r\nAve stutters; her thin, rose lips quiver. She glances around and whispers urgently, “How do you know that? I haven’t told anyone yet. Not even my boyfriend.”\r\n\r\nGabby shrugs. “I can tell these things, Ave. Everything will be okay. I promise. I will get you through this journey. Ave, how old are you?”\r\n\r\n“I’m 19,” Ave replies, forcing herself to stand taller.\r\n\r\nGabby stifles a laugh. “If you’re 19, then I’m ancient. How old are you really?”\r\n\r\n“I’m almost 14,” Ave replies, bowing her head again. “But please don’t send me home. I’m sorry I lied about my age, but I had to cross and I couldn’t do it alone.”\r\n\r\nGabby shakes her head. “No, I’m not going to send you home, but why would you come on such a strenuous trek and take a chance with your health and the health of that baby?”\r\n\r\nTears begin to crest over Ave’s long black lashes. “I had no choice. My boyfriend, José, made the trip last month, and I still haven’t heard from him. He doesn’t know I’m pregnant, and I don’t have anyone back home who would understand. Even my parents would think I was slut if I told them, which I haven’t.”\r\n\r\n“So you’re a runaway?” Gabby interrupts.\r\n\r\nAve nods. “You don’t understand, though. If they found out, they would kick me out, and José’s family won’t believe it\'s their son’s baby since he’s been gone for a month.”\r\n\r\n“So where are you going, then?”\r\n\r\n“To my cousin Isabella’s house,” Ave replies. “She lives in the hill country outside San Antonio. She’s the only one who will understand what’s going on. I have a phone card in my pack and I’ll call her when we get across to come pick me up.”\r\n\r\n“Does she know you’re coming?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “But I can stay with her until I can find a way over to Alabama. I have friends there who work in some factories. José said he was hoping to make it there, so maybe I will find him there.”\r\n\r\n“Transporting a undocumented crosser is dangerous business for you and for your cousin. Why not just get a job back home and raise the baby in safety and security?”\r\n\r\n“Safety? Security?” Ave snorts in derision. “The <em>maquiladoras</em> won’t hire a pregnant woman. Even if they do, when they find out I’m with child, they’ll just fire me. Pregnancies cost too much for them.\r\n\r\n“Besides, I want to see my baby grow up. Most of the women there can’t have babies any more and if they can, then they are born dead. The women start coughing, get sick. All so we can put together televisions bigger than you for a few <em>pesos</em>. You say the trip across the border is dangerous, but it is no more so than staying behind in my village, alone, poor and dying.”\r\n\r\nAve is weeping into her dirty hands now, and the other crossers are beginning to notice. Gabby closes around her with strong arms and shushes her. “Don’t be afraid, Ave. We will get you across. And when you get to Alabama, be careful. It’s a dangerous place. If you can avoid it, do. But, look, okay, calm down. It’s okay. Here, take this and wear it. It will keep you safe. God will be with you when you have it on.”\r\n\r\nGabby lifts the St. Christopher medallion from around her neck and places it around Ave’s long, slender neck. “Do you really think God will be with me?” Ave responds, the innocence of hope reviving her.\r\n\r\nThe coyote places a hand on Ave’s belly. “I think God already is with you. This child is a miracle and he has a saint for a mother. God is with you and so am I. So are all of us. God is watching over us, Ave, and if he’s not, or gets distracted, well, then we’ll just have to look out for each other. So don’t be afraid.”\r\n\r\nAve nods. “Let it be so, then.”\r\n\r\n“With any luck, we’ll be in America in 24 hours. The river is not far from here.”\r\n\r\nThe story continues tomorrow ... <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Annunciation, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3228-revision-5','','','2011-12-20 14:40:57','2011-12-20 22:40:57','',3228,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3228-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3399,35,'2012-01-11 11:02:36','2012-01-11 19:02:36','<em>This is the first of a four part series on How To Know We’re Hearing From God.</em>\r\n\r\nThe idea of having conversations with God wasn’t a part of my religious upbringing.  Prayer was talking “at” God in appropriately reverent language about a limited set of topics.  God talked “at” me through the Bible and the pastor.  Pious Sunday School teachers could also be divine messengers, since angels don’t make house calls anymore.\r\n\r\nBut <em>personal conversations</em> with The Almighty?  What would we talk about, and how would I know I was hearing from God and not just making it up in my head?  Sure, God talked with some people in the Bible, like Moses (a very spiritual guy).  But <em>me</em>?\r\n\r\nThe way I learned to have conversations with God was by trying it.  On the possibility that He or She actually wanted to say something to me one-on-one, I decided to listen and see if I could hear anything.\r\n\r\nThe first thing I did was <strong>ask God to let me know for certain I was hearing from Him/Her</strong>.  I truly didn’t know what to expect, but was curious to see if God would answer a direct question from me.  It took some time for me to become sensitive to God’s voice, but the first time I was certain God had spoken to me, I was both stunned and excited, and wanted it to happen again.  I’ve been having discussions with God ever since, though I don’t always hear Him speak to me.  But God doesn’t always hear from me either.\r\n\r\nThe good news is <strong>God wants to talk <em>with</em> us, and will make sure we know when we’re hearing from Him/Her, if we are willing to listen</strong>.  The messages can come in an infinite variety of ways, sometimes when we least expect it.  Here’s how my son, Gideon, heard from God for the first time, from my book <a href=\"http://store.civitaspress.com/books/193\" target=\"_blank\">Uncensored Prayer: The Spiritual Practice of Wrestling with God</a>:\r\n<blockquote>My oldest son, Gideon, loves playing basketball and is good at it.  Throughout his youth he played for a competitive club team.  His first year of high school, Gideon tried out for the freshman basketball team and made it.  This was the last year he was eligible for his competitive team, where he was a successful, respected player.  Who knew how he would do on the school team, facing new challenges, but his future was in his high school basketball team.\r\n\r\nThe problem was Gideon couldn’t play on both teams at once.  He had to choose between them. With a deadline staring him in the face, I told him to ask God to make the right choice clear.\r\n\r\nMy son had never sought God’s will before, and was skeptical, but gave it a try anyway.  Knowing him, I imagine he prayed something like, “God, help me know what to do,” like this would do any good.  I promised not to tell any of his friends.\r\n\r\nFor a week he said, “One day I want to play school ball, and the next day I want competitive ball.  I can’t make up my mind.”\r\n\r\nI don’t think I had ever discussed seeking God’s direction through prayer with my son.  Gideon went to church because of his family and friends. Following Jesus didn’t cross his mind.  He would take his turn sometimes praying before meals, always starting with, “Thank you, dear God, for this wonderful day you have given us,” followed by ”Thanks for the food, Amen.”  It might have been the only prayer he ever prayed.\r\n\r\nIt was unusual for him to confide in me with a problem and ask for advice.  So I told him what I would do in his situation, and he was willing to try it, being out of other ideas.  I was careful not to give him a specific line to say, so he would pray in his own words.\r\n\r\nTwo things were bothering Gideon that made him try prayer.  First, he wanted two things very important to him, and he couldn’t have both at the same time.  Second, there was an internal daily tug-of-war inside him – a pendulum that swung one way, then the other, back and forth.  He couldn’t put the decision off, due to a deadline.  He asked God what to do as a desperate last-choice solution.\r\n\r\nHow did God make the right choice clear to my son?\r\n\r\nHe asked God to give him guidance, and he was willing to listen, even though the only way he could imagine God talking to someone was through an audible voice, like how Charlton Heston heard God say, “Moses!” in <em>The Ten Commandments</em>.  We want God to let us know in a real and tangible way.  We want God to shout, when often God whispers.\r\n\r\nThe day before the deadline, Gideon came to me with light in his eyes.  He said, “I know what to do!  I’m going with school ball.  I woke up this morning and the conflict was gone!”  To his utter shock, asking God for direction worked. Gideon asked because time was short, and this was a really important decision. He chose to engage God because it was deeply important in his life.\r\n\r\nHow did God answer his prayer?  Did he hear God speak aloud from heaven?  No, the internal conflict disappeared, leaving one desire instead of two.\r\n\r\nHow did he know the answer came from God?  The conflict hadn’t gone away through any other means.  Could he explain it?  No.  Gideon knew what to do now, because choice was no longer an issue.  He didn’t have to choose, because there was only one answer – kind of like voting when there’s only one candidate.\r\n\r\nGod had replaced conflict with peace.</blockquote>\r\n&nbsp;','How To Know We\'re Hearing From God: Part 1','','publish','open','open','','how-to-know-were-hearing-from-god-part-1','','','2012-01-10 11:11:10','2012-01-10 19:11:10','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3399',0,'post','',0),(3268,1,'2011-12-20 14:39:44','2011-12-20 22:39:44','','undocumented_christmas_1','','inherit','open','open','','undocumented_christmas_1','','','2011-12-20 14:39:44','2011-12-20 22:39:44','',3228,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/undocumented_christmas_1.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3271,1,'2011-12-20 14:53:46','2011-12-20 22:53:46','<p style=\"text-align: left;\">(Read <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\">Part I here</a>)</p>\nTerror and fear run the next few days together. She remembers stripping naked with the rest of the group and crossing the muddy river in the shivering dark into America with her clothes and knapsack wrapped in plastic and held high over her head. There were Gabby’s warnings about sensors buried on the riverbanks to detect their passing, and there was the hole clipped in the fence. There were the flashes of light from the sky when routine patrols searched for border crossers. The pursuit of border guards, the hiding, the running from snarling dogs, the walking and stumbling through dense brambles of agave and prickly pear that tore at her clothes, her flesh and her will to keep going. There were blisters, cracked, bleeding and painful on her feet and lips. Freezing at night, yet walking on. Sweating during the day, exhaustion overcoming even the heat and fear to bring on sleep.\n\nAt last, the bedraggled group arrives at their destination, the town of Uvalde.\n\n“This is as far as I go with you,” Gabby says on the outskirts of town. “The town is to the north and east. Just follow the power lines and you’ll find it. If you don’t wander off, you won’t find any hostile citizens, no border patrols and no more checkpoints to dodge. It’s a straight shot.”\n\nThe group sloughs off their packs and sits in the dusty grass, exhausted, hurting and tired. Gabby sits down, too, next to Ave.\n\n“What are you writing?” she asks, pointing to Ave’s palm-sized pink notebook, its spiral binding unrolling at the ends.\n\nAve shuts the book and places a nervous hand over the top to keep it closed. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of writing.”\n\n“May I see? What kind of writing? Like a journal?”\n\nAve shakes her head. “I like poetry, but I don’t let anyone read it.”\n\n“A poet?” Gabby muses. “I’m sure you are wonderful writer.”\n\nAn uneasy silence hangs between the two women. Unable to find a tactful way to ask the question in her mind, Gabby decides simply to be frank.\n\n“Have you miscarried?” Gabby asks, turning her body to face Ave’s. “I have worried about this since we began. It is such a long, difficult journey.”\n\nAve shakes her head. “I don’t think so,” she says, placing a hand on her womb. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I feel like I know he’s in there and he’s happy.\n\n“A son,” Gabby says, more affirmation of fact than question.\n\nAve nods. “A son. And he survived. We survived. We made it, just like you said we would.”\n\nGabby smiles, rising from her seat. “A miracle then. God was indeed with you.”\n\nAve pondered Gabby’s final words as she remembered the hardships of her journey. Then she remembered the St. Christopher medallion hanging from a chain around her neck. She rises, slowly and painfully, intending to return the necklace to its owner. But when she looks around for Gabby, however, the coyote has vanished into the desert as mysteriously as she had originally appeared.\n\nShe turns the medallion over in her hand. There is a scuffed inscription on the back, and it looks older than the earth. It reads, “Call him Jesus.” Puzzled, Ave wonders what it means. She puts the necklace back on, says goodbye to the rest of the group and heads toward Uvalde, occasionally looking around to see if she can spot Gabby ahead of her in the desert.\n\nWhen she arrives in town, Ave finds a pay phone, digs her phone card from her bag and dials her cousin’s number. Her call is answered after two rings, but no one says hello on the other end.\n\n“Hello? Hello? Isabella? Is that you?” Ave shouts into the receiver. “Can you hear me? Hello?”\n\nSuddenly, fear consumes her again. She had not consider that Isabella might not want to help her, might not want to speak with her. What if she didn’t have a place to go here in this foreign country full of suspicious eyes toward immigrants. Ave removes the phone from her ear and is about to replace it in its cradle when she hear’s a woman’s voice shouting on the other end.\n\n“Hello! Wait, wait! Don’t hang up! Hello? Who’s there?” Relief exhales through her body as she recognizes her cousin’s voice. “Zach, if you’re going to pick up the phone, at least grunt or something to let them know you’re there. Or, better yet, say hello!”\n\nAve smiles. Isabella has not changed. “Tia, it’s Ave. I need your help. I’m pregnant, I’m in Uvalde and I’m illegal.”\n\nAve jerks the phone back from her hear as Isabella erupts in shouts. There is the loud clatter of a receiver falling to the floor and the hasty scuffling sound of Isabella retrieving it. “I’m so sorry dear girl, I could not help but leap the moment I heard your voice and your news! God be with you dear child. I’m coming now. I’ll see you in an hour.”\n\n“So you don’t mind?”\n\n“Mind? Dear child, no!” Isabella says. “I’m lonely here. I could use the company. And I have news for you, as well. I’m pregnant, too! At my age! Can you believe it?”\n\nAve smiles again. She is in America, undetected by the border patrol. Her baby has survived, despite the arduous journey. Soon, she would be in the safety of her cousin’s home and filled with good food, tamales and salsa. So, yes, at this point, she would believe just about anything.\n\nTomorrow','Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciation, Part II','','inherit','open','open','','3232-autosave','','','2011-12-20 14:53:46','2011-12-20 22:53:46','',3232,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3232-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3272,1,'2011-12-19 21:16:49','2011-12-20 05:16:49','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo-298x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"298\" height=\"300\" /></a>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center\"><a href=\"http://patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson\">The Anunciaion: Part II </a>\r\n(Read Part I here)</p>\r\nTerror and fear run the next few days together. She remembers stripping naked with the rest of the group and crossing the muddy river in the shivering dark into America with her clothes and knapsack wrapped in plastic and held high over her head. There were Gabby’s warnings about sensors buried on the riverbanks to detect their passing, and there was the hole clipped in the fence. There were the flashes of light from the sky when routine patrols searched for border crossers. The pursuit of border guards, the hiding, the running from snarling dogs, the walking and stumbling through dense brambles of agave and prickly pear that tore at her clothes, her flesh and her will to keep going. There were blisters, cracked, bleeding and painful on her feet and lips. Freezing at night, yet walking on. Sweating during the day, exhaustion overcoming even the heat and fear to bring on sleep.\r\n\r\nAt last, the bedraggled group arrives at their destination, the town of Uvalde.\r\n\r\n“This is as far as I go with you,” Gabby says on the outskirts of town. “The town is to the north and east. Just follow the power lines and you’ll find it. If you don’t wander off, you won’t find any hostile citizens, no border patrols and no more checkpoints to dodge. It’s a straight shot.”\r\n\r\nThe group sloughs off their packs and sits in the dusty grass, exhausted, hurting and tired. Gabby sits down, too, next to Ave.\r\n\r\n“What are you writing?” she asks, pointing to Ave’s palm-sized pink notebook, its spiral binding unrolling at the ends.\r\n\r\nAve shuts the book and places a nervous hand over the top to keep it closed. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of writing.”\r\n\r\n“May I see? What kind of writing? Like a journal?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “I like poetry, but I don’t let anyone read it.”\r\n\r\n“A poet?” Gabby muses. “I’m sure you are wonderful writer.”\r\n\r\nAn uneasy silence hangs between the two women. Unable to find a tactful way to ask the question in her mind, Gabby decides simply to be frank.\r\n\r\n“Have you miscarried?” Gabby asks, turning her body to face Ave’s. “I have worried about this since we began. It is such a long, difficult journey.”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “I don’t think so,” she says, placing a hand on her womb. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I feel like I know he’s in there and he’s happy.\r\n\r\n“A son,” Gabby says, more affirmation of fact than question.\r\n\r\nAve nods. “A son. And he survived. We survived. We made it, just like you said we would.”\r\n\r\nGabby smiles, rising from her seat. “A miracle then. God was indeed with you.”\r\n\r\nAve pondered Gabby’s final words as she remembered the hardships of her journey. Then she remembered the St. Christopher medallion hanging from a chain around her neck. She rises, slowly and painfully, intending to return the necklace to its owner. But when she looks around for Gabby, however, the coyote has vanished into the desert as mysteriously as she had originally appeared.\r\n\r\nShe turns the medallion over in her hand. There is a scuffed inscription on the back, and it looks older than the earth. It reads, “Call him Jesus.” Puzzled, Ave wonders what it means. She puts the necklace back on, says goodbye to the rest of the group and heads toward Uvalde, occasionally looking around to see if she can spot Gabby ahead of her in the desert.\r\n\r\nWhen she arrives in town, Ave finds a pay phone, digs her phone card from her bag and dials her cousin’s number. Her call is answered after two rings, but no one says hello on the other end.\r\n\r\n“Hello? Hello? Isabella? Is that you?” Ave shouts into the receiver. “Can you hear me? Hello?”\r\n\r\nSuddenly, fear consumes her again. She had not consider that Isabella might not want to help her, might not want to speak with her. What if she didn’t have a place to go here in this foreign country full of suspicious eyes toward immigrants. Ave removes the phone from her ear and is about to replace it in its cradle when she hear’s a woman’s voice shouting on the other end.\r\n\r\n“Hello! Wait, wait! Don’t hang up! Hello? Who’s there?” Relief exhales through her body as she recognizes her cousin’s voice. “Zach, if you’re going to pick up the phone, at least grunt or something to let them know you’re there. Or, better yet, say hello!”\r\n\r\nAve smiles. Isabella has not changed. “Tia, it’s Ave. I need your help. I’m pregnant, I’m in Uvalde and I’m illegal.”\r\n\r\nAve jerks the phone back from her hear as Isabella erupts in shouts. There is the loud clatter of a receiver falling to the floor and the hasty scuffling sound of Isabella retrieving it. “I’m so sorry dear girl, I could not help but leap the moment I heard your voice and your news! God be with you dear child. I’m coming now. I’ll see you in an hour.”\r\n\r\n“So you don’t mind?”\r\n\r\n“Mind? Dear child, no!” Isabella says. “I’m lonely here. I could use the company. And I have news for you, as well. I’m pregnant, too! At my age! Can you believe it?”\r\n\r\nAve smiles again. She is in America, undetected by the border patrol. Her baby has survived, despite the arduous journey. Soon, she would be in the safety of her cousin’s home and filled with good food, tamales and salsa. So, yes, at this point, she would believe just about anything.<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciaion, Part II','','inherit','open','open','','3232-revision-2','','','2011-12-19 21:16:49','2011-12-20 05:16:49','',3232,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/19/3232-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3274,1,'2011-12-20 14:44:25','2011-12-20 22:44:25','','undocumented_christmas_2','','inherit','open','open','','undocumented_christmas_2','','','2011-12-20 14:44:25','2011-12-20 22:44:25','',3232,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/undocumented_christmas_2.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3275,1,'2011-12-20 14:43:38','2011-12-20 22:43:38','<p style=\"text-align: left;\">(Read <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\">Part I here</a>)</p>\r\nTerror and fear run the next few days together. She remembers stripping naked with the rest of the group and crossing the muddy river in the shivering dark into America with her clothes and knapsack wrapped in plastic and held high over her head. There were Gabby’s warnings about sensors buried on the riverbanks to detect their passing, and there was the hole clipped in the fence. There were the flashes of light from the sky when routine patrols searched for border crossers. The pursuit of border guards, the hiding, the running from snarling dogs, the walking and stumbling through dense brambles of agave and prickly pear that tore at her clothes, her flesh and her will to keep going. There were blisters, cracked, bleeding and painful on her feet and lips. Freezing at night, yet walking on. Sweating during the day, exhaustion overcoming even the heat and fear to bring on sleep.\r\n\r\nAt last, the bedraggled group arrives at their destination, the town of Uvalde.\r\n\r\n“This is as far as I go with you,” Gabby says on the outskirts of town. “The town is to the north and east. Just follow the power lines and you’ll find it. If you don’t wander off, you won’t find any hostile citizens, no border patrols and no more checkpoints to dodge. It’s a straight shot.”\r\n\r\nThe group sloughs off their packs and sits in the dusty grass, exhausted, hurting and tired. Gabby sits down, too, next to Ave.\r\n\r\n“What are you writing?” she asks, pointing to Ave’s palm-sized pink notebook, its spiral binding unrolling at the ends.\r\n\r\nAve shuts the book and places a nervous hand over the top to keep it closed. “It’s nothing. Just a bit of writing.”\r\n\r\n“May I see? What kind of writing? Like a journal?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “I like poetry, but I don’t let anyone read it.”\r\n\r\n“A poet?” Gabby muses. “I’m sure you are wonderful writer.”\r\n\r\nAn uneasy silence hangs between the two women. Unable to find a tactful way to ask the question in her mind, Gabby decides simply to be frank.\r\n\r\n“Have you miscarried?” Gabby asks, turning her body to face Ave’s. “I have worried about this since we began. It is such a long, difficult journey.”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “I don’t think so,” she says, placing a hand on her womb. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I feel like I know he’s in there and he’s happy.\r\n\r\n“A son,” Gabby says, more affirmation of fact than question.\r\n\r\nAve nods. “A son. And he survived. We survived. We made it, just like you said we would.”\r\n\r\nGabby smiles, rising from her seat. “A miracle then. God was indeed with you.”\r\n\r\nAve pondered Gabby’s final words as she remembered the hardships of her journey. Then she remembered the St. Christopher medallion hanging from a chain around her neck. She rises, slowly and painfully, intending to return the necklace to its owner. But when she looks around for Gabby, however, the coyote has vanished into the desert as mysteriously as she had originally appeared.\r\n\r\nShe turns the medallion over in her hand. There is a scuffed inscription on the back, and it looks older than the earth. It reads, “Call him Jesus.” Puzzled, Ave wonders what it means. She puts the necklace back on, says goodbye to the rest of the group and heads toward Uvalde, occasionally looking around to see if she can spot Gabby ahead of her in the desert.\r\n\r\nWhen she arrives in town, Ave finds a pay phone, digs her phone card from her bag and dials her cousin’s number. Her call is answered after two rings, but no one says hello on the other end.\r\n\r\n“Hello? Hello? Isabella? Is that you?” Ave shouts into the receiver. “Can you hear me? Hello?”\r\n\r\nSuddenly, fear consumes her again. She had not consider that Isabella might not want to help her, might not want to speak with her. What if she didn’t have a place to go here in this foreign country full of suspicious eyes toward immigrants. Ave removes the phone from her ear and is about to replace it in its cradle when she hear’s a woman’s voice shouting on the other end.\r\n\r\n“Hello! Wait, wait! Don’t hang up! Hello? Who’s there?” Relief exhales through her body as she recognizes her cousin’s voice. “Zach, if you’re going to pick up the phone, at least grunt or something to let them know you’re there. Or, better yet, say hello!”\r\n\r\nAve smiles. Isabella has not changed. “Tia, it’s Ave. I need your help. I’m pregnant, I’m in Uvalde and I’m illegal.”\r\n\r\nAve jerks the phone back from her hear as Isabella erupts in shouts. There is the loud clatter of a receiver falling to the floor and the hasty scuffling sound of Isabella retrieving it. “I’m so sorry dear girl, I could not help but leap the moment I heard your voice and your news! God be with you dear child. I’m coming now. I’ll see you in an hour.”\r\n\r\n“So you don’t mind?”\r\n\r\n“Mind? Dear child, no!” Isabella says. “I’m lonely here. I could use the company. And I have news for you, as well. I’m pregnant, too! At my age! Can you believe it?”\r\n\r\nAve smiles again. She is in America, undetected by the border patrol. Her baby has survived, despite the arduous journey. Soon, she would be in the safety of her cousin’s home and filled with good food, tamales and salsa. So, yes, at this point, she would believe just about anything.<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciation, Part II','','inherit','open','open','','3232-revision-3','','','2011-12-20 14:43:38','2011-12-20 22:43:38','',3232,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3232-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3278,1,'2011-12-20 08:17:43','2011-12-20 16:17:43','<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">In the carport are some shelves that store old cans of paint, odds and ends, and needs-to-be-sorted-out junk.  Behind this assorted barrier, several families of small birds have built condos for raising families and sheltering from the cold.  Last spring, God sent me a visual aid through a couple of feathered babies.</span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">They sat in the middle of the carport, eyes wide with terror, unable to move even when I got near enough to touch them.  Obviously this was their first or second flying lesson.  They had figured out how to get down, but not back up to home.  And now here was this giant with no Mama bird in sight.  I went back in the house, and when I looked out the door in a few hours, they were gone (hopefully not as some four-legged beastie’s lunch).</span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">Almost two years ago, our youngest son moved seven hours away to start life on his own.  In addition to being in the Marine reserves, he added college, a part-time job, and adult responsibilities like paying rent, cooking, and living with his lover and her child.  The stress was huge from the beginning, and increased dramatically over the last year as their relationship disintegrated.  Now he’s got to find a place to live, but can’t afford an apartment without a roommate.  Due to monthly Marine drill and college, moving back here isn’t an option.  He’s stuck where he is for now – sitting in the carport, eyes wide with fear, unable to fly.</span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\">And this Mama can’t help him, and wouldn’t rescue him if I could.  He took some big risks and much of what he’s experienced has been painful.  At the moment, he’s surrounded by giant obstacles that seem insurmountable, and both of us are afraid he might end up living in his car.  His job is to make the best of things and try to find his own solutions.  My job is to encourage him, pray like crazy…and let go.  Because if I don’t, he’ll never learn to fly.  But God it’s hard. </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">Long-Distance Love</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">Absolutely helpless to stop</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">the coming catastrophe</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I can’t alter one iota</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">or offer any solace</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">that makes any sense</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">to the life of one I love</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">going down without a trace.</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I can see his face</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">in the long-distance line,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">hear the terror from entrapment,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">all escape routes closed.</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I knew this was coming</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">before it even began – </span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">a risk he had to make</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">in adult-sized plans</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">with gambler’s odds against him</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">that I had to let happen</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">so he could learn that life isn’t fair,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">especially for the foolish,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">but failure isn’t final,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">though it feels that way.</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">I have to let him sink without rescue</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">and let his hopes die,</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">trusting God to take care of him</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-size: small\"><span style=\"font-family: Calibri\">when I can’t.</span></span>\r\n\r\n<span style=\"font-family: Calibri;font-size: small\"> </span>','Letting Go','','inherit','open','open','','3245-revision-3','','','2011-12-20 08:17:43','2011-12-20 16:17:43','',3245,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3245-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3276,1,'2011-12-20 14:46:55','2011-12-20 22:46:55','In the carport are some shelves that store old cans of paint, odds and ends, and needs-to-be-sorted-out junk.  Behind this assorted barrier, several families of small birds have built condos for raising families and sheltering from the cold.  Last spring, God sent me a visual aid through a couple of feathered babies.\n\nThey sat in the middle of the carport, eyes wide with terror, unable to move even when I got near enough to touch them.  Obviously this was their first or second flying lesson.  They had figured out how to get down, but not back up to home.  And now here was this giant with no Mama bird in sight.  I went back in the house, and when I looked out the door in a few hours, they were gone (hopefully not as some four-legged beastie’s lunch).\n\nAlmost two years ago, our youngest son moved seven hours away to start life on his own.  In addition to being in the Marine reserves, he added college, a part-time job, and adult responsibilities like paying rent, cooking, and living with his lover and her child.  The stress was huge from the beginning, and increased dramatically over the last year as their relationship disintegrated.  Now he’s got to find a place to live, but can’t afford an apartment without a roommate.  Due to monthly Marine drill and college, moving back here isn’t an option.  He’s stuck where he is for now – sitting in the carport, eyes wide with fear, unable to fly.\n\nAnd this Mama can’t help him, and wouldn’t rescue him if I could.  He took some big risks and much of what he’s experienced has been painful.  At the moment, he’s surrounded by giant obstacles that seem insurmountable, and both of us are afraid he might end up living in his car.  His job is to make the best of things and try to find his own solutions.  My job is to encourage him, pray like crazy…and let go.  Because if I don’t, he’ll never learn to fly.  But God it’s hard.\n\n<strong>Long-Distance Love</strong>\n\nAbsolutely helpless to stop\nthe coming catastrophe\nI can’t alter one iota\nor offer any solace\nthat makes any sense\nto the life of one I love\ngoing down without a trace.\n\nI can see his face\nin the long-distance line,\nhear the terror from entrapment,\nall escape routes closed.\n\nI knew this was coming\nbefore it even began –\na risk he had to make\nin adult-sized plans\nwith gambler’s odds against him\nthat I had to let happen\nso he could learn that life isn’t fair,\nespecially for the foolish,\nbut failure isn’t final,\nthough it feels that way.\n\nI have to let him sink without rescue\nand let his hopes die,\ntrusting God to take care of him\nwhen I can’t.','Letting Go','','inherit','open','open','','3245-autosave','','','2011-12-20 14:46:55','2011-12-20 22:46:55','',3245,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3245-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3277,1,'2011-12-20 14:52:55','2011-12-20 22:52:55','','baby_birds','','inherit','open','open','','baby_birds','','','2011-12-20 14:52:55','2011-12-20 22:52:55','',3245,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/baby_birds.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3280,31,'2011-12-19 21:21:43','2011-12-20 05:21:43','&nbsp;\r\n\r\nNot ready yet. Need to insert links.\r\n<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo-298x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"298\" height=\"300\" /></a>\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center\"><a href=\"http://patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson\">Nochebuena: Part I</a></p>\r\nAve remains with Isabella for three months, until her cousin gives birth to her son and settles into her new life as a mother.\r\n\r\nIn her time in America, Ave has managed to find enough work — paid only in cash — to purchase a few incidentals and a bus ticket to a small town in Alabama where a job in a factory and a few friends await her. Despite her best efforts, she’s not managed to find any more information on her boyfriend. She has tried all the names and aliases he might be using — José Mann, José David, José David Mann — but all her leads turn into dead ends. Maybe once she makes it to Alabama, her search will get easier, but she fears the worst, death or detention.\r\n\r\nAve is sitting at the breakfast table worrying over her boyfriend’s fate when Isabella offers her a plate of eggs, beans and corn grits.\r\n\r\n“Eat, your baby needs it even if you don’t feel like it,” Isabella says, sitting down next to her. “I wish you’d reconsider this trip. You can stay here as long as you like. I could use the extra hands. And my baby could use a little brother to grow up with”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “No, no. You have been kind enough. I have a job waiting for me and friends. And maybe José will be there and I can tell him about the baby. Don’t worry, Isabella. I’ll be fine in Alabama.”\r\n\r\nIsabella clucks her tongue. “It’s different there than here is all I’m saying. They don’t like us over there, not one bit. Don’t give them any excuse to talk to you. You’ve got that baby to think about.”\r\n\r\nBoth women fall silent as they run through various worst-case scenarios better left unsaid.\r\n\r\n“I leave tomorrow,” Ave reminds her. “I can’t thank you and Zach enough for all your help and generosity. I would have been lost without you both.”\r\n\r\nIsabella grins. “I know. Well, let’s get you packed. We’ll go up to the store and get you a few things for your trip.”\r\n\r\n“Thank you, Tia,” Ave says, leaning over to kiss her cousin on the forehead. “I think I hear baby Juan crying. He must be awake. Would you like me to rock him back to sleep?”\r\n\r\nRelieved, Isabella replies, “You wouldn’t mind?”\r\n\r\n“Not at all,” Ave says. “I want all the time I can get with him before I leave.”\r\n\r\n***\r\n\r\nThere is more Spanish than English in the San Antonio bus terminal which reassures Ave after Isabella and Juan leave her on her own. Her belly has begun to show now that she is four months with child. The baby growing inside her is strong, loves to kick and wakes her up at all hours. The trip on the bus won’t be the most enjoyable, but she has been in more uncomfortable traveling arrangements before, she thinks, remembering the 12 days she spent crossing the border.\r\n\r\nHer trip and arrival in Alabama are blessedly uneventful. Her job in the factory is tiring and monotonous but the pay is better than back home. More to the point, they actually hired her in the first place, even though she was clearly pregnant. In fact, her belly might have helped her get the job as her lie about her age seemed more believable to the hiring boss. For the next four months, her life falls into a pleasant routine unlike she has ever known and she comes to think of the tiny Alabama town as her home.\r\n\r\nShe rooms with three other women, all from her state in Mexico, and they all commute together to work. None of them are in the country legally, but each has managed to obtain forged papers. Every so often rumors of immigration raids on the factory ripple through the ranks, but nothing ever pans out, so eventually, the edge that comes with the warnings diminish, replaced by a generalized anxiety that becomes easy to ignore.\r\n\r\nOne morning, Ave announces to her roommates that she is leaving the factory floor.\r\n\r\n“Today is my last day,” Ave says on their way to work. “I’m eight months pregnant, my back is killing me, feet are swollen and my hands are so puffy I can hardly work the machines any more.”\r\n\r\nIt doesn’t surprise her friends. They have been urging her to stop working, but Ave has insisted, explaining that every little bit of extra cash will help with all the baby expenses soon to come, especially with José nowhere to be found and unable to offer any financial support. The last anyone had heard of him, he had gone two counties over to pick a harvest of peaches. He had never returned. No one knew any more of his whereabouts, and her greatest fears about him — his death or detention — seemed more likely the longer no one heard from him.\r\n\r\n“Well, it’s about time,” says the oldest woman in the group, Anna, a woman the rest consider a kind of surrogate mother in America. She cooks, fusses and reminds them to go to worship every Saturday night instead of out dancing. “You’ve been needing to get off your feet for a month now at least. It will be nice to have a little baby around the house again. Mine are all grown and gone and scattered throughout the Southeast.”\r\n\r\n“Let’s throw her a party,” one of the girls suggests from the backseat. And for the remainder of the commute, the talk is all of streamers, and baby shower games and cakes and presents. Ave smiles.\r\n\r\nOn the factory floor, the day thrums along as it always does. The factory break room at lunch is filled with smells of home mixed with the aroma of greasy fast food, reheated. The afternoon churns on, until about 2 p.m., when the factory doors burst open and black-armored men, guns drawn and chests emblazoned with the letters I-C-E, flood into the cavernous room like ants scurrying from a caved-in hill. The clatter of chairs falling to the floor, shrieks of fear and deep, gravelly shouts to halt echo in a nightmarish cacophony.\r\n\r\nAve feels her breath grow shallow and then her body sinks on weak knees. When she wakes, her head is throbbing but she cannot reach her hand to feel the knot on her forehead. Her hands are in plastic cuffs behind her back, and she is slumped on her side against a wall with the other factory women. She hears them crying, sobbing about the children who will return from school to homes without mothers, and perhaps fathers, about the thousands of miles that will soon separate them from their sons and daughters.\r\n\r\nReality begins to sink in for Ave as one of the ICE agents lifts her to her feet and helps her to one of the buses in the parking lot that will take her and the other workers to the immigration detention center. The bus ride to the detention center takes an hour. Some of the women whisper. Some sleep. Many weep.\r\n\r\n“I just can’t believe my luck,” Ave whispers to no one in particular. “Today was my last day at the factory. My last day and ICE shows up. If only I’d just stayed at home.”\r\n\r\nAcross the aisle, an older woman, her gray hair wrapped in bun on top of her head, replies, “It’s got nothing to do with luck, <em>niña</em>. It’s not a matter of if but when you get sent back to Mexico when you live in Alabama. If they didn’t get you today, they would’ve found you in a couple of weeks when the census takers come out knocking on doors.”\r\n\r\nAfter an uncomfortable hour on the bus, it arrives at the detention center, a massive, lifeless gray building with slits for windows like narrowed, suspicious eyes. A female guard boards the bus to greet them.\r\n\r\n“Welcome to the Stable, my <em>vacas</em>,” the scrawny-haired guard shouts. “Hope y’all enjoy your stay here on your way back to whatever rotten country you came from. Showers are mandatory. I don’t want to smell you heifers any more than I have to. Now, off the bus for processing!”<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3235-revision-3','','','2011-12-19 21:21:43','2011-12-20 05:21:43','',3235,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/19/3235-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3282,82,'2011-12-20 21:07:01','2011-12-21 05:07:01','','prayingunashamed1','Knees to the Earth by Juliet Towner','inherit','open','open','','prayingunashamed1','','','2011-12-20 21:07:01','2011-12-21 05:07:01','',3281,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/prayingunashamed1.jpg',0,'attachment','image/jpeg',0),(3283,82,'2011-12-20 21:08:13','2011-12-21 05:08:13','[caption id=\"attachment_3282\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"193\" caption=\"Knees to the Earth by Juliet Towner\"]<a href=\"http://www.creationswap.com/7ulio\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-3282 \" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/prayingunashamed1-193x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"193\" height=\"300\" /></a>[/caption]\n\nOur American, western culture has become prideful of one aspect of our lives that it creates a deep unsettling in the mass majority when anything comes to attack it.\n\nReality.\n\nAs such, reality TV is at an all time high on prime time television…for more and more people are desiring “reality” to be injected into life, all in the name of avoiding hypocrisy.\n\nHowever, reality TV has actually become the most unreliable source of reality our nation has ever seen – yet it’s still highly desired. In fact, it’s so desired it honestly has become an unhealthy addiction.\n\nWhat really has brought this all to the surface lately in my heart has been the fever pitch surrounding Tim Tebow.\n\nNow I’m not a huge football fan – in fact, I’m not the most avid sports fan. I like my fair share of catching a hockey game on the TV now and again (Detroit Redwings, you have my support), and I enjoy the Olympics (USA!) – but beyond that, football, basketball, baseball and soccer…I honestly could live without. Yet, it’s hard to ignore the constant media coverage of Tim Tebow lately as he becomes a prominent target of contention in our American society.\n\n<em>“Don’t mix religion with football – it’s just not realistic.”</em>\n\nSeriously?...<em>Seriously</em>?\n\nCome on folks…let’s get “<em>real</em>” here for a moment. Whether we like it or not, religion (just like politics) is in our face every day we live and breathe. Yet, go figure, these are the very two things we’re “instructed” to avoid discussing because of the huge disagreements they can cause.\n\nThe truth is though, these are the very topics of discussion that need to be addressed in our lives, for these topics actually target reality. They target core heart issues that define our very lives by the beliefs we hold within each of these two areas. They single-handedly go hand in hand with our daily lives.\n\nPerhaps this is the very reason most want to avoid discussion of such topics and just want to focus on mind-numbing nothingness…because it provides an escape from the reality of life. However, this isn’t how Christians are called to live out life.\n\n<em>“Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord!”</em> -Lamentations 3:40 (ESV)\n\nIt’s right here in scripture, yet so many overlook this vitally important aspect of the Christian life. Most would rather turn a blind eye to the true aspects of life, rather than truly face them head on and examine their own lives against them, along side the very word of God.\n\nIn all honesty folks, this is why Tim Tebow has become the very thorn in most peoples’ sides. His outward expression of His devoted faith in God shines a light on all our sinful lives to the point it mirrors an image back to us that honestly is just hideous. And sincerely, who really wants to look at an ugly reflection?\n\nFriends, I get it. I really don’t like some of the reflections I get shown to me either – but it doesn’t mean the problems that I have within me go away by avoiding them by seeking to demolish anything that comes along to reveal the truth of my own depravity to my blind-shaded eyes.\n\nThe reality is, I am a human, I am sinful, and I need constant correction. And the only way to do this is to constantly keep myself in a realistic check that despite my sin, I am still loved by an almighty God who loves me amidst my failings. Praise Him for His grace! So why shouldn’t I constantly praise Him in all areas of my life…wherever I go…despite the hecklings I will endure? Why shouldn’t we all?\n\nGod will have His way, and reveal who He is through whomever He can in any arena He’s given the ability to shine in. Tim Tebow is merely one person who deeply loves Christ, and it unashamed to live it out boldly. For this, I can only commend him – and in turn, hope I continue to grow in ways that leads me to be just as bold for Christ.\n\nFor the reality is…Christ is everything, and this world is nothing without Him.','What is Reality?','','inherit','open','open','','3281-revision','','','2011-12-20 21:08:13','2011-12-21 05:08:13','',3281,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3281-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3284,82,'2011-12-20 21:09:13','2011-12-21 05:09:13','[caption id=\"attachment_3282\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"193\" caption=\"Knees to the Earth by Juliet Towner\"]<a href=\"http://www.creationswap.com/7ulio\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-3282 \" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/prayingunashamed1-193x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"193\" height=\"300\" /></a>[/caption]\n\nOur American, western culture has become prideful in one that it creates a deep unsettling in the mass majority when anything comes to attack it.\n\nReality.\n\nAs such, reality TV is at an all time high on prime time television…for more and more people are desiring “reality” to be injected into life, all in the name of avoiding hypocrisy.\n\nHowever, reality TV has actually become the most unreliable source of reality our nation has ever seen – yet it’s still highly desired. In fact, it’s so desired it honestly has become an unhealthy addiction.\n\nWhat really has brought this all to the surface lately in my heart has been the fever pitch surrounding Tim Tebow.\n\nNow I’m not a huge football fan – in fact, I’m not the most avid sports fan. I like my fair share of catching a hockey game on the TV now and again (Detroit Redwings, you have my support), and I enjoy the Olympics (USA!) – but beyond that, football, basketball, baseball and soccer…I honestly could live without. Yet, it’s hard to ignore the constant media coverage of Tim Tebow lately as he becomes a prominent target of contention in our American society.\n\n<em>“Don’t mix religion with football – it’s just not realistic.”</em>\n\nSeriously?...<em>Seriously</em>?\n\nCome on folks…let’s get “<em>real</em>” here for a moment. Whether we like it or not, religion (just like politics) is in our face every day we live and breathe. Yet, go figure, these are the very two things we’re “instructed” to avoid discussing because of the huge disagreements they can cause.\n\nThe truth is though, these are the very topics of discussion that need to be addressed in our lives, for these topics actually target reality. They target core heart issues that define our very lives by the beliefs we hold within each of these two areas. They single-handedly go hand in hand with our daily lives.\n\nPerhaps this is the very reason most want to avoid discussion of such topics and just want to focus on mind-numbing nothingness…because it provides an escape from the reality of life. However, this isn’t how Christians are called to live out life.\n\n<em>“Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord!”</em> -Lamentations 3:40 (ESV)\n\nIt’s right here in scripture, yet so many overlook this vitally important aspect of the Christian life. Most would rather turn a blind eye to the true aspects of life, rather than truly face them head on and examine their own lives against them, along side the very word of God.\n\nIn all honesty folks, this is why Tim Tebow has become the very thorn in most peoples’ sides. His outward expression of His devoted faith in God shines a light on all our sinful lives to the point it mirrors an image back to us that honestly is just hideous. And sincerely, who really wants to look at an ugly reflection?\n\nFriends, I get it. I really don’t like some of the reflections I get shown to me either – but it doesn’t mean the problems that I have within me go away by avoiding them by seeking to demolish anything that comes along to reveal the truth of my own depravity to my blind-shaded eyes.\n\nThe reality is, I am a human, I am sinful, and I need constant correction. And the only way to do this is to constantly keep myself in a realistic check that despite my sin, I am still loved by an almighty God who loves me amidst my failings. Praise Him for His grace! So why shouldn’t I constantly praise Him in all areas of my life…wherever I go…despite the hecklings I will endure? Why shouldn’t we all?\n\nGod will have His way, and reveal who He is through whomever He can in any arena He’s given the ability to shine in. Tim Tebow is merely one person who deeply loves Christ, and it unashamed to live it out boldly. For this, I can only commend him – and in turn, hope I continue to grow in ways that leads me to be just as bold for Christ.\n\nFor the reality is…Christ is everything, and this world is nothing without Him.','What is Reality?','','inherit','open','open','','3281-revision-2','','','2011-12-20 21:09:13','2011-12-21 05:09:13','',3281,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3281-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3285,82,'2011-12-20 21:09:41','2011-12-21 05:09:41','[caption id=\"attachment_3282\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"193\" caption=\"Knees to the Earth by Juliet Towner\"]<a href=\"http://www.creationswap.com/7ulio\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-3282 \" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/prayingunashamed1-193x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"193\" height=\"300\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\nOur American, western culture has become prideful in one aspect that has created a deep unsettling in the mass majority when anything comes to attack it.\r\n\r\n<em>Reality</em>.\r\n\r\nFor example, reality TV is at an all time high on prime time television…for more and more people are desiring “reality” to be injected into life, all in the name of avoiding hypocrisy.\r\n\r\nHowever, reality TV has actually become the most unreliable source of reality our nation has ever seen – yet it’s still highly desired. In fact, it’s so desired it honestly has become an unhealthy addiction.\r\n\r\nWhat really has brought this all to the surface lately in my heart has been the fever pitch surrounding Tim Tebow.\r\n\r\nNow I’m not a huge football fan – in fact, I’m not the most avid sports fan. I like my fair share of catching a hockey game on the TV now and again (Detroit Redwings, you have my support), and I enjoy the Olympics (USA!) – but beyond that, football, basketball, baseball and soccer…I honestly could live without. Yet, it’s hard to ignore the constant media coverage of Tim Tebow lately as he becomes a prominent target of contention in our American society.\r\n\r\n<em>“Don’t mix religion with football – it’s just not realistic.”</em>\r\n\r\nSeriously?...<em>Seriously</em>?\r\n\r\nCome on folks…let’s get “<em>real</em>” here for a moment. Whether we like it or not, religion (just like politics) is in our face every day we live and breathe. Yet, go figure, these are the very two things we’re “instructed” to avoid discussing because of the huge disagreements they can cause.\r\n\r\nThe truth is though, these are the very topics of discussion that need to be addressed in our lives, for these topics actually target reality. They target core heart issues that define our very lives by the beliefs we hold within each of these two areas. They single-handedly go hand in hand with our daily lives.\r\n\r\nPerhaps this is the very reason most want to avoid discussion of such topics and just want to focus on mind-numbing nothingness…because it provides an escape from the reality of life. However, this isn’t how Christians are called to live out life.\r\n\r\n<em>“Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord!”</em> -Lamentations 3:40 (ESV)\r\n\r\nIt’s right here in scripture, yet so many overlook this vitally important aspect of the Christian life. Most would rather turn a blind eye to the true aspects of life, rather than truly face them head on and examine their own lives against them, along side the very word of God.\r\n\r\nIn all honesty folks, this is why Tim Tebow has become the very thorn in most peoples’ sides. His outward expression of His devoted faith in God shines a light on all our sinful lives to the point it mirrors an image back to us that honestly is just hideous. And sincerely, who really wants to look at an ugly reflection?\r\n\r\nFriends, I get it. I really don’t like some of the reflections I get shown to me either – but it doesn’t mean the problems that I have within me go away by avoiding them by seeking to demolish anything that comes along to reveal the truth of my own depravity to my blind-shaded eyes.\r\n\r\nThe reality is, I am a human, I am sinful, and I need constant correction. And the only way to do this is to constantly keep myself in a realistic check that despite my sin, I am still loved by an almighty God who loves me amidst my failings. Praise Him for His grace! So why shouldn’t I constantly praise Him in all areas of my life…wherever I go…despite the hecklings I will endure? Why shouldn’t we all?\r\n\r\nGod will have His way, and reveal who He is through whomever He can in any arena He’s given the ability to shine in. Tim Tebow is merely one person who deeply loves Christ, and it unashamed to live it out boldly. For this, I can only commend him – and in turn, hope I continue to grow in ways that leads me to be just as bold for Christ.\r\n\r\nFor the reality is…Christ is everything, and this world is nothing without Him.','What is Reality?','','inherit','open','open','','3281-revision-3','','','2011-12-20 21:09:41','2011-12-21 05:09:41','',3281,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3281-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3286,82,'2011-12-20 21:10:30','2011-12-21 05:10:30','[caption id=\"attachment_3282\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"193\" caption=\"Knees to the Earth by Juliet Towner\"]<a href=\"http://www.creationswap.com/7ulio\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-3282 \" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/prayingunashamed1-193x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"193\" height=\"300\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\nOur American, western culture has become prideful in one aspect that has created a deep unsettling in the mass majority when anything comes to attack it.\r\n\r\n<em>Reality</em>.\r\n\r\nFor example, reality TV is at an all time high on prime time television…for more and more people are desiring “reality” to be injected into life, all in the name of avoiding hypocrisy.\r\n\r\nHowever, reality TV has actually become the most unreliable source of reality our nation has ever seen – yet it’s still highly desired. In fact, it’s so desired that it has become an unhealthy addiction.\r\n\r\nWhat really has brought this all to the surface lately in my heart has been the fever pitch surrounding Tim Tebow.\r\n\r\nNow I’m not a huge football fan – in fact, I’m not the most avid sports fan. I like my fair share of catching a hockey game on the TV now and again (Detroit Redwings, you have my support), and I enjoy the Olympics (USA!) – but beyond that, football, basketball, baseball and soccer…I honestly could live without. Yet, it’s hard to ignore the constant media coverage of Tim Tebow lately as he becomes a prominent target of contention in our American society.\r\n\r\n<em>“Don’t mix religion with football – it’s just not realistic.”</em>\r\n\r\nSeriously?...<em>Seriously</em>?\r\n\r\nCome on folks…let’s get “<em>real</em>” here for a moment. Whether we like it or not, religion (just like politics) is in our face every day we live and breathe. Yet, go figure, these are the very two things we’re “instructed” to avoid discussing because of the huge disagreements they can cause.\r\n\r\nThe truth is though, these are the very topics of discussion that need to be addressed in our lives, for these topics actually target reality. They target core heart issues that define our very lives by the beliefs we hold within each of these two areas. They single-handedly go hand in hand with our daily lives.\r\n\r\nPerhaps this is the very reason most want to avoid discussion of such topics and just want to focus on mind-numbing nothingness…because it provides an escape from the reality of life. However, this isn’t how Christians are called to live out life.\r\n\r\n<em>“Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord!”</em> -Lamentations 3:40 (ESV)\r\n\r\nIt’s right here in scripture, yet so many overlook this vitally important aspect of the Christian life. Most would rather turn a blind eye to the true aspects of life, rather than truly face them head on and examine their own lives against them, along side the very word of God.\r\n\r\nIn all honesty folks, this is why Tim Tebow has become the very thorn in most peoples’ sides. His outward expression of His devoted faith in God shines a light on all our sinful lives to the point it mirrors an image back to us that honestly is just hideous. And sincerely, who really wants to look at an ugly reflection?\r\n\r\nFriends, I get it. I really don’t like some of the reflections I get shown to me either – but it doesn’t mean the problems that I have within me go away by avoiding them by seeking to demolish anything that comes along to reveal the truth of my own depravity to my blind-shaded eyes.\r\n\r\nThe reality is, I am a human, I am sinful, and I need constant correction. And the only way to do this is to constantly keep myself in a realistic check that despite my sin, I am still loved by an almighty God who loves me amidst my failings. Praise Him for His grace! So why shouldn’t I constantly praise Him in all areas of my life…wherever I go…despite the hecklings I will endure? Why shouldn’t we all?\r\n\r\nGod will have His way, and reveal who He is through whomever He can in any arena He’s given the ability to shine in. Tim Tebow is merely one person who deeply loves Christ, and it unashamed to live it out boldly. For this, I can only commend him – and in turn, hope I continue to grow in ways that leads me to be just as bold for Christ.\r\n\r\nFor the reality is…Christ is everything, and this world is nothing without Him.','What is Reality?','','inherit','open','open','','3281-revision-4','','','2011-12-20 21:10:30','2011-12-21 05:10:30','',3281,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3281-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3287,82,'2011-12-20 21:11:42','2011-12-21 05:11:42','[caption id=\"attachment_3282\" align=\"alignleft\" width=\"193\" caption=\"Knees to the Earth by Juliet Towner\"]<a href=\"http://www.creationswap.com/7ulio\"><img class=\"size-medium wp-image-3282 \" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/prayingunashamed1-193x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"193\" height=\"300\" /></a>[/caption]\r\n\r\nOur American, western culture has become prideful in one aspect that has created a deep unsettling in the mass majority when anything comes to attack it.\r\n\r\n<em>Reality</em>.\r\n\r\nFor example, reality TV is at an all time high on prime time television…for more and more people are desiring “reality” to be injected into life, all in the name of avoiding hypocrisy.\r\n\r\nHowever, reality TV has actually become the most unreliable source of reality our nation has ever seen – yet it’s still highly desired. In fact, it’s so desired that it has become an unhealthy addiction.\r\n\r\nWhat really has brought this all to the surface lately in my heart has been the fever pitch surrounding Tim Tebow.\r\n\r\nNow I’m not a huge football fan – in fact, I’m not the most avid sports fan. I like my fair share of catching a hockey game on the TV now and again (Detroit Redwings, you have my support), and I enjoy the Olympics (USA!) – but beyond that, football, basketball, baseball and soccer…I honestly could live without. Yet, it’s hard to ignore the constant media coverage of Tim Tebow lately as he becomes a prominent target of contention in our American society.\r\n\r\n<em>“Don’t mix religion with football – it’s just not realistic.”</em>\r\n\r\nSeriously?...<em>Seriously</em>?\r\n\r\nCome on folks…let’s get “<em>real</em>” here for a moment. Whether we like it or not, religion (just like politics) is in our face every day we live and breathe. Yet, go figure, these are the very two things we’re “instructed” to avoid discussing because of the huge disagreements they can cause.\r\n\r\nThe truth is though, these are the very topics of discussion that need to be addressed in our lives, for these topics actually target reality. They target core heart issues that define our very lives by the beliefs we hold within each of these two areas. They single-handedly go hand in hand with our daily lives.\r\n\r\nPerhaps this is the very reason most want to avoid discussion of such topics and just want to focus on mind-numbing nothingness…because it provides an escape from the reality of life. However, this isn’t how Christians are called to live out life.\r\n\r\n<em>“Let us test and examine our ways, and return to the Lord!”</em> -Lamentations 3:40 (ESV)\r\n\r\nIt’s right here in scripture, yet so many overlook this vitally important aspect of the Christian life. Most would rather turn a blind eye to the true aspects of life, rather than truly face them head on and examine their own lives against them, along side the very word of God.\r\n\r\nIn all honesty folks, this is why Tim Tebow has become the very thorn in most peoples’ sides. His outward expression of His devoted faith in God shines a light on all our sinful lives to the point it mirrors an image back to us that honestly is just hideous. And sincerely, who really wants to look at an ugly reflection?\r\n\r\nFriends, I get it. I really don’t like some of the reflections I get shown to me either – but it doesn’t mean the problems that I have within me go away by avoiding them by seeking to demolish anything that comes along to reveal the truth of my own depravity to my blind-shaded eyes.\r\n\r\nThe reality is, I am a human, I am sinful, and I need constant correction. And the only way to do this is to constantly keep myself in a realistic check that despite my sin, I am still loved by an almighty God who loves me amidst my failings. Praise Him for His grace! So why shouldn’t I constantly praise Him in all areas of my life…wherever I go…despite the hecklings I will endure? Why shouldn’t we all?\r\n\r\nGod will have His way, and reveal who He is through whomever He can in any arena He’s given the ability to shine in. Tim Tebow is merely one person who deeply loves Christ, and it unashamed to live it out boldly. For this, I can only commend him – and in turn, hope I continue to grow in ways that leads me to be just as bold for Christ.\r\n\r\nFor the reality is…Christ is everything, and this world is nothing without Him.','What is Reality?','','inherit','open','open','','3281-revision-5','','','2011-12-20 21:11:42','2011-12-21 05:11:42','',3281,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3281-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3296,1,'2011-12-22 09:59:10','2011-12-22 17:59:10','(Read <a href=\"../2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\">Part I here</a>)\n\n(Read <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/21/christmas-undocumented-anunciation-part-ii/\">Part II here</a>)\n\nAve remains with Isabella for three months, until her cousin gives birth to her son and settles into her new life as a mother.\n\nIn her time in America, Ave has managed to find enough work — paid only in cash — to purchase a few incidentals and a bus ticket to a small town in Alabama where a job in a factory and a few friends await her. Despite her best efforts, she’s not managed to find any more information on her boyfriend. She has tried all the names and aliases he might be using — José Mann, José David, José David Mann — but all her leads turn into dead ends. Maybe once she makes it to Alabama, her search will get easier, but she fears the worst, death or detention.\n\nAve is sitting at the breakfast table worrying over her boyfriend’s fate when Isabella offers her a plate of eggs, beans and corn grits.\n\n“Eat, your baby needs it even if you don’t feel like it,” Isabella says, sitting down next to her. “I wish you’d reconsider this trip. You can stay here as long as you like. I could use the extra hands. And my baby could use a little brother to grow up with”\n\nAve shakes her head. “No, no. You have been kind enough. I have a job waiting for me and friends. And maybe José will be there and I can tell him about the baby. Don’t worry, Isabella. I’ll be fine in Alabama.”\n\nIsabella clucks her tongue. “It’s different there than here is all I’m saying. They don’t like us over there, not one bit. Don’t give them any excuse to talk to you. You’ve got that baby to think about.”\n\nBoth women fall silent as they run through various worst-case scenarios better left unsaid.\n\n“I leave tomorrow,” Ave reminds her. “I can’t thank you and Zach enough for all your help and generosity. I would have been lost without you both.”\n\nIsabella grins. “I know. Well, let’s get you packed. We’ll go up to the store and get you a few things for your trip.”\n\n“Thank you, Tia,” Ave says, leaning over to kiss her cousin on the forehead. “I think I hear baby Juan crying. He must be awake. Would you like me to rock him back to sleep?”\n\nRelieved, Isabella replies, “You wouldn’t mind?”\n\n“Not at all,” Ave says. “I want all the time I can get with him before I leave.”\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">***</p>\nThere is more Spanish than English in the San Antonio bus terminal which reassures Ave after Isabella and Juan leave her on her own. Her belly has begun to show now that she is four months with child. The baby growing inside her is strong, loves to kick and wakes her up at all hours. The trip on the bus won’t be the most enjoyable, but she has been in more uncomfortable traveling arrangements before, she thinks, remembering the 12 days she spent crossing the border.\n\nHer trip and arrival in Alabama are blessedly uneventful. Her job in the factory is tiring and monotonous but the pay is better than back home. More to the point, they actually hired her in the first place, even though she was clearly pregnant. In fact, her belly might have helped her get the job as her lie about her age seemed more believable to the hiring boss. For the next four months, her life falls into a pleasant routine unlike she has ever known and she comes to think of the tiny Alabama town as her home.\n\nShe rooms with three other women, all from her state in Mexico, and they all commute together to work. None of them are in the country legally, but each has managed to obtain forged papers. Every so often rumors of immigration raids on the factory ripple through the ranks, but nothing ever pans out, so eventually, the edge that comes with the warnings diminish, replaced by a generalized anxiety that becomes easy to ignore.\n\nOne morning, Ave announces to her roommates that she is leaving the factory floor.\n\n“Today is my last day,” Ave says on their way to work. “I’m eight months pregnant, my back is killing me, feet are swollen and my hands are so puffy I can hardly work the machines any more.”\n\nIt doesn’t surprise her friends. They have been urging her to stop working, but Ave has insisted, explaining that every little bit of extra cash will help with all the baby expenses soon to come, especially with José nowhere to be found and unable to offer any financial support. The last anyone had heard of him, he had gone two counties over to pick a harvest of peaches. He had never returned. No one knew any more of his whereabouts, and her greatest fears about him — his death or detention — seemed more likely the longer no one heard from him.\n\n“Well, it’s about time,” says the oldest woman in the group, Anna, a woman the rest consider a kind of surrogate mother in America. She cooks, fusses and reminds them to go to worship every Saturday night instead of out dancing. “You’ve been needing to get off your feet for a month now at least. It will be nice to have a little baby around the house again. Mine are all grown and gone and scattered throughout the Southeast.”\n\n“Let’s throw her a party,” one of the girls suggests from the backseat. And for the remainder of the commute, the talk is all of streamers, and baby shower games and cakes and presents. Ave smiles.\n\nOn the factory floor, the day thrums along as it always does. The factory break room at lunch is filled with smells of home mixed with the aroma of greasy fast food, reheated. The afternoon churns on, until about 2 p.m., when the factory doors burst open and black-armored men, guns drawn and chests emblazoned with the letters I-C-E, flood into the cavernous room like ants scurrying from a caved-in hill. The clatter of chairs falling to the floor, shrieks of fear and deep, gravelly shouts to halt echo in a nightmarish cacophony.\n\nAve feels her breath grow shallow and then her body sinks on weak knees. When she wakes, her head is throbbing but she cannot reach her hand to feel the knot on her forehead. Her hands are in plastic cuffs behind her back, and she is slumped on her side against a wall with the other factory women. She hears them crying, sobbing about the children who will return from school to homes without mothers, and perhaps fathers, about the thousands of miles that will soon separate them from their sons and daughters.\n\nReality begins to sink in for Ave as one of the ICE agents lifts her to her feet and helps her to one of the buses in the parking lot that will take her and the other workers to the immigration detention center. The bus ride to the detention center takes an hour. Some of the women whisper. Some sleep. Many weep.\n\n“I just can’t believe my luck,” Ave whispers to no one in particular. “Today was my last day at the factory. My last day and ICE shows up. If only I’d just stayed at home.”\n\nAcross the aisle, an older woman, her gray hair wrapped in bun on top of her head, replies, “It’s got nothing to do with luck, <em>niña</em>. It’s not a matter of if but when you get sent back to Mexico when you live in Alabama. If they didn’t get you today, they would’ve found you in a couple of weeks when the census takers come out knocking on doors.”\n\nAfter an uncomfortable hour on the bus, it arrives at the detention center, a massive, lifeless gray building with slits for windows like narrowed, suspicious eyes. A female guard boards the bus to greet them.\n\n“Welcome to the Stable, my <em>vacas</em>,” the scrawny-haired guard shouts. “Hope y’all enjoy your stay here on your way back to whatever rotten country you came from. Showers are mandatory. I don’t want to smell you heifers any more than I have to. Now, off the bus for processing!”\n\nThe story continues tomorrow … <a href=\"../2011/12/21/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3235-autosave','','','2011-12-22 09:59:10','2011-12-22 17:59:10','',3235,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3235-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3291,93,'2011-12-22 04:23:11','2011-12-22 12:23:11','<p>The church where I serve made a <a href=\"http://douglassblvdcc.com/blog/2011/4/19/douglass-blvd-christian-church-votes-for-marriage-equality-a.html\">decision</a> last year to support its ministers in refusing to sign marriage licenses until the rights of marriage could be conferred upon LGTBQ couples. The decision brought <a href=\"http://thinkprogress.org/politics/2011/04/21/160113/kentucky-church-gay-marriage/\">national attention</a>&#8211;the overwhelming majority of which was positive.</p>\n\n<p>One group in particular who responded to the decision surprised me. I never saw it coming. Some of the most gratifying reactions came from the adult children of some of the older members of our congregation, which is to say, from young people who had dropped out of church a long time ago. From across the U.S. I got word from these displaced folks. They emailed, called, messaged me through social media, and, the ones who still live close by, button-holed me on the street. Their comments shared one thing in common: &#8220;I&#8217;m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in.&#8221;</p>\n\n<p>Then, a couple of them proceeded to say something that was hard to hear: &#8220;I never thought I&#8217;d see a church do something so Christian.&#8221;</p>\n\n<p>Embedded in that response, I think, is something worth hearing about the way an increasing number of young people experience the church. According to a recent article on <a href=\"http://sojo.net/blogs/2011/12/20/millennials-church-wake-or-were-outta-here?page=show\">Sojourners Blog</a>, Millenials are headed for the exits&#8211;even among Evanglicals. Why? According to the article, which cites <a href=\"http://www.barna.org/store?page=shop.product_details&amp;flypage=flypage.tpl&amp;product_id=128\">research</a> by the Barna Group, &#8220;Research indicates younger people are not only departing from their elders on &#8216;social issues,&#8217; such as same-sex marriage and abortion, but on wealth distribution and care for the environment, as well.&#8221;</p>\n\n<p>One way to look at the difference Millenials represent on these kinds of social issues is that they&#8217;ve been seduced by an increasingly secular society. From the time they were young, this thinking goes, the culture has offered Millenials a vision of human life that is often at odds with the vision claimed by churches, one focused less and less on God. Politically, &#8220;liberals&#8221; have successfully appealed to youthful passion and idealism, rendering them dewey-eyed woolgatherers who know little, either about God or about how the world &#8220;really&#8221; works. As a consequence, Millenials come to their convictions about the purpose of human life and its just embodiment either as a result of theological ignorance or theological rebellion. The implication is that if they really new about Christianity, they wouldn&#8217;t believe such outrageous things about marriage and economic equality and environmental responsibility.</p>\n\n<p>There are a couple of different responses that come to mind, if this is the way you frame the problem of the disappearance of young adults. On the one hand, you could just tell young people they&#8217;re wrong, and they need to get right. In many cases, this was the strategy employed by the Greatest Generation when Baby Boomers started questioning organized religion in the 1960s and 70s. For those who think this kind of &#8220;unvarnished truth&#8221; strategy is the way to go, it might be helpful to contemplate its success when used on an earlier generation&#8211;take a look at <a href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085244/\">The Big Chill</a>, for instance.</p>\n\n<p>On the other hand, you might look at the exodus of Millenials as a failure of relevance. Churches got sidetracked, started focusing on stuff Millenials found pointless&#8211;stuff like bigger buildings, keeping up social appearances for the country club set, right wing politics, etc. If you interpret irrlevance to be the reason young people don&#8217;t want anything to do with the church, you have an easy way to address the issue &#8230; be more relevant. Find cool looking people to play cool sounding music. Say &#8220;dude&#8221; a lot. Make sure you know the difference between a cappucino and a latte. Easy.</p>\n\n<p>There are couple of different branches of über relevance available, too. If you&#8217;re sympathetic to the whole <strong>mega-church movement</strong>, sprinkle some Jesus over the top of ordinary stuff young people like, and voilà, instant relevance. Christian rock climbing. Christian aerobics. Christian skateboarding. Christian Screamo bands. The possibilities are endless. </p>\n\n<p>If you find an <strong>emergent</strong> emphasis more to your liking, you&#8217;ll need another set of accoutrements. Tattoos are good. Piercings and ear guages add a nice touch. Make sure to do some outings in a pub, with lots of locally micro-brewed fare. Relevance isn&#8217;t too far off.</p>\n\n<p>And while I happen to think the emergent movement is much more theologically interesting for a whole host of <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2010/05/23/dmergent-and-stonecampbell-heritage/\">reasons</a> other than just those things that accessorize it, like the mega-church stuff, if it&#8217;s just a marketing strategy for obtaining relevance, I think it&#8217;s doomed to drive millenials away. Millenials have been socialized to be <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2011/10/17/death-of-a-salesman-please/\">amazingly aware of being marketed to</a>, and they react poorly to such poses adopted solely for the purpose of &#8220;winning&#8221; their spiritual &#8220;business.&#8221;</p>\n\n<p>I find all of these ways of reading the departure of young adults from the church dismissive, sharing a common misconception that what&#8217;s wrong, what&#8217;s driving Millenials away from the church, resides somewhere <em>outside</em> the church (either with Millenials themselves or with the culture that produced them)&#8211;or that if it is the church&#8217;s fault, the problems are merely cosmetic, easily remedied by superficial tweaks here or there.</p>\n\n<p>There&#8217;s another way of reading the generational tea leaves, however, one that places responsibility on the <em>church</em> not for failing to be relevant, but for failing to be faithful to the Jesus found in the Gospels. Maybe the problem is that Millenials hear about Jesus and then take him at his word. Maybe they really believe that stuff Jesus says st the beginning of his ministry in Luke:</p>\n\n<blockquote>\n<p>The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has annointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord&#8217;s favor.</p>\n</blockquote>\n\n<p>Then, they go to church, and instead of hearing about how to live with those who&#8217;ve been kicked to the curb, how to be Christ to a world caving in on itself, they hear about how the church&#8217;s job is to maneuver itself into positions of power, respectability, relevance, etc. They hear about committee meetings and deficit budgets and why it is imperative that we &#8220;keep Christ in Christmas.&#8221; They hear a baptized politics that exhorts them to be good moral &#8220;individuals&#8221; who seek a &#8220;personal relationship with Jesus,&#8221; but their relationship to the poor and the powerless, their relationship to an economic system designed to serve the interests of those already on top at the expense of those on the bottom, their relationship to a government that starts preemptive wars based on a conceit, their relationship to God&#8217;s creation&#8211;these are largely matters of indifference to the church. These young people go to church and hear why (if they happen to be at a conservative church) gay people are going to hell, or (if they happen to be at a more &#8220;progressive&#8221; church) why it might upset the ecclesiastical apple cart if we were to say that gay people are created in the image of God&#8211;exactly the way God wanted them.</p>\n\n<p>All of which is to say: Maybe it&#8217;s not Millenials who&#8217;ve left the church, so much as that the church has left Jesus&#8211;and Millenials are the only ones brave enough to recognize that the emperor has been parading about without the benefit of clothes. If that&#8217;s the case, the church would do well to quit worrying so much about whether Millenials are leaving the church, and start investing time and effort and resources into looking more like Jesus. Then Millenials might finally see something for which it would be worth sticking around.</p>\n\n<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in&#8221; isn&#8217;t the same as, &#8220;How do I sign up to get back into church?&#8221; For any number of really important reasons, though, it&#8217;s a step in the right direction.</p>\n','The Problem with Millenials Leaving the Church May Be the Church','','inherit','open','open','','3290-revision','','','2011-12-22 04:23:11','2011-12-22 12:23:11','',3290,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3290-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(4431,1,'2012-01-23 08:00:15','2012-01-23 16:00:15','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/category/question-everything/\"><strong>Question Everything</strong></a> is a series of posts that asks the questions people are really thinking, but are often afraid to ask. You can submit your question <a title=\"Submit A Question\" href=\"http://provoketive.com/submit-a-question/\">here</a>.\r\n\r\nToday\'s question comes from Anonymous in Albuquerque NM.\r\n\r\n\"If God sends people to hell, then doesn\'t that mean God is not forgiving them?  And if so, why does God command us to forgive but is unwilling to forgive when our lives are on the line.\"\r\n\r\nHow would you answer the question?','Question #1: When God Doesn\'t Forgive','','publish','open','open','','question-1-when-god-doesnt-forgive','','','2012-01-23 08:53:55','2012-01-23 16:53:55','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=4431',0,'post','',7),(3292,93,'2011-12-22 04:23:12','2011-12-22 12:23:12','<p>The church where I serve made a <a href=\"http://douglassblvdcc.com/blog/2011/4/19/douglass-blvd-christian-church-votes-for-marriage-equality-a.html\">decision</a> last year to support its ministers in refusing to sign marriage licenses until the rights of marriage could be conferred upon LGTBQ couples. The decision brought <a href=\"http://thinkprogress.org/politics/2011/04/21/160113/kentucky-church-gay-marriage/\">national attention</a>&#8211;the overwhelming majority of which was positive.</p>\r\n\r\n<p>One group in particular who responded to the decision surprised me. I never saw it coming. Some of the most gratifying reactions came from the adult children of some of the older members of our congregation, which is to say, from young people who had dropped out of church a long time ago. From across the U.S. I got word from these displaced folks. They emailed, called, messaged me through social media, and, the ones who still live close by, button-holed me on the street. Their comments shared one thing in common: &#8220;I&#8217;m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in.&#8221;</p>\r\n\r\n<p>Then, a couple of them proceeded to say something that was hard to hear: &#8220;I never thought I&#8217;d see a church do something so Christian.&#8221;</p>\r\n\r\n<p>Embedded in that response, I think, is something worth hearing about the way an increasing number of young people experience the church. According to a recent article on <a href=\"http://sojo.net/blogs/2011/12/20/millennials-church-wake-or-were-outta-here?page=show\">Sojourners Blog</a>, Millenials are headed for the exits&#8211;even among Evanglicals. Why? According to the article, which cites <a href=\"http://www.barna.org/store?page=shop.product_details&amp;flypage=flypage.tpl&amp;product_id=128\">research</a> by the Barna Group, &#8220;Research indicates younger people are not only departing from their elders on &#8216;social issues,&#8217; such as same-sex marriage and abortion, but on wealth distribution and care for the environment, as well.&#8221;</p>\r\n\r\n<p>One way to look at the difference Millenials represent on these kinds of social issues is that they&#8217;ve been seduced by an increasingly secular society. From the time they were young, this thinking goes, the culture has offered Millenials a vision of human life that is often at odds with the vision claimed by churches, one focused less and less on God. Politically, &#8220;liberals&#8221; have successfully appealed to youthful passion and idealism, rendering them dewey-eyed woolgatherers who know little, either about God or about how the world &#8220;really&#8221; works. As a consequence, Millenials come to their convictions about the purpose of human life and its just embodiment either as a result of theological ignorance or theological rebellion. The implication is that if they really new about Christianity, they wouldn&#8217;t believe such outrageous things about marriage and economic equality and environmental responsibility.</p>\r\n\r\n<p>There are a couple of different responses that come to mind, if this is the way you frame the problem of the disappearance of young adults. On the one hand, you could just tell young people they&#8217;re wrong, and they need to get right. In many cases, this was the strategy employed by the Greatest Generation when Baby Boomers started questioning organized religion in the 1960s and 70s. For those who think this kind of &#8220;unvarnished truth&#8221; strategy is the way to go, it might be helpful to contemplate its success when used on an earlier generation&#8211;take a look at <a href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085244/\">The Big Chill</a>, for instance.</p>\r\n\r\n<p>On the other hand, you might look at the exodus of Millenials as a failure of relevance. Churches got sidetracked, started focusing on stuff Millenials found pointless&#8211;stuff like bigger buildings, keeping up social appearances for the country club set, right wing politics, etc. If you interpret irrlevance to be the reason young people don&#8217;t want anything to do with the church, you have an easy way to address the issue &#8230; be more relevant. Find cool looking people to play cool sounding music. Say &#8220;dude&#8221; a lot. Make sure you know the difference between a cappucino and a latte. Easy.</p>\r\n\r\n<p>There are couple of different branches of über relevance available, too. If you&#8217;re sympathetic to the whole <strong>mega-church movement</strong>, sprinkle some Jesus over the top of ordinary stuff young people like, and voilà, instant relevance. Christian rock climbing. Christian aerobics. Christian skateboarding. Christian Screamo bands. The possibilities are endless. </p>\r\n\r\n<p>If you find an <strong>emergent</strong> emphasis more to your liking, you&#8217;ll need another set of accoutrements. Tattoos are good. Piercings and ear guages add a nice touch. Make sure to do some outings in a pub, with lots of locally micro-brewed fare. Relevance isn&#8217;t too far off.</p>\r\n\r\n<p>And while I happen to think the emergent movement is much more theologically interesting for a whole host of <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2010/05/23/dmergent-and-stonecampbell-heritage/\">reasons</a> other than just those things that accessorize it, like the mega-church stuff, if it&#8217;s just a marketing strategy for obtaining relevance, I think it&#8217;s doomed to drive millenials away. Millenials have been socialized to be <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2011/10/17/death-of-a-salesman-please/\">amazingly aware of being marketed to</a>, and they react poorly to such poses adopted solely for the purpose of &#8220;winning&#8221; their spiritual &#8220;business.&#8221;</p>\r\n\r\n<p>I find all of these ways of reading the departure of young adults from the church dismissive, sharing a common misconception that what&#8217;s wrong, what&#8217;s driving Millenials away from the church, resides somewhere <em>outside</em> the church (either with Millenials themselves or with the culture that produced them)&#8211;or that if it is the church&#8217;s fault, the problems are merely cosmetic, easily remedied by superficial tweaks here or there.</p>\r\n\r\n<p>There&#8217;s another way of reading the generational tea leaves, however, one that places responsibility on the <em>church</em> not for failing to be relevant, but for failing to be faithful to the Jesus found in the Gospels. Maybe the problem is that Millenials hear about Jesus and then take him at his word. Maybe they really believe that stuff Jesus says st the beginning of his ministry in Luke:</p>\r\n\r\n<blockquote>\r\n<p>The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has annointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord&#8217;s favor.</p>\r\n</blockquote>\r\n\r\n<p>Then, they go to church, and instead of hearing about how to live with those who&#8217;ve been kicked to the curb, how to be Christ to a world caving in on itself, they hear about how the church&#8217;s job is to maneuver itself into positions of power, respectability, relevance, etc. They hear about committee meetings and deficit budgets and why it is imperative that we &#8220;keep Christ in Christmas.&#8221; They hear a baptized politics that exhorts them to be good moral &#8220;individuals&#8221; who seek a &#8220;personal relationship with Jesus,&#8221; but their relationship to the poor and the powerless, their relationship to an economic system designed to serve the interests of those already on top at the expense of those on the bottom, their relationship to a government that starts preemptive wars based on a conceit, their relationship to God&#8217;s creation&#8211;these are largely matters of indifference to the church. These young people go to church and hear why (if they happen to be at a conservative church) gay people are going to hell, or (if they happen to be at a more &#8220;progressive&#8221; church) why it might upset the ecclesiastical apple cart if we were to say that gay people are created in the image of God&#8211;exactly the way God wanted them.</p>\r\n\r\n<p>All of which is to say: Maybe it&#8217;s not Millenials who&#8217;ve left the church, so much as that the church has left Jesus&#8211;and Millenials are the only ones brave enough to recognize that the emperor has been parading about without the benefit of clothes. If that&#8217;s the case, the church would do well to quit worrying so much about whether Millenials are leaving the church, and start investing time and effort and resources into looking more like Jesus. Then Millenials might finally see something for which it would be worth sticking around.</p>\r\n\r\n<p>&#8220;I&#8217;m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in&#8221; isn&#8217;t the same as, &#8220;How do I sign up to get back into church?&#8221; For any number of really important reasons, though, it&#8217;s a step in the right direction.</p>\r\n','The Problem with Millenials Leaving the Church May Be the Church','','inherit','open','open','','3290-revision-2','','','2011-12-22 04:23:12','2011-12-22 12:23:12','',3290,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3290-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3297,1,'2011-12-22 09:34:48','2011-12-22 17:34:48','','undocumented_christmas_3','','inherit','open','open','','undocumented_christmas_3','','','2011-12-22 09:34:48','2011-12-22 17:34:48','',3235,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/undocumented_christmas_3.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3298,1,'2011-12-20 16:51:29','2011-12-21 00:51:29','&nbsp;\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center\"><a href=\"http://patheos.com/blogs/davidhenson\">Nochebuena: Part I</a></p>\r\nAve remains with Isabella for three months, until her cousin gives birth to her son and settles into her new life as a mother.\r\n\r\nIn her time in America, Ave has managed to find enough work — paid only in cash — to purchase a few incidentals and a bus ticket to a small town in Alabama where a job in a factory and a few friends await her. Despite her best efforts, she’s not managed to find any more information on her boyfriend. She has tried all the names and aliases he might be using — José Mann, José David, José David Mann — but all her leads turn into dead ends. Maybe once she makes it to Alabama, her search will get easier, but she fears the worst, death or detention.\r\n\r\nAve is sitting at the breakfast table worrying over her boyfriend’s fate when Isabella offers her a plate of eggs, beans and corn grits.\r\n\r\n“Eat, your baby needs it even if you don’t feel like it,” Isabella says, sitting down next to her. “I wish you’d reconsider this trip. You can stay here as long as you like. I could use the extra hands. And my baby could use a little brother to grow up with”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “No, no. You have been kind enough. I have a job waiting for me and friends. And maybe José will be there and I can tell him about the baby. Don’t worry, Isabella. I’ll be fine in Alabama.”\r\n\r\nIsabella clucks her tongue. “It’s different there than here is all I’m saying. They don’t like us over there, not one bit. Don’t give them any excuse to talk to you. You’ve got that baby to think about.”\r\n\r\nBoth women fall silent as they run through various worst-case scenarios better left unsaid.\r\n\r\n“I leave tomorrow,” Ave reminds her. “I can’t thank you and Zach enough for all your help and generosity. I would have been lost without you both.”\r\n\r\nIsabella grins. “I know. Well, let’s get you packed. We’ll go up to the store and get you a few things for your trip.”\r\n\r\n“Thank you, Tia,” Ave says, leaning over to kiss her cousin on the forehead. “I think I hear baby Juan crying. He must be awake. Would you like me to rock him back to sleep?”\r\n\r\nRelieved, Isabella replies, “You wouldn’t mind?”\r\n\r\n“Not at all,” Ave says. “I want all the time I can get with him before I leave.”\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center\">***</p>\r\nThere is more Spanish than English in the San Antonio bus terminal which reassures Ave after Isabella and Juan leave her on her own. Her belly has begun to show now that she is four months with child. The baby growing inside her is strong, loves to kick and wakes her up at all hours. The trip on the bus won’t be the most enjoyable, but she has been in more uncomfortable traveling arrangements before, she thinks, remembering the 12 days she spent crossing the border.\r\n\r\nHer trip and arrival in Alabama are blessedly uneventful. Her job in the factory is tiring and monotonous but the pay is better than back home. More to the point, they actually hired her in the first place, even though she was clearly pregnant. In fact, her belly might have helped her get the job as her lie about her age seemed more believable to the hiring boss. For the next four months, her life falls into a pleasant routine unlike she has ever known and she comes to think of the tiny Alabama town as her home.\r\n\r\nShe rooms with three other women, all from her state in Mexico, and they all commute together to work. None of them are in the country legally, but each has managed to obtain forged papers. Every so often rumors of immigration raids on the factory ripple through the ranks, but nothing ever pans out, so eventually, the edge that comes with the warnings diminish, replaced by a generalized anxiety that becomes easy to ignore.\r\n\r\nOne morning, Ave announces to her roommates that she is leaving the factory floor.\r\n\r\n“Today is my last day,” Ave says on their way to work. “I’m eight months pregnant, my back is killing me, feet are swollen and my hands are so puffy I can hardly work the machines any more.”\r\n\r\nIt doesn’t surprise her friends. They have been urging her to stop working, but Ave has insisted, explaining that every little bit of extra cash will help with all the baby expenses soon to come, especially with José nowhere to be found and unable to offer any financial support. The last anyone had heard of him, he had gone two counties over to pick a harvest of peaches. He had never returned. No one knew any more of his whereabouts, and her greatest fears about him — his death or detention — seemed more likely the longer no one heard from him.\r\n\r\n“Well, it’s about time,” says the oldest woman in the group, Anna, a woman the rest consider a kind of surrogate mother in America. She cooks, fusses and reminds them to go to worship every Saturday night instead of out dancing. “You’ve been needing to get off your feet for a month now at least. It will be nice to have a little baby around the house again. Mine are all grown and gone and scattered throughout the Southeast.”\r\n\r\n“Let’s throw her a party,” one of the girls suggests from the backseat. And for the remainder of the commute, the talk is all of streamers, and baby shower games and cakes and presents. Ave smiles.\r\n\r\nOn the factory floor, the day thrums along as it always does. The factory break room at lunch is filled with smells of home mixed with the aroma of greasy fast food, reheated. The afternoon churns on, until about 2 p.m., when the factory doors burst open and black-armored men, guns drawn and chests emblazoned with the letters I-C-E, flood into the cavernous room like ants scurrying from a caved-in hill. The clatter of chairs falling to the floor, shrieks of fear and deep, gravelly shouts to halt echo in a nightmarish cacophony.\r\n\r\nAve feels her breath grow shallow and then her body sinks on weak knees. When she wakes, her head is throbbing but she cannot reach her hand to feel the knot on her forehead. Her hands are in plastic cuffs behind her back, and she is slumped on her side against a wall with the other factory women. She hears them crying, sobbing about the children who will return from school to homes without mothers, and perhaps fathers, about the thousands of miles that will soon separate them from their sons and daughters.\r\n\r\nReality begins to sink in for Ave as one of the ICE agents lifts her to her feet and helps her to one of the buses in the parking lot that will take her and the other workers to the immigration detention center. The bus ride to the detention center takes an hour. Some of the women whisper. Some sleep. Many weep.\r\n\r\n“I just can’t believe my luck,” Ave whispers to no one in particular. “Today was my last day at the factory. My last day and ICE shows up. If only I’d just stayed at home.”\r\n\r\nAcross the aisle, an older woman, her gray hair wrapped in bun on top of her head, replies, “It’s got nothing to do with luck, <em>niña</em>. It’s not a matter of if but when you get sent back to Mexico when you live in Alabama. If they didn’t get you today, they would’ve found you in a couple of weeks when the census takers come out knocking on doors.”\r\n\r\nAfter an uncomfortable hour on the bus, it arrives at the detention center, a massive, lifeless gray building with slits for windows like narrowed, suspicious eyes. A female guard boards the bus to greet them.\r\n\r\n“Welcome to the Stable, my <em>vacas</em>,” the scrawny-haired guard shouts. “Hope y’all enjoy your stay here on your way back to whatever rotten country you came from. Showers are mandatory. I don’t want to smell you heifers any more than I have to. Now, off the bus for processing!”<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3235-revision-4','','','2011-12-20 16:51:29','2011-12-21 00:51:29','',3235,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/3235-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3299,93,'2011-12-29 10:36:50','2011-12-29 18:36:50','The church where I serve made a <a href=\"http://douglassblvdcc.com/blog/2011/4/19/douglass-blvd-christian-church-votes-for-marriage-equality-a.html\">decision</a> this past year to support its ministers in refusing to sign marriage licenses until the rights of marriage could be conferred upon LGTBQ couples. The decision brought <a href=\"http://thinkprogress.org/politics/2011/04/21/160113/kentucky-church-gay-marriage/\">national attention</a>–the overwhelming majority of which was positive.\n\nOne group in particular who responded to the decision surprised me. I never saw it coming. Some of the most gratifying reactions came from the adult children of some of the older members of our congregation, which is to say, from young people who had dropped out of church a long time ago. From across the U.S. I got word from these displaced folks. They emailed, called, messaged me through social media, and, the ones who still live close by, button-holed me on the street. Their comments shared one thing in common: “I’m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in.”\n\nThen, a couple of them proceeded to say something that was hard to hear: “I never thought I’d see a church do something so Christian.”\n\nEmbedded in that response, I think, is something worth hearing about the way an increasing number of young people experience the church. According to a recent article on <a href=\"http://sojo.net/blogs/2011/12/20/millennials-church-wake-or-were-outta-here?page=show\">Sojourners Blog</a>, Millennials are headed for the exits–even among Evangelicals. Why? According to the article, which cites <a href=\"http://www.barna.org/store?page=shop.product_details&amp;flypage=flypage.tpl&amp;product_id=128\">research</a> by the Barna Group, “Research indicates younger people are not only departing from their elders on ‘social issues,’ such as same-sex marriage and abortion, but on wealth distribution and care for the environment, as well.”\n\nOne way to look at the difference Millennials represent on these kinds of social issues is that they’ve been seduced by an increasingly secular society. From the time they were young, this thinking goes, the culture has offered Millennials a vision of human life that is often at odds with the vision claimed by churches, one focused less and less on God. Politically, “liberals” have successfully appealed to youthful passion and idealism, rendering them dewey-eyed woolgatherers who know little, either about God or about how the world “really” works. As a consequence, Millennials come to their convictions about the purpose of human life and its just embodiment either as a result of theological ignorance or theological rebellion. The implication is that if they really new about Christianity, they wouldn’t believe such outrageous things about marriage and economic equality and environmental responsibility.\n\nThere are a couple of different responses that come to mind, if this is the way you frame the problem of the disappearance of young adults. On the one hand, you could just tell young people they’re wrong, and they need to get right. In many cases, this was the strategy employed by the Greatest Generation when Baby Boomers started questioning organized religion in the 1960s and 70s. For those who think this kind of “unvarnished truth” strategy is the way to go, it might be helpful to contemplate its success when used on an earlier generation–take a look at <a href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085244/\">The Big Chill</a>, for instance.\n\nOn the other hand, you might look at the exodus of Millennials as a failure of relevance. Churches got sidetracked, started focusing on stuff Millennials found pointless–stuff like bigger buildings, keeping up social appearances for the country club set, right wing politics, etc. If you interpret irrelevance to be the reason young people don’t want anything to do with the church, you have an easy way to address the issue … be more relevant. Find cool looking people to play cool sounding music. Say “dude” a lot. Make sure you know the difference between a cappuccino and a latte. Easy.\n\nThere are couple of different branches of über relevance available, too. If you’re sympathetic to the whole <strong>mega-church movement</strong>, sprinkle some Jesus over the top of ordinary stuff young people like, and voilà, instant relevance. Christian rock climbing. Christian aerobics. Christian skateboarding. Christian Screamo bands. The possibilities are endless.\n\nIf you find an <strong>emergent</strong> emphasis more to your liking, you’ll need another set of accoutrements. Tattoos are good. Piercings and ear gauges add a nice touch. Make sure to do some outings in a pub, with lots of locally micro-brewed fare. Relevance isn’t too far off.\n\nAnd while I happen to think the emergent movement is much more theologically interesting for a whole host of <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2010/05/23/dmergent-and-stonecampbell-heritage/\">reasons</a> other than just those things that accessorize it, like the mega-church stuff, if it’s just a marketing strategy for obtaining relevance, I think it’s doomed to drive Millennials away. Millennials have been socialized to be <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2011/10/17/death-of-a-salesman-please/\">amazingly aware of being marketed to</a>, and they react poorly to such poses adopted solely for the purpose of “winning” their spiritual “business.”\n\nI find all of these ways of reading the departure of young adults from the church dismissive, sharing a common misconception that what’s wrong, what’s driving Millennials away from the church, resides somewhere <em>outside</em> the church (either with Millennials themselves or with the culture that produced them)–or that if it is the church’s fault, the problems are merely cosmetic, easily remedied by superficial tweaks here or there.\n\nThere’s another way of reading the generational tea leaves, however, one that places responsibility on the <em>church</em> not for failing to be relevant, but for failing to be faithful to the Jesus found in the Gospels. Maybe the problem is that Millennials hear about Jesus and then take him at his word. Maybe they really believe that stuff Jesus says st the beginning of his ministry in Luke:\n<blockquote>The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.</blockquote>\nThen, they go to church, and instead of hearing about how to live with those who’ve been kicked to the curb, how to be Christ to a world caving in on itself, they hear about how the church’s job is to maneuver itself into positions of power, respectability, relevance, etc. They hear about committee meetings and deficit budgets and why it is imperative that we “keep Christ in Christmas.” They hear a baptized politics that exhorts them to be good moral “individuals” who seek a “personal relationship with Jesus,” but their relationship to the poor and the powerless, their relationship to an economic system designed to serve the interests of those already on top at the expense of those on the bottom, their relationship to a government that starts preemptive wars based on a conceit, their relationship to God’s creation–these are largely matters of indifference to the church. These young people go to church and hear why (if they happen to be at a conservative church) gay people are going to hell, or (if they happen to be at a more “progressive” church) why it might upset the ecclesiastical apple cart if we were to say that gay people are created in the image of God–exactly the way God wanted them.\n\nAll of which is to say: Maybe it’s not Millennials who’ve left the church, so much as that the church has left Jesus–and Millennials are the only ones brave enough to recognize that the emperor has been parading about without the benefit of clothes. If that’s the case, the church would do well to quit worrying so much about whether Millennials are leaving the church, and start investing time and effort and resources into looking more like Jesus. Then Millennials might finally see something for which it would be worth sticking around.\n\n“I’m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in” isn’t the same as, “How do I sign up to get back into church?” For any number of really important reasons, though, it’s a step in the right direction.','Why Millennials Are Leaving the Church','','inherit','open','open','','3290-autosave','','','2011-12-29 10:36:50','2011-12-29 18:36:50','',3290,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3290-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3300,1,'2011-12-22 09:47:50','2011-12-22 17:47:50','','millenials_leaving','','inherit','open','open','','millenials_leaving','','','2011-12-22 09:47:50','2011-12-22 17:47:50','',3290,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/millenials_leaving.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3301,1,'2011-12-22 04:34:44','2011-12-22 12:34:44','The church where I serve made a <a href=\"http://douglassblvdcc.com/blog/2011/4/19/douglass-blvd-christian-church-votes-for-marriage-equality-a.html\">decision</a> this past year to support its ministers in refusing to sign marriage licenses until the rights of marriage could be conferred upon LGTBQ couples. The decision brought <a href=\"http://thinkprogress.org/politics/2011/04/21/160113/kentucky-church-gay-marriage/\">national attention</a>–the overwhelming majority of which was positive.\r\n\r\nOne group in particular who responded to the decision surprised me. I never saw it coming. Some of the most gratifying reactions came from the adult children of some of the older members of our congregation, which is to say, from young people who had dropped out of church a long time ago. From across the U.S. I got word from these displaced folks. They emailed, called, messaged me through social media, and, the ones who still live close by, button-holed me on the street. Their comments shared one thing in common: “I’m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in.”\r\n\r\nThen, a couple of them proceeded to say something that was hard to hear: “I never thought I’d see a church do something so Christian.”\r\n\r\nEmbedded in that response, I think, is something worth hearing about the way an increasing number of young people experience the church. According to a recent article on <a href=\"http://sojo.net/blogs/2011/12/20/millennials-church-wake-or-were-outta-here?page=show\">Sojourners Blog</a>, Millennials are headed for the exits–even among Evanglicals. Why? According to the article, which cites <a href=\"http://www.barna.org/store?page=shop.product_details&amp;flypage=flypage.tpl&amp;product_id=128\">research</a> by the Barna Group, “Research indicates younger people are not only departing from their elders on ‘social issues,’ such as same-sex marriage and abortion, but on wealth distribution and care for the environment, as well.”\r\n\r\nOne way to look at the difference Millennials represent on these kinds of social issues is that they’ve been seduced by an increasingly secular society. From the time they were young, this thinking goes, the culture has offered Millennials a vision of human life that is often at odds with the vision claimed by churches, one focused less and less on God. Politically, “liberals” have successfully appealed to youthful passion and idealism, rendering them dewey-eyed woolgatherers who know little, either about God or about how the world “really” works. As a consequence, Millennials come to their convictions about the purpose of human life and its just embodiment either as a result of theological ignorance or theological rebellion. The implication is that if they really new about Christianity, they wouldn’t believe such outrageous things about marriage and economic equality and environmental responsibility.\r\n\r\nThere are a couple of different responses that come to mind, if this is the way you frame the problem of the disappearance of young adults. On the one hand, you could just tell young people they’re wrong, and they need to get right. In many cases, this was the strategy employed by the Greatest Generation when Baby Boomers started questioning organized religion in the 1960s and 70s. For those who think this kind of “unvarnished truth” strategy is the way to go, it might be helpful to contemplate its success when used on an earlier generation–take a look at <a href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085244/\">The Big Chill</a>, for instance.\r\n\r\nOn the other hand, you might look at the exodus of Millennials as a failure of relevance. Churches got sidetracked, started focusing on stuff Millennials found pointless–stuff like bigger buildings, keeping up social appearances for the country club set, right wing politics, etc. If you interpret irrlevance to be the reason young people don’t want anything to do with the church, you have an easy way to address the issue … be more relevant. Find cool looking people to play cool sounding music. Say “dude” a lot. Make sure you know the difference between a cappucino and a latte. Easy.\r\n\r\nThere are couple of different branches of über relevance available, too. If you’re sympathetic to the whole <strong>mega-church movement</strong>, sprinkle some Jesus over the top of ordinary stuff young people like, and voilà, instant relevance. Christian rock climbing. Christian aerobics. Christian skateboarding. Christian Screamo bands. The possibilities are endless.\r\n\r\nIf you find an <strong>emergent</strong> emphasis more to your liking, you’ll need another set of accoutrements. Tattoos are good. Piercings and ear guages add a nice touch. Make sure to do some outings in a pub, with lots of locally micro-brewed fare. Relevance isn’t too far off.\r\n\r\nAnd while I happen to think the emergent movement is much more theologically interesting for a whole host of <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2010/05/23/dmergent-and-stonecampbell-heritage/\">reasons</a> other than just those things that accessorize it, like the mega-church stuff, if it’s just a marketing strategy for obtaining relevance, I think it’s doomed to drive Millennials away. Millennials have been socialized to be <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2011/10/17/death-of-a-salesman-please/\">amazingly aware of being marketed to</a>, and they react poorly to such poses adopted solely for the purpose of “winning” their spiritual “business.”\r\n\r\nI find all of these ways of reading the departure of young adults from the church dismissive, sharing a common misconception that what’s wrong, what’s driving Millennials away from the church, resides somewhere <em>outside</em> the church (either with Millennials themselves or with the culture that produced them)–or that if it is the church’s fault, the problems are merely cosmetic, easily remedied by superficial tweaks here or there.\r\n\r\nThere’s another way of reading the generational tea leaves, however, one that places responsibility on the <em>church</em> not for failing to be relevant, but for failing to be faithful to the Jesus found in the Gospels. Maybe the problem is that Millennials hear about Jesus and then take him at his word. Maybe they really believe that stuff Jesus says st the beginning of his ministry in Luke:\r\n<blockquote>The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has annointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.</blockquote>\r\nThen, they go to church, and instead of hearing about how to live with those who’ve been kicked to the curb, how to be Christ to a world caving in on itself, they hear about how the church’s job is to maneuver itself into positions of power, respectability, relevance, etc. They hear about committee meetings and deficit budgets and why it is imperative that we “keep Christ in Christmas.” They hear a baptized politics that exhorts them to be good moral “individuals” who seek a “personal relationship with Jesus,” but their relationship to the poor and the powerless, their relationship to an economic system designed to serve the interests of those already on top at the expense of those on the bottom, their relationship to a government that starts preemptive wars based on a conceit, their relationship to God’s creation–these are largely matters of indifference to the church. These young people go to church and hear why (if they happen to be at a conservative church) gay people are going to hell, or (if they happen to be at a more “progressive” church) why it might upset the ecclesiastical apple cart if we were to say that gay people are created in the image of God–exactly the way God wanted them.\r\n\r\nAll of which is to say: Maybe it’s not Millennials who’ve left the church, so much as that the church has left Jesus–and Millennials are the only ones brave enough to recognize that the emperor has been parading about without the benefit of clothes. If that’s the case, the church would do well to quit worrying so much about whether Millennials are leaving the church, and start investing time and effort and resources into looking more like Jesus. Then Millennials might finally see something for which it would be worth sticking around.\r\n\r\n“I’m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in” isn’t the same as, “How do I sign up to get back into church?” For any number of really important reasons, though, it’s a step in the right direction.','The Problem with Millennials Leaving the Church May Be the Church','','inherit','open','open','','3290-revision-3','','','2011-12-22 04:34:44','2011-12-22 12:34:44','',3290,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3290-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3302,1,'2011-12-22 09:49:48','2011-12-22 17:49:48','The church where I serve made a <a href=\"http://douglassblvdcc.com/blog/2011/4/19/douglass-blvd-christian-church-votes-for-marriage-equality-a.html\">decision</a> this past year to support its ministers in refusing to sign marriage licenses until the rights of marriage could be conferred upon LGTBQ couples. The decision brought <a href=\"http://thinkprogress.org/politics/2011/04/21/160113/kentucky-church-gay-marriage/\">national attention</a>–the overwhelming majority of which was positive.\r\n\r\nOne group in particular who responded to the decision surprised me. I never saw it coming. Some of the most gratifying reactions came from the adult children of some of the older members of our congregation, which is to say, from young people who had dropped out of church a long time ago. From across the U.S. I got word from these displaced folks. They emailed, called, messaged me through social media, and, the ones who still live close by, button-holed me on the street. Their comments shared one thing in common: “I’m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in.”\r\n\r\nThen, a couple of them proceeded to say something that was hard to hear: “I never thought I’d see a church do something so Christian.”\r\n\r\nEmbedded in that response, I think, is something worth hearing about the way an increasing number of young people experience the church. According to a recent article on <a href=\"http://sojo.net/blogs/2011/12/20/millennials-church-wake-or-were-outta-here?page=show\">Sojourners Blog</a>, Millennials are headed for the exits–even among Evanglicals. Why? According to the article, which cites <a href=\"http://www.barna.org/store?page=shop.product_details&amp;flypage=flypage.tpl&amp;product_id=128\">research</a> by the Barna Group, “Research indicates younger people are not only departing from their elders on ‘social issues,’ such as same-sex marriage and abortion, but on wealth distribution and care for the environment, as well.”\r\n\r\nOne way to look at the difference Millennials represent on these kinds of social issues is that they’ve been seduced by an increasingly secular society. From the time they were young, this thinking goes, the culture has offered Millennials a vision of human life that is often at odds with the vision claimed by churches, one focused less and less on God. Politically, “liberals” have successfully appealed to youthful passion and idealism, rendering them dewey-eyed woolgatherers who know little, either about God or about how the world “really” works. As a consequence, Millennials come to their convictions about the purpose of human life and its just embodiment either as a result of theological ignorance or theological rebellion. The implication is that if they really new about Christianity, they wouldn’t believe such outrageous things about marriage and economic equality and environmental responsibility.\r\n\r\nThere are a couple of different responses that come to mind, if this is the way you frame the problem of the disappearance of young adults. On the one hand, you could just tell young people they’re wrong, and they need to get right. In many cases, this was the strategy employed by the Greatest Generation when Baby Boomers started questioning organized religion in the 1960s and 70s. For those who think this kind of “unvarnished truth” strategy is the way to go, it might be helpful to contemplate its success when used on an earlier generation–take a look at <a href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085244/\">The Big Chill</a>, for instance.\r\n\r\nOn the other hand, you might look at the exodus of Millennials as a failure of relevance. Churches got sidetracked, started focusing on stuff Millennials found pointless–stuff like bigger buildings, keeping up social appearances for the country club set, right wing politics, etc. If you interpret irrlevance to be the reason young people don’t want anything to do with the church, you have an easy way to address the issue … be more relevant. Find cool looking people to play cool sounding music. Say “dude” a lot. Make sure you know the difference between a cappucino and a latte. Easy.\r\n\r\nThere are couple of different branches of über relevance available, too. If you’re sympathetic to the whole <strong>mega-church movement</strong>, sprinkle some Jesus over the top of ordinary stuff young people like, and voilà, instant relevance. Christian rock climbing. Christian aerobics. Christian skateboarding. Christian Screamo bands. The possibilities are endless.\r\n\r\nIf you find an <strong>emergent</strong> emphasis more to your liking, you’ll need another set of accoutrements. Tattoos are good. Piercings and ear guages add a nice touch. Make sure to do some outings in a pub, with lots of locally micro-brewed fare. Relevance isn’t too far off.\r\n\r\nAnd while I happen to think the emergent movement is much more theologically interesting for a whole host of <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2010/05/23/dmergent-and-stonecampbell-heritage/\">reasons</a> other than just those things that accessorize it, like the mega-church stuff, if it’s just a marketing strategy for obtaining relevance, I think it’s doomed to drive Millennials away. Millennials have been socialized to be <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2011/10/17/death-of-a-salesman-please/\">amazingly aware of being marketed to</a>, and they react poorly to such poses adopted solely for the purpose of “winning” their spiritual “business.”\r\n\r\nI find all of these ways of reading the departure of young adults from the church dismissive, sharing a common misconception that what’s wrong, what’s driving Millennials away from the church, resides somewhere <em>outside</em> the church (either with Millennials themselves or with the culture that produced them)–or that if it is the church’s fault, the problems are merely cosmetic, easily remedied by superficial tweaks here or there.\r\n\r\nThere’s another way of reading the generational tea leaves, however, one that places responsibility on the <em>church</em> not for failing to be relevant, but for failing to be faithful to the Jesus found in the Gospels. Maybe the problem is that Millennials hear about Jesus and then take him at his word. Maybe they really believe that stuff Jesus says st the beginning of his ministry in Luke:\r\n<blockquote>The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has annointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.</blockquote>\r\nThen, they go to church, and instead of hearing about how to live with those who’ve been kicked to the curb, how to be Christ to a world caving in on itself, they hear about how the church’s job is to maneuver itself into positions of power, respectability, relevance, etc. They hear about committee meetings and deficit budgets and why it is imperative that we “keep Christ in Christmas.” They hear a baptized politics that exhorts them to be good moral “individuals” who seek a “personal relationship with Jesus,” but their relationship to the poor and the powerless, their relationship to an economic system designed to serve the interests of those already on top at the expense of those on the bottom, their relationship to a government that starts preemptive wars based on a conceit, their relationship to God’s creation–these are largely matters of indifference to the church. These young people go to church and hear why (if they happen to be at a conservative church) gay people are going to hell, or (if they happen to be at a more “progressive” church) why it might upset the ecclesiastical apple cart if we were to say that gay people are created in the image of God–exactly the way God wanted them.\r\n\r\nAll of which is to say: Maybe it’s not Millennials who’ve left the church, so much as that the church has left Jesus–and Millennials are the only ones brave enough to recognize that the emperor has been parading about without the benefit of clothes. If that’s the case, the church would do well to quit worrying so much about whether Millennials are leaving the church, and start investing time and effort and resources into looking more like Jesus. Then Millennials might finally see something for which it would be worth sticking around.\r\n\r\n“I’m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in” isn’t the same as, “How do I sign up to get back into church?” For any number of really important reasons, though, it’s a step in the right direction.','Why Millennials Are Leaving the Church','','inherit','open','open','','3290-revision-4','','','2011-12-22 09:49:48','2011-12-22 17:49:48','',3290,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3290-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3303,1,'2011-12-22 09:51:32','2011-12-22 17:51:32','The church where I serve made a <a href=\"http://douglassblvdcc.com/blog/2011/4/19/douglass-blvd-christian-church-votes-for-marriage-equality-a.html\">decision</a> this past year to support its ministers in refusing to sign marriage licenses until the rights of marriage could be conferred upon LGTBQ couples. The decision brought <a href=\"http://thinkprogress.org/politics/2011/04/21/160113/kentucky-church-gay-marriage/\">national attention</a>–the overwhelming majority of which was positive.\r\n\r\nOne group in particular who responded to the decision surprised me. I never saw it coming. Some of the most gratifying reactions came from the adult children of some of the older members of our congregation, which is to say, from young people who had dropped out of church a long time ago. From across the U.S. I got word from these displaced folks. They emailed, called, messaged me through social media, and, the ones who still live close by, button-holed me on the street. Their comments shared one thing in common: “I’m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in.”\r\n\r\nThen, a couple of them proceeded to say something that was hard to hear: “I never thought I’d see a church do something so Christian.”\r\n\r\nEmbedded in that response, I think, is something worth hearing about the way an increasing number of young people experience the church. According to a recent article on <a href=\"http://sojo.net/blogs/2011/12/20/millennials-church-wake-or-were-outta-here?page=show\">Sojourners Blog</a>, Millennials are headed for the exits–even among Evanglicals. Why? According to the article, which cites <a href=\"http://www.barna.org/store?page=shop.product_details&amp;flypage=flypage.tpl&amp;product_id=128\">research</a> by the Barna Group, “Research indicates younger people are not only departing from their elders on ‘social issues,’ such as same-sex marriage and abortion, but on wealth distribution and care for the environment, as well.”\r\n\r\nOne way to look at the difference Millennials represent on these kinds of social issues is that they’ve been seduced by an increasingly secular society. From the time they were young, this thinking goes, the culture has offered Millennials a vision of human life that is often at odds with the vision claimed by churches, one focused less and less on God. Politically, “liberals” have successfully appealed to youthful passion and idealism, rendering them dewey-eyed woolgatherers who know little, either about God or about how the world “really” works. As a consequence, Millennials come to their convictions about the purpose of human life and its just embodiment either as a result of theological ignorance or theological rebellion. The implication is that if they really new about Christianity, they wouldn’t believe such outrageous things about marriage and economic equality and environmental responsibility.\r\n\r\nThere are a couple of different responses that come to mind, if this is the way you frame the problem of the disappearance of young adults. On the one hand, you could just tell young people they’re wrong, and they need to get right. In many cases, this was the strategy employed by the Greatest Generation when Baby Boomers started questioning organized religion in the 1960s and 70s. For those who think this kind of “unvarnished truth” strategy is the way to go, it might be helpful to contemplate its success when used on an earlier generation–take a look at <a href=\"http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0085244/\">The Big Chill</a>, for instance.\r\n\r\nOn the other hand, you might look at the exodus of Millennials as a failure of relevance. Churches got sidetracked, started focusing on stuff Millennials found pointless–stuff like bigger buildings, keeping up social appearances for the country club set, right wing politics, etc. If you interpret irrlevance to be the reason young people don’t want anything to do with the church, you have an easy way to address the issue … be more relevant. Find cool looking people to play cool sounding music. Say “dude” a lot. Make sure you know the difference between a cappucino and a latte. Easy.\r\n\r\nThere are couple of different branches of über relevance available, too. If you’re sympathetic to the whole <strong>mega-church movement</strong>, sprinkle some Jesus over the top of ordinary stuff young people like, and voilà, instant relevance. Christian rock climbing. Christian aerobics. Christian skateboarding. Christian Screamo bands. The possibilities are endless.\r\n\r\nIf you find an <strong>emergent</strong> emphasis more to your liking, you’ll need another set of accoutrements. Tattoos are good. Piercings and ear guages add a nice touch. Make sure to do some outings in a pub, with lots of locally micro-brewed fare. Relevance isn’t too far off.\r\n\r\nAnd while I happen to think the emergent movement is much more theologically interesting for a whole host of <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2010/05/23/dmergent-and-stonecampbell-heritage/\">reasons</a> other than just those things that accessorize it, like the mega-church stuff, if it’s just a marketing strategy for obtaining relevance, I think it’s doomed to drive Millennials away. Millennials have been socialized to be <a href=\"http://dmergent.org/2011/10/17/death-of-a-salesman-please/\">amazingly aware of being marketed to</a>, and they react poorly to such poses adopted solely for the purpose of “winning” their spiritual “business.”\r\n\r\nI find all of these ways of reading the departure of young adults from the church dismissive, sharing a common misconception that what’s wrong, what’s driving Millennials away from the church, resides somewhere <em>outside</em> the church (either with Millennials themselves or with the culture that produced them)–or that if it is the church’s fault, the problems are merely cosmetic, easily remedied by superficial tweaks here or there.\r\n\r\nThere’s another way of reading the generational tea leaves, however, one that places responsibility on the <em>church</em> not for failing to be relevant, but for failing to be faithful to the Jesus found in the Gospels. Maybe the problem is that Millennials hear about Jesus and then take him at his word. Maybe they really believe that stuff Jesus says st the beginning of his ministry in Luke:\r\n<blockquote>The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has annointed me to bring good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim release to the captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.</blockquote>\r\nThen, they go to church, and instead of hearing about how to live with those who’ve been kicked to the curb, how to be Christ to a world caving in on itself, they hear about how the church’s job is to maneuver itself into positions of power, respectability, relevance, etc. They hear about committee meetings and deficit budgets and why it is imperative that we “keep Christ in Christmas.” They hear a baptized politics that exhorts them to be good moral “individuals” who seek a “personal relationship with Jesus,” but their relationship to the poor and the powerless, their relationship to an economic system designed to serve the interests of those already on top at the expense of those on the bottom, their relationship to a government that starts preemptive wars based on a conceit, their relationship to God’s creation–these are largely matters of indifference to the church. These young people go to church and hear why (if they happen to be at a conservative church) gay people are going to hell, or (if they happen to be at a more “progressive” church) why it might upset the ecclesiastical apple cart if we were to say that gay people are created in the image of God–exactly the way God wanted them.\r\n\r\nAll of which is to say: Maybe it’s not Millennials who’ve left the church, so much as that the church has left Jesus–and Millennials are the only ones brave enough to recognize that the emperor has been parading about without the benefit of clothes. If that’s the case, the church would do well to quit worrying so much about whether Millennials are leaving the church, and start investing time and effort and resources into looking more like Jesus. Then Millennials might finally see something for which it would be worth sticking around.\r\n\r\n“I’m so proud to tell my friends that the church that did this cool thing is the church I grew up in” isn’t the same as, “How do I sign up to get back into church?” For any number of really important reasons, though, it’s a step in the right direction.','Why Millennials Are Leaving the Church','','inherit','open','open','','3290-revision-5','','','2011-12-22 09:51:32','2011-12-22 17:51:32','',3290,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3290-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3304,31,'2011-12-22 10:01:26','2011-12-22 18:01:26','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/author/davidrhenson/\">David Henson\'s</a> four-part short story.\r\n\r\n<a title=\"Christmas, Undocumented: Annunciation, Part I\" href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\" rel=\"bookmark\">Christmas, Undocumented: Annunciation, Part I </a>\r\n\r\n<a title=\"Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciation, Part II\" href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/21/christmas-undocumented-anunciation-part-ii/\" rel=\"bookmark\">Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciation, Part II </a>\r\n\r\n<a title=\"Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I\" href=\"../2011/12/22/christmas-undocumented-nochebuena-part-i/\" rel=\"bookmark\">Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I </a>\r\n\r\n<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/christmas-undocumented-nochebuena-part-2/\">Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part II</a>','Undocumented Christmas','','publish','open','open','','undocumented-christmas','','','2011-12-23 09:35:31','2011-12-23 17:35:31','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3304',0,'post','',0),(3305,1,'2011-12-22 09:55:46','2011-12-22 17:55:46','','undocumented_christmas','','inherit','open','open','','undocumented_christmas','','','2011-12-22 09:55:46','2011-12-22 17:55:46','',3304,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/undocumented_christmas.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3306,1,'2011-12-22 09:36:21','2011-12-22 17:36:21','(Read <a href=\"../2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\">Part I here</a>)\r\n\r\n(Read <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/21/christmas-undocumented-anunciation-part-ii/\">Part II here</a>)\r\n\r\nAve remains with Isabella for three months, until her cousin gives birth to her son and settles into her new life as a mother.\r\n\r\nIn her time in America, Ave has managed to find enough work — paid only in cash — to purchase a few incidentals and a bus ticket to a small town in Alabama where a job in a factory and a few friends await her. Despite her best efforts, she’s not managed to find any more information on her boyfriend. She has tried all the names and aliases he might be using — José Mann, José David, José David Mann — but all her leads turn into dead ends. Maybe once she makes it to Alabama, her search will get easier, but she fears the worst, death or detention.\r\n\r\nAve is sitting at the breakfast table worrying over her boyfriend’s fate when Isabella offers her a plate of eggs, beans and corn grits.\r\n\r\n“Eat, your baby needs it even if you don’t feel like it,” Isabella says, sitting down next to her. “I wish you’d reconsider this trip. You can stay here as long as you like. I could use the extra hands. And my baby could use a little brother to grow up with”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head. “No, no. You have been kind enough. I have a job waiting for me and friends. And maybe José will be there and I can tell him about the baby. Don’t worry, Isabella. I’ll be fine in Alabama.”\r\n\r\nIsabella clucks her tongue. “It’s different there than here is all I’m saying. They don’t like us over there, not one bit. Don’t give them any excuse to talk to you. You’ve got that baby to think about.”\r\n\r\nBoth women fall silent as they run through various worst-case scenarios better left unsaid.\r\n\r\n“I leave tomorrow,” Ave reminds her. “I can’t thank you and Zach enough for all your help and generosity. I would have been lost without you both.”\r\n\r\nIsabella grins. “I know. Well, let’s get you packed. We’ll go up to the store and get you a few things for your trip.”\r\n\r\n“Thank you, Tia,” Ave says, leaning over to kiss her cousin on the forehead. “I think I hear baby Juan crying. He must be awake. Would you like me to rock him back to sleep?”\r\n\r\nRelieved, Isabella replies, “You wouldn’t mind?”\r\n\r\n“Not at all,” Ave says. “I want all the time I can get with him before I leave.”\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">***</p>\r\nThere is more Spanish than English in the San Antonio bus terminal which reassures Ave after Isabella and Juan leave her on her own. Her belly has begun to show now that she is four months with child. The baby growing inside her is strong, loves to kick and wakes her up at all hours. The trip on the bus won’t be the most enjoyable, but she has been in more uncomfortable traveling arrangements before, she thinks, remembering the 12 days she spent crossing the border.\r\n\r\nHer trip and arrival in Alabama are blessedly uneventful. Her job in the factory is tiring and monotonous but the pay is better than back home. More to the point, they actually hired her in the first place, even though she was clearly pregnant. In fact, her belly might have helped her get the job as her lie about her age seemed more believable to the hiring boss. For the next four months, her life falls into a pleasant routine unlike she has ever known and she comes to think of the tiny Alabama town as her home.\r\n\r\nShe rooms with three other women, all from her state in Mexico, and they all commute together to work. None of them are in the country legally, but each has managed to obtain forged papers. Every so often rumors of immigration raids on the factory ripple through the ranks, but nothing ever pans out, so eventually, the edge that comes with the warnings diminish, replaced by a generalized anxiety that becomes easy to ignore.\r\n\r\nOne morning, Ave announces to her roommates that she is leaving the factory floor.\r\n\r\n“Today is my last day,” Ave says on their way to work. “I’m eight months pregnant, my back is killing me, feet are swollen and my hands are so puffy I can hardly work the machines any more.”\r\n\r\nIt doesn’t surprise her friends. They have been urging her to stop working, but Ave has insisted, explaining that every little bit of extra cash will help with all the baby expenses soon to come, especially with José nowhere to be found and unable to offer any financial support. The last anyone had heard of him, he had gone two counties over to pick a harvest of peaches. He had never returned. No one knew any more of his whereabouts, and her greatest fears about him — his death or detention — seemed more likely the longer no one heard from him.\r\n\r\n“Well, it’s about time,” says the oldest woman in the group, Anna, a woman the rest consider a kind of surrogate mother in America. She cooks, fusses and reminds them to go to worship every Saturday night instead of out dancing. “You’ve been needing to get off your feet for a month now at least. It will be nice to have a little baby around the house again. Mine are all grown and gone and scattered throughout the Southeast.”\r\n\r\n“Let’s throw her a party,” one of the girls suggests from the backseat. And for the remainder of the commute, the talk is all of streamers, and baby shower games and cakes and presents. Ave smiles.\r\n\r\nOn the factory floor, the day thrums along as it always does. The factory break room at lunch is filled with smells of home mixed with the aroma of greasy fast food, reheated. The afternoon churns on, until about 2 p.m., when the factory doors burst open and black-armored men, guns drawn and chests emblazoned with the letters I-C-E, flood into the cavernous room like ants scurrying from a caved-in hill. The clatter of chairs falling to the floor, shrieks of fear and deep, gravelly shouts to halt echo in a nightmarish cacophony.\r\n\r\nAve feels her breath grow shallow and then her body sinks on weak knees. When she wakes, her head is throbbing but she cannot reach her hand to feel the knot on her forehead. Her hands are in plastic cuffs behind her back, and she is slumped on her side against a wall with the other factory women. She hears them crying, sobbing about the children who will return from school to homes without mothers, and perhaps fathers, about the thousands of miles that will soon separate them from their sons and daughters.\r\n\r\nReality begins to sink in for Ave as one of the ICE agents lifts her to her feet and helps her to one of the buses in the parking lot that will take her and the other workers to the immigration detention center. The bus ride to the detention center takes an hour. Some of the women whisper. Some sleep. Many weep.\r\n\r\n“I just can’t believe my luck,” Ave whispers to no one in particular. “Today was my last day at the factory. My last day and ICE shows up. If only I’d just stayed at home.”\r\n\r\nAcross the aisle, an older woman, her gray hair wrapped in bun on top of her head, replies, “It’s got nothing to do with luck, <em>niña</em>. It’s not a matter of if but when you get sent back to Mexico when you live in Alabama. If they didn’t get you today, they would’ve found you in a couple of weeks when the census takers come out knocking on doors.”\r\n\r\nAfter an uncomfortable hour on the bus, it arrives at the detention center, a massive, lifeless gray building with slits for windows like narrowed, suspicious eyes. A female guard boards the bus to greet them.\r\n\r\n“Welcome to the Stable, my <em>vacas</em>,” the scrawny-haired guard shouts. “Hope y’all enjoy your stay here on your way back to whatever rotten country you came from. Showers are mandatory. I don’t want to smell you heifers any more than I have to. Now, off the bus for processing!”\r\n\r\nThe story continues tomorrow … <a href=\"../2011/12/21/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/christmasundocumentedlogo.jpg\">\r\n</a>','Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I','','inherit','open','open','','3235-revision-5','','','2011-12-22 09:36:21','2011-12-22 17:36:21','',3235,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3235-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3307,1,'2011-12-22 10:01:06','2011-12-22 18:01:06','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/author/davidrhenson/\">David Henson\'s</a> four-part short story.\n\n<a title=\"Christmas, Undocumented: Annunciation, Part I\" href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\" rel=\"bookmark\">Christmas, Undocumented: Annunciation, Part I </a>\n\n<a title=\"Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciation, Part II\" href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/21/christmas-undocumented-anunciation-part-ii/\" rel=\"bookmark\">Christmas, Undocumented: Anunciation, Part II </a>\n\n<a title=\"Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I\" href=\"../2011/12/22/christmas-undocumented-nochebuena-part-i/\" rel=\"bookmark\">Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part I </a>\n\n&nbsp;','Undocumented Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3304-revision','','','2011-12-22 10:01:06','2011-12-22 18:01:06','',3304,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3304-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3308,1,'2011-12-22 10:02:17','2011-12-22 18:02:17','','Undocumented_Featured','','inherit','open','open','','undocumented_featured','','','2011-12-22 10:02:17','2011-12-22 18:02:17','',0,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Undocumented_Featured.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3947,43,'2012-01-11 12:43:19','2012-01-11 20:43:19','The title of this article is a quote from the film <a href=\"http://www.tuckermax.com/movie\"><em>I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell</em></a>, a crude movie about the escapades of Tucker Max.  I should note here that I haven\'t seen the film; I found the quote on a blog about rape culture.  I stumbled upon this in my search to understand why some conservative churches continue to push the message that women are responsible for sexual harassment and violence committed against them.  Sadly, though it may be phrased more politely, far too many women echo the sentiment of the quote about our own gender.  We are prepared to blame ourselves for our men folk\'s lack of sexual self-control.  One young man recently told me, \"What girls don\'t get is that if they dress a certain way, guys are going to <em>treat</em> them a certain way.\"  This was something he had heard not from his father or a male leader at church, but from a woman.\n\nOver the last couple of weeks, I\'ve received multiple emails from well-meaning friends.  Every single one is about the call to feminine modesty, in one way or another.  It\'s as though we, as women, have absorbed the sentiments of rape culture and taken it on ourselves to resolve the issue.  This is particularly distressing because it\'s cleverly disguised as \"Christian sex education.\"  While I applaud the efforts to encourage modest dress, I don\'t believe this should be done in the context of telling young women we\'re responsible for keeping men from hurting us.\n\nIn fact, I don\'t believe this is the way most men and boys actually think.  The vast majority of men (and young men) that I know treat their wives, girlfriends, and friends with far more dignity than that.  The way that \"real life,\" so to speak, plays out is not merely a drama of trashy women being preyed upon by leering men.  I\'m not denying the reality of violence and sexual assault against women.  But it\'s unfair to characterize an entire gender based on the actions of some people.  Count me refreshed, then, having seen this photo on a friend\'s Facebook page:\n\n<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Men-Can-Stop-Rape.jpg\"><img class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-3568\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Men-Can-Stop-Rape-206x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"206\" height=\"300\" /></a>\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\nYes, men and boys, you <em>do </em>have the power to treat women and girls right, no matter the circumstances.  I want to see much more of this kind of thing taught to our sons <em>and our daughters</em>.  We need to teach our young people that both women and men have responsibilities.  I want to see women empowered to stand up for themselves, but with the understanding that they don\'t have to fight alone.  Everyone has the right to be treated respectfully in relationships.','“Your gender is hardwired for whoredom.”','','inherit','open','open','','3562-revision-11','','','2012-01-11 12:43:19','2012-01-11 20:43:19','',3562,'http://provoketive.com/2012/01/11/3562-revision-11/',0,'revision','',0),(3309,12,'2011-12-22 10:36:56','2011-12-22 18:36:56','','ozark','','inherit','open','open','','ozark','','','2011-12-22 10:36:56','2011-12-22 18:36:56','',0,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/ozark.jpg',0,'attachment','image/jpeg',0),(3310,12,'2011-12-22 10:37:38','2011-12-22 18:37:38','','fcar','','inherit','open','open','','fcar','','','2011-12-22 10:37:38','2011-12-22 18:37:38','',0,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/fcar.jpg',0,'attachment','image/jpeg',0),(3954,64,'2012-01-11 13:18:39','2012-01-11 21:18:39','<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is a thoughtful experiment, one that challenges men and women of the 21<sup>st</sup> century church to shake off their old ideas about where women fit in the Church. In a charming and disarming style, Jim Henderson tells the evangelical Church, its pastors and ministry leaders to start listening to the women in their lives, their daughters, wives, mothers and friends, and those women that work tirelessly by their side every day in the service of the Kingdom. (I was tempted to write \"their kingdom.\") Henderson, a spirited advocate for powerless people, has done the work for you. Through the narratives of fifteen women, he threads together themes that he found while listening. <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is a daring challenge to the Church to rethink the issue of women in ministry and issues a gentle threat for what may happen if you choose not to listen.\n\nWhile I do not doubt the sincerity of the author, the irony that lingered with me as I read the hundreds of pages of narrative is something Henderson alluded to himself that <strong><em>those with power</em></strong> don’t understand the necessity of the conversation.  I believe the very same people this book is challenging, made up their minds long ago (in seminary) and are unlikely to be swayed by the singularly sad stories of women, even women in their own church.  Through research done by the Barna Group the author has dug up another mostly silent, ever resilient group of people serving in the church, <strong><em>the oblivious</em>,</strong> those who “drank the cool aid” long ago and trusted those with authority for their own beliefs.  They feel there is no need for this conversation either. My personal experience has been that the more you challenge someone’s core belief the more rigid they become – asking who has the right to challenge long held “biblical” truths, certainly not women.\n\nKnowing the push back, Henderson valiantly reinforces through his stories the idea that <strong><em>those without power</em></strong> are growing weary, doubtful and even suspicious of the Church.  And that women of faith and conscience who do choose to stay in the Church, are balancing on a tightrope every day; feel the tension between living with their convictions and the lingering thought of just not showing up.  Both options many days are simply untenable.  While <em>it seems that the only ones who do want this conversation are a small minority of mostly women whose theological views make them misfits in the evangelical church today I would encourage the reader to ask why?   </em>\n\n<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is primarily written as a challenge to (male) pastors.  It is a grave warning with the promise or threat that if pastor’s are unwilling to rethink these issues, more and more women will simply leave the community of faith. If pastors are unwilling to listen and think, the threat is that more and more women will walk. Ultimately I don’t think your average pastor believes that, nor does he think this issue is important enough. As he reads <em>The Resignation of Eve</em>, he may be compelled by the stories and even feel genuinely bad for the women described in the book, still <em>for the most part your everyday mainline denominational male leader won’t be swayed by a bunch of stories about women. </em>Because this about more than just “Eve.” And that is a lingering, unanswered question in the book.\n\n<strong><em>We are talking about a culture that defies change. </em></strong>As they defend their point of view, today’s pastor believes they are protecting their church from culture creep. I agree with Tom Wright when he says that the authority of God is embodied in Jesus himself, not in the literal words of the Bible. But most pastors today would hold that the issue of women’s empowerment in the church is a <em>cultural phenomenon stemming from the evil of feminism and therefore must be stopped.</em> By choosing which verses in the Bible are cultural and which are not, they cherry-pick a more patriarchal view that I would contend is culturally inappropriate for the 21<sup>st</sup> century.  Take 1 Timothy for instance. Even if you interpret it <em>literally, </em>these are instructions and restrictions for the behavior of some women in the first century church.  Some churches prohibit women\'s leadership in churches because they use these verses to \"prove\" that God doesn\'t approve.  But they happily ignore the verses right beside them, about how women are adorned and how they should dress, saying that is cultural. When you read it with context, and contrast this text and other texts in the New Testament, I believe it requires the reader to listen to more than one or two voices speaking about the role of women.\n\nHenderson is quick to point to the other examples: Jesus’ treatment of women, women as apostles and teachers, women financing the ministry, women sitting at Jesus\' feet learning from him with the other disciples, a woman being the first to speak to Jesus after his Resurrection, all examples of empowering of women in the early church, which you can see if you don\'t restrict your reading to a few very restrictive sections.\n\nWise pastors must begin to recognize and listen to women’s voices in the church. And women must with discernment do their own homework!  The early church does not need to be prescriptive for how we run churches today, but this idea challenges the essence of how most pastors view scriptures.\n\n<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> acknowledges with compassion the tensions women face but the premise is unfair. We are dared to bolt from our churches and force the church’s hand, in order for them to somehow see how important we are. <em>But you must</em> <em>appreciate the tragic fact that this will be held against us.</em> The very nature of our character will be called into question, women who have faithfully worked, loved, served the Church for generations. This would be a heartbreaking ending to the story.\n\nWomen in the church today are being pulled between being perceived as unfaithfully driven by need for power and by living by our God-given convictions within the faith community.  Reading <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> I found myself utterly exhausted by the trouble the women must exert to be faithful in the church today. The intentions of this book are so good! But I was left with questions hanging.  The same question that I live with every day. Are men and women ready to have a serious conversation about the role of women in the church? Or will it, as I fear, fall on deaf ears because the Church, her pastors and ministry leaders have already made up their minds?\n\nIn the introduction Lynne Hybel’s message was liberating, as she flirts with women challenging us to \"<strong><em>take ourselves seriously.\"</em></strong>  I wanted to say “There are so many of us that do, Lynne, if only it were the same for men.” I do recommend this book to you because it does that most enigmatic and beautiful thing, it listens to women.  Whether you choose to eavesdrop on these stories in <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> or sit down for a cup of tea with an actual breathing woman in your life, I challenge to please, start listening.','The Resignation of Eve: A Review','','inherit','open','open','','3951-revision-3','','','2012-01-11 13:18:39','2012-01-11 21:18:39','',3951,'http://provoketive.com/2012/01/11/3951-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3953,64,'2012-01-11 13:16:51','2012-01-11 21:16:51','<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is a thoughtful experiment, one that challenges men and women of the 21<sup>st</sup> century church to shake off their old ideas about where women fit in the Church. In a charming and disarming style, Jim Henderson challenges the evangelical Church, its pastors and ministry leaders to start listening to the women in their lives, their daughters, wives, mothers and friends, and those women that work tirelessly by their side every day in the service of the Kingdom. (I was tempted to write \"their kingdom.\") Henderson, a spirited advocate for powerless people, has done the work for you. Through the narratives of fifteen women, he threads together themes that he found while listening. <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is a daring challenge to the Church to rethink the issue of women in ministry and issues a gentle threat for what may happen if you choose not to listen.\r\n\r\nWhile I do not doubt the sincerity of the author, the irony that lingered with me as I read the hundreds of pages of narrative is something Henderson alluded to himself that <strong><em>those with power</em></strong> don’t understand the necessity of the conversation.  I believe the very same people this book is challenging, made up their minds long ago (in seminary) and are unlikely to be swayed by the singularly sad stories of women, even women in their own church.  Through research done by the Barna Group the author has dug up another mostly silent, ever resilient group of people serving in the church -- <strong><em>the oblivious</em>,</strong> those who “drank the cool aid” long ago and trusted those with authority for their own beliefs.  They feel there is no need for this conversation either.\r\n\r\nMy personal experience has been that the more you challenge someone’s core belief the more rigid they become – asking who has the right to challenge long held “biblical” truths, certainly not women.\r\n\r\nKnowing the push back, Henderson valiantly reinforces through his stories  the idea that <strong><em>those without power</em></strong> are growing weary, doubtful and even suspicious of the Church.  And that women of faith and conscience who do choose to stay in the Church, are balancing on a tightrope every day; feel the tension between living with their convictions and the lingering thought of just not showing up.  Both options many days are simply untenable.  While <em>it seems that the only ones who do want this conversation are a small minority of mostly women whose theological views make them misfits in the evangelical church today I would encourage the reader to ask why?   </em>\r\n\r\n<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is primarily written as a challenge to (male) pastors.  It is a grave warning with the promise or threat that if pastor’s are unwilling to rethink these issues, more and more women will simply leave the community of faith. If pastors are unwilling to listen and think, the threat is that more and more women will walk. Ultimately I don’t think your average pastor believes that, nor does he think this issue is important enough. As he reads <em>The Resignation of Eve</em>, he may be compelled by the stories and even feel genuinely bad for the women described in the book, still <em>for the most part your everyday mainline denominational male leader won’t be swayed by a bunch of stories about women. </em>Because this about more than just “Eve.” And that is a lingering, unanswered question in the book.\r\n\r\n<strong><em>We are talking about a culture that defies change. </em></strong>As they defend their point of view, today’s pastor believes they are protecting their church from culture creep. I agree with Tom Wright when he says that the authority of God is embodied in Jesus himself, not in the literal words of the Bible. But most pastors today would hold that the issue of women’s empowerment in the church is a <em>cultural phenomenon stemming from the evil of feminism and therefore must be stopped.</em> By choosing which verses in the Bible are cultural and which are not, they cherry-pick a more patriarchal view that I would contend is culturally inappropriate for the 21<sup>st</sup> century.  Take 1 Timothy for instance. Even if you interpret it <em>literally, </em>these are instructions and restrictions for the behavior of some women in the first century church.  Some churches prohibit women\'s leadership in churches because they use these verses to \"prove\" that God doesn\'t approve.  But they happily ignore the verses right beside them, about how women are adorned and how they should dress, saying that is cultural. When you read it with context, and contrast this text and other texts in the New Testament, I believe it requires the reader to listen to more than one or two voices speaking about the role of women.\r\n\r\nHenderson is quick to point to the other examples: Jesus’ treatment of women, women as apostles and teachers, women financing the ministry, women sitting at Jesus\' feet learning from him with the other disciples, a woman being the first to speak to Jesus after his Resurrection, all examples of empowering of women in the early church, which you can see if you don\'t restrict your reading to a few very restrictive sections.\r\n\r\nWise pastors must begin to recognize and listen to women’s voices in the church. And women must with discernment do their own homework!  The early church does not need to be prescriptive for how we run churches today, but this idea challenges the essence of how most pastors view scriptures.\r\n\r\n<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> acknowledges with compassion the tensions women face but the premise is unfair. We are dared to bolt from our churches and force the church’s hand, in order for them to somehow see how important we are. <em>But you must</em> <em>appreciate the tragic fact that this will be held against us.</em> The very nature of our character will be called into question, women who have faithfully worked, loved, served the Church for generations. This would be a heartbreaking ending to the story.\r\n\r\nWomen in the church today are being pulled between being perceived as unfaithfully driven by need for power and by living by our God-given convictions within the faith community.  Reading <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> I found myself utterly exhausted by the trouble the women must exert to be faithful in the church today. The intentions of this book are so good! But I was left with questions hanging.  The same question that I live with every day. Are men and women ready to have a serious conversation about the role of women in the church? Or will it, as I fear, fall on deaf ears because the Church, her pastors and ministry leaders have already made up their minds?\r\n\r\nIn the introduction Lynne Hybel’s message was liberating, as she flirts with women challenging us to \"<strong><em>take ourselves seriously.\"</em></strong>  I wanted to say “There are so many of us that do, Lynne, if only it were the same for men.” I do recommend this book to you because it does that most enigmatic and beautiful thing, it listens to women.  Whether you choose to eavesdrop on these stories in <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> or sit down for a cup of tea with an actual breathing woman in your life, I challenge to please, start listening.','The Resignation of Eve: A Review','','inherit','open','open','','3951-revision-2','','','2012-01-11 13:16:51','2012-01-11 21:16:51','',3951,'http://provoketive.com/2012/01/11/3951-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(4397,12,'2012-01-21 10:25:02','2012-01-21 18:25:02','We watched in horror recently as the <a href=\"http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2087249/Costa-Concordia-cruise-ship-accident-Bodies-4-men-1-woman-found.html\">cruise ship Costa Concordia crashed</a> upon the rocks in Italy, causing the deaths of many. Horror turned into blame as it was discovered that the ship\'s captain, Francesco Schettino, may have had a large part in the ship\'s crash. Worse, he may have jumped ship before ensuring the safety of his passengers.\r\n\r\nHe was quickly dubbed, \"Captain Coward\" in Italy and t-shirts were even made with the words a <a href=\"http://www.dailymail.co.uk/debate/article-2088472/The-wrecked-Costa-Concordia-hapless-Captain-Coward-perfect-symbols-magnificent-malfunctioning-Italy.html?ito=feeds-newsxml\">coast guard official yelled</a> at him: <em>\"Get back on board for &amp;%*#\'s sake!\"</em>\r\n\r\nIn stories such as these, it\'s easy to find outrage within ourselves. The imaginary conversation within our minds goes something like this (whether we actually internally verbalize it or not):\r\n\r\n<em>\"I can\'t believe he did that! Coward. If that had been me, I would have stayed on board until everyone was accounted for!\"</em>\r\n\r\nAnd thus, our morality stays superior to at least one human being on planet earth for another day. We\'ve judged when we cross the line from saying, \"That was a terrible act,\" to saying, \"What a terrible human being.\" But in reality, and in our hearts, each of us is a hypocrite.\r\n\r\n<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/captn.jpg\"><img class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-4399\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/captn-300x158.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"300\" height=\"158\" /></a>Sure, none of us will probably ever get the chance to pilot a cruise ship and face the moral dilemma. Even if some reading this have been in a situation where they did save lives at some point in their life, it wouldn\'t give us the right to pass judgment on anyone.\r\n\r\nI sat thinking today about a slightly different scenario. What if everyone in my church was on the deck of a cruise ship and one of our members fell overboard? I\'m pretty sure we would do whatever it took to rescue them. We\'d call the coast guard, lower a life boat, throw them a preserver, or jump overboard ourselves, wouldn\'t we? Yeah, that\'s not the same as being the captain of the Costa Concordia, but I think that\'s a pretty reasonable response.\r\n\r\nAnother thought - we do have people who go overboard in the church every single week. People who abandon ship due to weariness, moral failure, backsliding or other sin. Some are pastors, some are deacons, some are single mothers, some are youth, some are new members. But they leave. They jump overboard. And what is the most common response?\r\n\r\nWe typically act like Captain Coward. We look the other way. Mental discussion again: \"Well, that person had issues. And we don\'t really need to be associated with that sin. God will bring them back if He wants them back.\"\r\n\r\nI get it. The cruise ship captain did something that caused people to die. And the thing I\'m discussing is just about people who are leaving the church due to sin. Apples and oranges, right? To a degree.\r\n\r\nBut when we don\'t seek to restore people who fail, who leave, who jump overboard, who will? And what do you think typically happens to them? If the captain doesn\'t take responsibility to right the ship, who will? And if the Christian community doesn\'t seek out and help her own, they aren\'t typically going to make it.\r\n\r\nOver and over, we hear the statistics of how many \"unchurched\" there are in our country. It\'s an alarmingly high percentage. In my experience, a vast number of the \"unchurched\" are those who went overboard, those whom the church forgot or didn\'t care to chase after or rescue. Kinda like a captain who forgot what his duties were.','\"Captain Coward\" and the Failure to Rescue','','publish','open','open','','captain-coward-and-the-failure-to-rescue','','','2012-01-21 10:25:02','2012-01-21 18:25:02','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=4397',0,'post','',6),(3946,43,'2012-01-11 12:40:53','2012-01-11 20:40:53','The title of this article is a quote from the film <a href=\"http://www.tuckermax.com/movie\"><em>I Hope They Serve Beer in Hell</em></a>, a crude movie about the escapades of Tucker Max.  I should note here that I haven\'t seen the film; I found the quote on a blog about rape culture.  Sadly, though it may be phrased more politely, far too many women echo the sentiment of the quote about our own gender.  We are prepared to blame ourselves for our men folk\'s lack of sexual self-control.  One young man recently told me, \"What girls don\'t get is that if they dress a certain way, guys are going to <em>treat</em> them a certain way.\"  This was something he had heard not from his father or a male leader at church, but from a woman.\n\nOver the last couple of weeks, I\'ve received multiple emails from well-meaning friends.  Every single one is about the call to feminine modesty, in one way or another.  It\'s as though we, as women, have absorbed the sentiments of rape culture and taken it on ourselves to resolve the issue.  This is particularly distressing because it\'s cleverly disguised as \"Christian sex education.\"  While I applaud the efforts to encourage modest dress, I don\'t believe this should be done in the context of telling young women we\'re responsible for keeping men from hurting us.\n\nIn fact, I don\'t believe this is the way most men and boys actually think.  The vast majority of men (and young men) that I know treat their wives, girlfriends, and friends with far more dignity than that.  The way that \"real life,\" so to speak, plays out is not merely a drama of trashy women being preyed upon by leering men.  I\'m not denying the reality of violence and sexual assault against women.  But it\'s unfair to characterize an entire gender based on Count me refreshed, then, having seen this photo on a friend\'s Facebook page:\n\n<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Men-Can-Stop-Rape.jpg\"><img class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-3568\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/01/Men-Can-Stop-Rape-206x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"206\" height=\"300\" /></a>\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\n&nbsp;\n\nYes, men and boys, you <em>do </em>have the power to treat women and girls right, no matter the circumstances.  I want to see much more of this kind of thing taught to our sons <em>and our daughters</em>.  We need to teach our young people that both women and men have responsibilities.  I want to see women empowered to stand up for themselves, but with the understanding that they don\'t have to fight alone.  Everyone has the right to be treated respectfully in relationships.','“Your gender is hardwired for whoredom.”','','inherit','open','open','','3562-revision-10','','','2012-01-11 12:40:53','2012-01-11 20:40:53','',3562,'http://provoketive.com/2012/01/11/3562-revision-10/',0,'revision','',0),(3313,35,'2011-12-22 11:03:39','2011-12-22 19:03:39','','Hands Reaching Out','','inherit','open','open','','hands-reaching-out','','','2011-12-22 11:03:39','2011-12-22 19:03:39','',0,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Hands-Reaching-Out.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3955,64,'2012-01-11 13:18:44','2012-01-11 21:18:44','<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is a thoughtful experiment, one that challenges men and women of the 21<sup>st</sup> century church to shake off their old ideas about where women fit in the Church. In a charming and disarming style, Jim Henderson tells the evangelical Church, its pastors and ministry leaders to start listening to the women in their lives, their daughters, wives, mothers and friends, and those women that work tirelessly by their side every day in the service of the Kingdom. (I was tempted to write \"their kingdom.\") Henderson, a spirited advocate for powerless people, has done the work for you. Through the narratives of fifteen women, he threads together themes that he found while listening. <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is a daring challenge to the Church to rethink the issue of women in ministry and issues a gentle threat for what may happen if you choose not to listen.\r\n\r\nWhile I do not doubt the sincerity of the author, the irony that lingered with me as I read the hundreds of pages of narrative is something Henderson alluded to himself that <strong><em>those with power</em></strong> don’t understand the necessity of the conversation.  I believe the very same people this book is challenging, made up their minds long ago (in seminary) and are unlikely to be swayed by the singularly sad stories of women, even women in their own church.  Through research done by the Barna Group the author has dug up another mostly silent, ever resilient group of people serving in the church, <strong><em>the oblivious</em>,</strong> those who “drank the cool aid” long ago and trusted those with authority for their own beliefs.  They feel there is no need for this conversation either. My personal experience has been that the more you challenge someone’s core belief the more rigid they become – asking who has the right to challenge long held “biblical” truths, certainly not women.\r\n\r\nKnowing the push back, Henderson valiantly reinforces through his stories the idea that <strong><em>those without power</em></strong> are growing weary, doubtful and even suspicious of the Church.  And that women of faith and conscience who do choose to stay in the Church, are balancing on a tightrope every day; feel the tension between living with their convictions and the lingering thought of just not showing up.  Both options many days are simply untenable.  While <em>it seems that the only ones who do want this conversation are a small minority of mostly women whose theological views make them misfits in the evangelical church today I would encourage the reader to ask why?   </em>\r\n\r\n<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is primarily written as a challenge to (male) pastors.  It is a grave warning with the promise or threat that if pastor’s are unwilling to rethink these issues, more and more women will simply leave the community of faith. If pastors are unwilling to listen and think, the threat is that more and more women will walk. Ultimately I don’t think your average pastor believes that, nor does he think this issue is important enough. As he reads <em>The Resignation of Eve</em>, he may be compelled by the stories and even feel genuinely bad for the women described in the book, still <em>for the most part your everyday mainline denominational male leader won’t be swayed by a bunch of stories about women. </em>Because this about more than just “Eve.” And that is a lingering, unanswered question in the book.\r\n\r\n<strong><em>We are talking about a culture that defies change. </em></strong>As they defend their point of view, today’s pastor believes they are protecting their church from culture creep. I agree with Tom Wright when he says that the authority of God is embodied in Jesus himself, not in the literal words of the Bible. But most pastors today would hold that the issue of women’s empowerment in the church is a <em>cultural phenomenon stemming from the evil of feminism and therefore must be stopped.</em> By choosing which verses in the Bible are cultural and which are not, they cherry-pick a more patriarchal view that I would contend is culturally inappropriate for the 21<sup>st</sup> century.  Take 1 Timothy for instance. Even if you interpret it <em>literally, </em>these are instructions and restrictions for the behavior of some women in the first century church.  Some churches prohibit women\'s leadership in churches because they use these verses to \"prove\" that God doesn\'t approve.  But they happily ignore the verses right beside them, about how women are adorned and how they should dress, saying that is cultural. When you read it with context, and contrast this text and other texts in the New Testament, I believe it requires the reader to listen to more than one or two voices speaking about the role of women.\r\n\r\nHenderson is quick to point to the other examples: Jesus’ treatment of women, women as apostles and teachers, women financing the ministry, women sitting at Jesus\' feet learning from him with the other disciples, a woman being the first to speak to Jesus after his Resurrection, all examples of empowering of women in the early church, which you can see if you don\'t restrict your reading to a few very restrictive sections.\r\n\r\nWise pastors must begin to recognize and listen to women’s voices in the church. And women must with discernment do their own homework!  The early church does not need to be prescriptive for how we run churches today, but this idea challenges the essence of how most pastors view scriptures.\r\n\r\n<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> acknowledges with compassion the tensions women face but the premise is unfair. We are dared to bolt from our churches and force the church’s hand, in order for them to somehow see how important we are. <em>But you must</em> <em>appreciate the tragic fact that this will be held against us.</em> The very nature of our character will be called into question, women who have faithfully worked, loved, served the Church for generations. This would be a heartbreaking ending to the story.\r\n\r\nWomen in the church today are being pulled between being perceived as unfaithfully driven by need for power and by living by our God-given convictions within the faith community.  Reading <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> I found myself utterly exhausted by the trouble the women must exert to be faithful in the church today. The intentions of this book are so good! But I was left with questions hanging.  The same question that I live with every day. Are men and women ready to have a serious conversation about the role of women in the church? Or will it, as I fear, fall on deaf ears because the Church, her pastors and ministry leaders have already made up their minds?\r\n\r\nIn the introduction Lynne Hybel’s message was liberating, as she flirts with women challenging us to \"<strong><em>take ourselves seriously.\"</em></strong>  I wanted to say “There are so many of us that do, Lynne, if only it were the same for men.” I do recommend this book to you because it does that most enigmatic and beautiful thing, it listens to women.  Whether you choose to eavesdrop on these stories in <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> or sit down for a cup of tea with an actual breathing woman in your life, I challenge to please, start listening.','The Resignation of Eve: A Review','','inherit','open','open','','3951-revision-4','','','2012-01-11 13:18:44','2012-01-11 21:18:44','',3951,'http://provoketive.com/2012/01/11/3951-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3316,1,'2011-12-22 11:08:15','2011-12-22 19:08:15','','jesus_arms','','inherit','open','open','','jesus_arms','','','2011-12-22 11:08:15','2011-12-22 19:08:15','',2980,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/jesus_arms.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3317,1,'2011-12-22 11:04:39','2011-12-22 19:04:39','[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mII6-IyaT3o[/youtube]\n\nI love satire for its capacity to speak some remarkable truths in really funny ways.  Mr Diety is definitely satire and it often takes on the philosophical and apparent humorous tensions within Christianity.  It\'s not always fair, and often it borders on mean, but sometimes it really calls out the issues.\n\nIn this absurd take on the relationship of the Trinity, Mr. Diety explores the relationship of Jesus to God. You can hear the influence of Abbot and Costello\'s <a href=\"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOXdpO36Ojw\" target=\"_blank\">Who\'s On First</a>, and they even reference it during the skit.\n\nAt 2:50 the skit turns to the meaning of the set up.\n<blockquote>Jesus: What\'s the point of this?\n\nMr. Diety: The point is to save the human\'s from the original sin and to show, you know, my love.\n\nJesus: To show <em>your</em> love?\n\nMr. Diety: Yeah, by sacrificing myself, in the person of you, to myself.  That\'s loving.\n\nJesus: Wait, don\'t you mean sacrificing me to you?\n\nMr. Diety: Look this is a beautiful thing I\'m doing to satisfy my own sense of unyielding justice.</blockquote>\nThis skit strays at this point from the traditional evangelical story, suggesting Adam didn\'t really exist, but at this point it doesn\'t matter.  The skit has shown the tension.  Is God demanding the death of his own son to appease his own sense of divine justice.\n\nAs strange as it may sound, this is the tension of our Western understanding of the Gospel.  The meaning of the Gospel is found in our understanding of the <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atonement_in_Christianity\" target=\"_blank\">atonement</a>, or why did Jesus die on the cross? It describes how humanity is reconciled with God.  Although there are many theories of atonement in history, this theory (also called subsitutionary and later penal substitutionary atonement) underlines the historical basis for much of our Western theology, especially within the Evangelical community.  It\'s the story of the Gospel and provides a basis for our belief systems.\n\nAnd in a postmodern age, people are calling out a big \"Fail\" to the idea. The theory of justice doesn\'t seem all that loving.  Some would even suggest that it makes God a child killer. And if so, what kind of God would do that?  How does this understanding of justice reconcile with love?  All Mr. Diety is doing is giving voice to that tension.  And when we don\'t like reflecting on our own understanding of the Gospel, one that holds profound implications for our understanding of God\'s character and the framework for justice, someone else will.  If we want to be honest about our own faith, it requires wrestling with these tensions.\n\nWhat if there was a different way of understanding the cross, one that reconciles with our understanding of love and justice and the event that unfold?  What if God is not satisfying a divine sense of cosmic justice (or even paying a <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ransom_theory_of_atonement\" target=\"_blank\">Ransom to Satan</a>), but instead God is meeting our warped demands for proof that we are worth it, that <a href=\"http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%201:31&amp;version=NIV\" target=\"_blank\">we are still good</a>.  In other words, the cross is saying, \"This is how far I will go to show you that <a href=\"http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%201:31&amp;version=NIV\" target=\"_blank\">you are good</a>. I will meet your demands for sacrifice and give you my son.\" Because if we listen to the actual story, it is WE who are making the demands at the cross for justice.  It is WE who need someone to pay the price for us.\n\n<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Catalogue_Discovering.jpg\"><img class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-2988\" title=\"Catalogue_Discovering\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Catalogue_Discovering-208x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"108\" height=\"156\" /></a>When I tell people this idea, there first thought is to say, \"Let me think about that so I can understand it.\" It\'s so simple but it doesn\'t let humanity off the hook for sin.  Sin is actually the process of getting the original question in the Tree of Knowledge wrong, which asks, are you good or evil? Justice is then God revealing the extent of sin (our demand for a substitute) and satisfying that demand through love (by offering life).  But it is us who are making the demands.\n\nFor a detailed walk through of this idea you can read, <a href=\"http://www.amazon.com/Discovering-God-Imagination-Jonathan-Brink/dp/0615513956\" target=\"_blank\"><em>Discovering The God Imagination: Reconstructing A Whole New Christianity</em></a> (Civitas Press, July 2011).','The Tension Of The Gospel','','inherit','open','open','','2980-revision-7','','','2011-12-22 11:04:39','2011-12-22 19:04:39','',2980,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/2980-revision-7/',0,'revision','',0),(3318,1,'2011-12-22 11:10:41','2011-12-22 19:10:41','<p>[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mII6-IyaT3o[/youtube]</p>\r\n<p>I love satire for its capacity to speak some remarkable truths in really funny ways.  Mr Diety is definitely satire and it often takes on the philosophical and apparent humorous tensions within Christianity.  It\'s not always fair, and often it borders on mean, but sometimes it really calls out the issues.</p>\r\n<p>In this absurd take on the relationship of the Trinity, Mr. Diety explores the relationship of Jesus to God. You can hear the influence of Abbot and Costello\'s <a href=\"http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iOXdpO36Ojw\" target=\"_blank\">Who\'s On First</a>, and they even reference it during the skit.</p>\r\n<p>At 2:50 the skit turns to the meaning of the set up.</p>\r\n<blockquote><p>Jesus: What\'s the point of this?</p>\r\n<p>Mr. Diety: The point is to save the human\'s from the original sin and to show, you know, my love.</p>\r\n<p>Jesus: To show <em>your</em> love?</p>\r\n<p>Mr. Diety: Yeah, by sacrificing myself, in the person of you, to myself.  That\'s loving.</p>\r\n<p>Jesus: Wait, don\'t you mean sacrificing me to you?</p>\r\n<p>Mr. Diety: Look this is a beautiful thing I\'m doing to satisfy my own sense of unyielding justice.</p></blockquote>\r\n<p>This skit strays at this point from the traditional evangelical story, suggesting Adam didn\'t really exist, but at this point it doesn\'t matter.  The skit has shown the tension.  Is God demanding the death of his own son to appease his own sense of divine justice.</p>\r\n<p>As strange as it may sound, this is the tension of our Western understanding of the Gospel.  The meaning of the Gospel is found in our understanding of the <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Atonement_in_Christianity\" target=\"_blank\">atonement</a>, or why did Jesus die on the cross? It describes how humanity is reconciled with God.  Although there are many theories of atonement in history, this theory (also called subsitutionary and later penal substitutionary atonement) underlines the historical basis for much of our Western theology, especially within the Evangelical community.  It\'s the story of the Gospel and provides a basis for our belief systems.</p>\r\n<p>And in a postmodern age, people are calling out a big \"Fail\" to the idea. The theory of justice doesn\'t seem all that loving.  Some would even suggest that it makes God a child killer. And if so, what kind of God would do that?  How does this understanding of justice reconcile with love?  All Mr. Diety is doing is giving voice to that tension.  And when we don\'t like reflecting on our own understanding of the Gospel, one that holds profound implications for our understanding of God\'s character and the framework for justice, someone else will.  If we want to be honest about our own faith, it requires wrestling with these tensions.</p>\r\n<p>What if there was a different way of understanding the cross, one that reconciles with our understanding of love and justice and the event that unfold?  What if God is not satisfying a divine sense of cosmic justice (or even paying a <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ransom_theory_of_atonement\" target=\"_blank\">Ransom to Satan</a>), but instead God is meeting our warped demands for proof that we are worth it, that <a href=\"http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%201:31&amp;version=NIV\" target=\"_blank\">we are still good</a>.  In other words, the cross is saying, \"This is how far I will go to show you that <a href=\"http://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Genesis%201:31&amp;version=NIV\" target=\"_blank\">you are good</a>. I will meet your demands for sacrifice and give you my son.\" Because if we listen to the actual story, it is WE who are making the demands at the cross for justice.  It is WE who need someone to pay the price for us.</p>\r\n<p><a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Catalogue_Discovering.jpg\"><img class=\"alignleft size-medium wp-image-2988\" title=\"Catalogue_Discovering\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/Catalogue_Discovering-208x300.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"108\" height=\"156\" /></a>When I tell people this idea, there first thought is to say, \"Let me think about that so I can understand it.\" It\'s so simple but it doesn\'t let humanity off the hook for sin.  Sin is actually the process of getting the original question in the Tree of Knowledge wrong, which asks, are you good or evil? Justice is then God revealing the extent of sin (our demand for a substitute) and satisfying that demand through love (by offering life).  But it is us who are making the demands.</p>\r\n<p>For a detailed walk through of this idea you can read, <a href=\"http://www.amazon.com/Discovering-God-Imagination-Jonathan-Brink/dp/0615513956\" target=\"_blank\"><em>Discovering The God Imagination: Reconstructing A Whole New Christianity</em></a> (Civitas Press, July 2011).</p>\r\n','The Tension Of The Gospel','','inherit','open','open','','2980-autosave','','','2011-12-22 11:10:41','2011-12-22 19:10:41','',2980,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/2980-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3319,31,'2011-12-23 09:33:23','2011-12-23 17:33:23','(Read <a href=\"../2011/12/22/2011/12/20/christmas-undocumented-annunciation-part-i/\">Part I here</a>)\r\n\r\n(Read <a href=\"../2011/12/21/christmas-undocumented-anunciation-part-ii/\">Part II here</a>)\r\n\r\n(Read <a href=\"http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/christmas-undocumented-nochebuena-part-i/\">Part III here</a>)\r\n\r\nThe detainees file into the detention center in a single column. When the door closes behind them, shutting out the sunlight, the detainees stare dumbly at empty walls. Everything in the room is drained of life, sterilized from color with stark white paint and buzzing fluorescent lights.\r\n\r\nAve and the other women are marched into an enclosed room and ordered to remove their clothes to be searched. Ave kicks off her shoes, unwilling to bend over to do it with her hands. She then peels off the oversized elastic waistband covering her belly and takes off her jeans, followed by her billowy shirt. Her protruding belly cannot be missed, its navel inverted and skin stretched by the pregnancy.\r\n\r\nThe room is cold. Ave and the other women shiver in bras and panties, unwilling to remove the last bit of dignity until forced to do so.\r\n\r\n“Remove all your clothes,” barks the scrawny-haired officer.\r\n\r\n“But we didn’t commit any crimes, ma’am,” one lady ventures from the back. “We just work here in America and eat here. None of us are drug dealers or gang members. I mean, look at her. She’s pregnant. Does she really have to take off her clothes? The only thing she’s hiding is a baby and not very well at that.”\r\n\r\n“No exceptions, spic,” the prison guard shouts. “Strip! It’s how we do it here in the Stable. Everyone strips and gets searched. You wetbacks are wily ones. Never know where you might be hiding something.”\r\n\r\nAve draws a deep breath of air, hoping the filtered, recycled air will calm her nerves as she removes the rest of her clothes and stands naked in the cold room.\r\n\r\n“Against the wall,” the guard says. “Arms and legs out.”\r\n\r\nThe guard’s hands are cold and invasive on Ave’s body. She jerks instinctively as the guard’s hands travel up her legs. She tries to hold the image of her cousin Isabella in her mind, and then when that fails to keep her mind from the guard’s hands, she ponders her baby, wondering what he will look like, what his laugh will sound like. Her stomach cramps when the search is finished.\r\n\r\nAfter all the guard finishes with all the women, the detainees are issued identical prison uniforms to wear, but Ave’s belly makes it difficult to cinch the tie on the pants. So, as Ave walks down a long hall of cells, she waddles, using both hands to keep her new pants from slipping to her ankles.\r\n\r\nShe is led to a cramped cell like every other she has passed.  Her bed, like the rest, is made up with a gray blanket and a stiff white pillow. She shuffles to the open bunk and lies down on her side. She stuffs the pillow between her knees for comfort and uses the crook of her elbow tucked under her head as a pillow.\r\n\r\n“Here,” a tired voice says from across the cell. “Take mine.”\r\n\r\nAve opens her eyes to see an elderly woman standing over her, tucking an extra pillow under Ave’s head. “You’ll need it more than I will.”\r\n\r\n“Gracias,” Ave says. “Como se llama?”\r\n\r\nThe old lady smiles. “I’m sorry child. I don’t speak your language. I’m from a different world. My name is Hakima and I come from Iran.”\r\n\r\n“I’m sorry. I just assumed. My name is Ave and I come from Mexico.”\r\n\r\n“It is nice to meet you,” Hakima replies. “I don’t think you’ll be in here long, though. You are in early labor, as far as I can tell. And I can always tell.”\r\n\r\nHakima winks and touches the side of her face where her graying hair meets her forehead.\r\n\r\n“I’m eight months, though,” Ave replies.\r\n\r\n“I imagine you had a stressful day?” Hakima inquires, and Ave nods. “From the bruise on your head, you fell, probably from fainting. You were stripped and then cavity searched? And now, I’m guessing from the hand on your belly and the way you were grimacing when you walked in, you’re getting some cramping?” Ave nods in response to each question. “As I thought, then. You are going to have that baby sooner rather than later.”\r\n\r\nHakima’s prediction proves true. The next day, Ave’s labor begins, and Hakima shouts for the guards.\r\n\r\n“This woman needs to be in a hospital,” Hakima says when the two guards finally appear. “She is having contractions and is going to have this baby tonight.”\r\n\r\nThe guards peer into the cell. “What her? The girl lying on the bed? She doesn’t look like she’s in labor. She looks like she’s sleeping.”\r\n\r\nHakima huffs. “She is between contractions and resting, saving her strength for when she will need it.”\r\n\r\nAs Hakima is speaking, a contraction grips Ave, who grunts and breathes through it as best she can.\r\n\r\n“She’s faking,” one of the guards says. “I’ve had a baby and it wasn’t like that. She just wants out of here.”\r\n\r\nThe guards leave, unperturbed. As Ave’s contractions grow closer together and more powerful, Hakima summons the guards again. This time, there is no doubt Ave is in labor.\r\n\r\n“Let’s get her to the hospital,” the guard says, no longer skeptical. “And fast.”\r\n\r\nHakima shakes her head. “It’s too late for that. She will have this baby within the hour. She is dilated at 8 centimeters and her contractions are only 3 minutes apart. Take her to the infirmary. And quick.”\r\n\r\nThe guard stutters. “But the doctor has gone home for the day.”\r\n\r\nHakima disregards her protests. “Take me with you. I was a midwife in my country. I have delivered more babies than you could count.”\r\n\r\nAfter a moment of hesitation, the guard acquiesces and takes both women to the guard outside the holding cells. “Take them to the infirmary,” she tells him. Without a word, the guard yanks his pants over his paunch and beckons the two women to follow him. They walk to a small building separated from the main center by a small concrete courtyard. When they enter, Hakima notices that meager medical supplies and decides she might need more help than she bargained for if Ave’s labor grows difficult.\r\n\r\n“Call an ambulance and get the paramedics here as soon as possible. We’ll need them for the afterbirth,” Hakima says, but the guard does not move. “Did you hear me? Go call the paramedics!”\r\n\r\nUnaccustomed to being bossed around by an elderly prisoner, the guard’s demeanor darkens. “I cannot leave the detainee unattended or unsecured,” he says. “I’ll have to remain in the room. I’ll radio for someone else to call them.”\r\n\r\nWithout a word, the guard shoves Hakima aside and secures Ave to the bed with <a href=\"http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/09/20/undocumented-pregnant-woman-gives-birth-in-shackles_n_971955.html\">wrist cuffs</a>.\r\n\r\n“What are you doing to her? She is about to give birth. She will need to move around, stand up if she likes. It is the natural way for women to birth their babies,” Hakima protests.\r\n\r\n“Security protocol. This detainee is considered criminal, in possession of forged papers, so she has to be restrained,” the guard replies flatly, moving toward Ave’s feet. “She can give birth on her back and without her hands.\r\n\r\n“If you are going to force her to lie down, then you cannot strap her legs down, too. The baby will not be able to come out if you do,” Hakima says, exasperated.\r\n\r\n“Fine,” the guard retorts, pulling a pair of ankle shackles from his belt. He <a href=\"http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/09/20/undocumented-pregnant-woman-gives-birth-in-shackles_n_971955.html\">shackles</a> her feet together, the long chain drooping below the infirmary bed.\r\n\r\n“Are you quite finished?” Hakima asks, sneering. “She’s in labor. It’s not like she is a flight risk right now.”\r\n\r\nAve’s labors quickens. The new contractions begin almost as soon as the previous one ends, and Ave struggles to catch her breath as she begins to push new life into the world. The guard standing at the head of Ave’s bed places a hand on her forehead, as a lover would, leans his head toward her ear and whispers to her.\r\n\r\n“Come on, push, push, push this baby out,” the guard says. “Push the baby out. The sooner the baby comes the sooner you can go back home to your family in Mexico.”\r\n\r\nAve’s face darkens and she hisses between gasping breaths, “Don’t touch me. You are not my husband. Step away from me.”\r\n\r\nThe guard raises his hands in a gesture of an accused innocent. “Just trying to help.”\r\n\r\nBefore an hour in the infirmary building is up, Ave births a son, and for just a moment, there is nothing but mother and son. Hakima gently places the baby boy on her mother’s chest, as the child cries softly and roots for food. Ave laughs.\r\n\r\n“Can we remove her restraints at least, to let her hold her son unfettered?” Hakima whispers to the guard, who obliges.\r\n\r\n“Congratulations,” the guard says, unbuckling the restraints. “You have given birth to a healthy American citizen. You’ll have 36 hours with him, and then child services will take him to a relative of your choosing.”\r\n\r\nThe silent night cracks, and all that is calm and bright fractures. “I’m sorry?”\r\n\r\n“After 36 hours, we’ll take your child to one of your relatives while you await deportation,” the guard says. “We can’t accommodate an infant in this facility.”\r\n\r\nA pain unlike any she has ever felt grips her chest, as if her heart is exploding in a searing fire, like seven daggers are piercing her. She gasps, unable to catch her breath. At last, a wail erupts from Ave, a deep mournful blast announcing the end of faith, hope, love, of everything good she has dreamed of in this promised land of America. Tears stream from her eyes, mixing with her labor’s sweat, dripping onto her chest, falling onto her infant son’s fluffy black hair. She holds him closely to her lips, kissing his head over and over again, weeping. In a moment’s time, she has gone from a pregnant girl to the mother of all sorrows, her cries joining with countless others who have experienced a similar crushing end to the birth of new life.\r\n\r\nAve tries to avoid sleep for the next 36 hours. The time is too precious to let it unravel in a dream. She breathes in her son’s smell, tries to memorize each feature on his tiny face, features she knows will be gone the next time she sees him. The roll of fat that creases his shoulder. The way his drowsy almond eyes close, clasped with long lashes, after she feeds him. The snuffling sound he makes when he eats. The cry of need for comfort from Ave, for food from her body. She tries to burn the image of him into her mind with tears, with love, with anger.\r\n\r\nAn hour before her time is up, Ave begins to hum to her child, softly at first. As she gazes adoringly at the tiny boy, scarcely a day old, her voice grows stronger, more alive, rhythmed with passion. A pulsing warmth fills her aching chest and emanates throughout the room. A curious glow fills the room and, to her astonishment, she finds herself singing, in a loud, clarion soprano.\r\n\r\nHer voice carries through the infirmary and the detention center. It penetrates the gray cinderblock walls, perforates the Stable with a stinging, visionary indictment, piercing the hearts of inmate and guard alike to share in her sorrow.\r\n\r\nShe sings,\r\n\r\n“Look at the lowliness of this handmaiden, and find reason for favor, to call me blessed. The Mighty One has done great things for me, but the mighty ones have stolen them from me. Show then the strength of your arm and scatter these proud in the thoughts of their haughty hearts, bring down the powerful from their thrones and offices and lift up the lowly, the trampled and the oppressed. Fill the hungry with good things and send away the rich empty. Help this handmaiden remember the mercy of God.”\r\n\r\nA curious thrumming lingers in the room after Ave finishes her song.\r\n\r\nA moment later, it disappears when there is a knock at the door. The infirmary janitor, a Latino woman, pokes her head into Ave’s room.\r\n\r\n“I’m sorry to intrude on your last hour, <em>señora</em>, but I heard you singing. Magnificent. Just magnificent. You have said what we all feel,” she says. “I know it’s not much, but I thought you might like a picture.”\r\n\r\nThe woman holds up a Polaroid instant camera. Ave nods, afraid that if she speaks she will lose control and begin to weep again.\r\n\r\nThe woman motions for them to snuggle together and snaps the picture. The camera whirs and spits out an image that slowly begins to materialize as the air hits it.\r\n\r\n“Thank you,” Ave manages to say. “It’s the perfect gift. What’s your name so that I can repay you one day, if I can.”\r\n\r\n“I’m Sofia,” the janitor says. “Sofia Reyes, but you don’t need to repay me. It’s enough to see you light up. You have a very special boy there with a very special mother. Anyone can see you love him very much.”\r\n\r\nAve holds back a cry. “I have to love him enough now forever, in case I don’t see him again.”\r\n\r\nSofia brushes Ave’s hair back. “You’ll see him again. I know you will.”\r\n\r\nLooking back, Ave cannot remember them taking her son away. She remembers telling them his name was Jesus, son of José Mann, and she can recall asking that he be given to her cousin Isabella in San Antonio. But she cannot remember the moment they took him from her. All she can remember is two strong hands helping her walk through the concrete courtyard back to the main building, the Stable. But really, she can barely remember that either. All she recall with any certainty is that it was raining and that the bright fluorescent spotlight shining down on her looked like the brightest star she’d ever seen.\r\n\r\nHakima greets her in the cell with a long embrace and helps Ave to bed.\r\n\r\n“Some of the others heard what happened,” Hakima says. “One of the women, Farzenah, came by and brought you all she had, a phone card and 30 American dollars, as a gift for you. She said she hoped you would be able to use it to call your cousin to check on the baby while you are here.”\r\n\r\n“And how long will I be here?” Ave asks, exhausted. “How long, Hakima?”\r\n\r\n“Only God knows, and I’m not even sure God knows,” Hakima responds, her voice firm but compassionate. “It could be two months or two years.”\r\n\r\n“How long have you been here, Hakima?”\r\n\r\n“Three years.”\r\n\r\nAve begins to weep again, sobs wracking her body.\r\n\r\n“Here, child, and this is my gift to you,” Hakima says, pulling a small pill from underneath the mattress. “It will help you sleep, and sleep, I think, is the only thing that can console you right now.”\r\n\r\nHakima places the pill in Ave’s mouth and helps her sip it down with water. “Now, what is it they say in your language? <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nochebuena\">Noche buena</a>?”\r\n\r\nAve shakes her head and says weakly, “Buenas noches.”\r\n\r\nHakima waves her hands dismissively. “Yes, that. Buenas noches, then my dear Ave, buenas noches.”\r\n\r\nThe sedative takes Ave away into the succor of sleep. Hakima holds the young mother’s head in her lap, stroking Ave’s long black hair, deep into the good night.\r\n<p style=\"text-align: center;\">*****</p>\r\nConnect with David on <a href=\"http://facebook.com/unorthodoxology\">Facebook</a> and share your thoughts on <em>Christmas, Undocumented</em>. If there is enough interest, this project will be expanded to <em>Christ, Undocumented</em> and re-imagine the Gospel stories within this context.','Christmas, Undocumented: Nochebuena, Part 2','','publish','open','open','','christmas-undocumented-nochebuena-part-2','','','2011-12-23 09:33:23','2011-12-23 17:33:23','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3319',0,'post','',0),(3320,31,'2011-12-22 12:35:35','2011-12-22 20:35:35','','Auto Draft','','inherit','open','open','','3319-revision','','','2011-12-22 12:35:35','2011-12-22 20:35:35','',3319,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/22/3319-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3323,17,'2011-12-23 13:00:16','2011-12-23 21:00:16','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\r\n\r\nVirginia Namaak\r\n\r\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\r\n\r\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place; in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\r\n\r\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\r\n<blockquote>though he was in the form of God did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.</blockquote>\r\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\r\n\r\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, atheist, agnostic, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might make war on it.','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','publish','open','open','','yes-virginia-there-is-a-war-on-christmas','','','2011-12-23 10:09:06','2011-12-23 18:09:06','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3323',0,'post','',2),(3324,17,'2011-12-23 01:22:11','2011-12-23 09:22:11','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\n\n&nbsp;\n\nVirginia Namaak\n\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\n\n&nbsp;\n\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place- in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\n\n&nbsp;\n\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\n\n‘though he was in the form of God,\n\ndid not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,\n\nbut emptied himself,\n\ntaking the form of a slave,\n\nbeing born in human likeness\n\nAnd being found in human form,\n\nhe humbled himself\n\nand became obedient to the point of\n\ndeath—\n\neven death on a cross.\n\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\n\n&nbsp;\n\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might we might make war on','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3323-revision','','','2011-12-23 01:22:11','2011-12-23 09:22:11','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3323-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3325,17,'2011-12-23 01:23:10','2011-12-23 09:23:10','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\n\n&nbsp;\n\nVirginia Namaak\n\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\n\n&nbsp;\n\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place- in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\n\n&nbsp;\n\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\n\n‘though he was in the form of God,\n\ndid not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,\n\nbut emptied himself,\n\ntaking the form of a slave,\n\nbeing born in human likeness\n\nAnd being found in human form,\n\nhe humbled himself\n\nand became obedient to the point of\n\ndeath—\n\neven death on a cross.\'\n\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\n\n&nbsp;\n\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might we might make war on','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3323-revision-2','','','2011-12-23 01:23:10','2011-12-23 09:23:10','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3323-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3327,17,'2011-12-23 01:26:30','2011-12-23 09:26:30','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nVirginia Namaak\r\n\r\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\r\n\r\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place- in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\r\n\r\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\r\n<blockquote>‘though he was in the form of God did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.\'</blockquote>\r\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might we might make war on','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3323-revision-4','','','2011-12-23 01:26:30','2011-12-23 09:26:30','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3323-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3326,17,'2011-12-23 01:24:06','2011-12-23 09:24:06','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nVirginia Namaak\r\n\r\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place- in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\r\n<blockquote>                ‘though he was in the form of God,\r\n\r\ndid not regard equality with God as something to be exploited,\r\n\r\nbut emptied himself,\r\n\r\ntaking the form of a slave,\r\n\r\nbeing born in human likeness\r\n\r\nAnd being found in human form,\r\n\r\nhe humbled himself\r\n\r\nand became obedient to the point of\r\n\r\ndeath—\r\n\r\neven death on a cross.\'</blockquote>\r\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might we might make war on','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3323-revision-3','','','2011-12-23 01:24:06','2011-12-23 09:24:06','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3323-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3328,17,'2011-12-23 01:26:56','2011-12-23 09:26:56','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nVirginia Namaak\r\n\r\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\r\n\r\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place- in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\r\n\r\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\r\n<blockquote>though he was in the form of God did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.</blockquote>\r\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might we might make war on','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3323-revision-5','','','2011-12-23 01:26:56','2011-12-23 09:26:56','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3323-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3329,17,'2011-12-23 01:32:59','2011-12-23 09:32:59','','2310167ahSzyZTV','','inherit','open','open','','2310167ahszyztv','','','2011-12-23 01:32:59','2011-12-23 09:32:59','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/2310167ahSzyZTV.jpg',0,'attachment','image/jpeg',0),(3330,17,'2011-12-23 01:27:15','2011-12-23 09:27:15','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nVirginia Namaak\r\n\r\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\r\n\r\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place- in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\r\n\r\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\r\n<blockquote>though he was in the form of God did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.</blockquote>\r\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\r\n\r\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might we might make war on','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3323-revision-6','','','2011-12-23 01:27:15','2011-12-23 09:27:15','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3323-revision-6/',0,'revision','',0),(3331,17,'2011-12-23 01:35:00','2011-12-23 09:35:00','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nVirginia Namaak\r\n\r\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\r\n\r\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place; in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\r\n\r\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\r\n<blockquote>though he was in the form of God did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.</blockquote>\r\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\r\n\r\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, atheist, agnostic, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might we might make war on it.','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3323-revision-7','','','2011-12-23 01:35:00','2011-12-23 09:35:00','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3323-revision-7/',0,'revision','',0),(3332,1,'2011-12-23 09:53:20','2011-12-23 17:53:20','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\n\nVirginia Namaak\n\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\n\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place; in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\n\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\n<blockquote>though he was in the form of God did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.</blockquote>\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\n\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, atheist, agnostic, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might make war on it.','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3323-autosave','','','2011-12-23 09:53:20','2011-12-23 17:53:20','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3323-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3333,17,'2011-12-23 01:35:16','2011-12-23 09:35:16','“Dear Cody: I am a new believer. Some of my friends tell me that there is a ‘War on Christmas.’ Papa says, ‘If you read it in PROVOKETIVE it’s so.’ Please tell me the truth: is there a war on Christmas?”\r\n\r\n&nbsp;\r\n\r\nVirginia Namaak\r\n\r\n115 East 59<sup>th</sup> street\r\n\r\nVIRGINIA, your friends are right. They are not right about the form of the war or about who is waging it, or even when it happens. Your friends believe in a kingdom that has been firmly rooted in the workings of this world. Their minds have fallen captive to the imagination of power perceived through the lens of domination, heard in the phrase ‘might makes right,’ or the inverse ‘right makes might.’ Unfortunately, our minds cannot grasp real power, Virginia, and our imaginations are too small to contain the whole of truth and knowledge. Which is why Christmas came in the first place; in the words of a great Christmas song, Virginia, Jesus “came to shed a little light on this darkening scene.”\r\n\r\nYes, VIRGINIA, there is a war on Christmas. It happens not just during the winter months, but it happens as certainly as love and generosity are set aside and bitterness is picked up instead; whenever absolute certainty is honored above humility, acceptance, and grace. It happens when a friendly holiday greeting is taken, not on face value as a warm gesture, but instead as a provocation. It happens when we who profess to follow in the footsteps of Jesus the Messiah, ignore his own example, the one who:\r\n<blockquote>though he was in the form of God did not regard equality with God as something to be exploited, but emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, being born in human likeness. And being found in human form, he humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death— even death on a cross.</blockquote>\r\nChristmas, VIRGINIA—the birth of Jesus, the incarnation in human flesh—was not about fighting for any rights. No, VIRIGINIA, Christmas was, IS, about the laying aside of power, the giving up of rights. It’s about vacating a position of power to sleep in a box of hay. The only war on Christmas, VIRGINIA, is the battle against humility. When one looks at the cradle and sees a call to arms, the war against Christmas heats up. When selfless servanthood takes a backseat to power grabs, the clash of armor can be heard.\r\n\r\nBut thank God! Christmas lives and it will live forever. Wherever love and humility, generosity and grace abound, there you will find Christmas. Whenever room is made for another, whatever that looks like and no matter who does it—Muslim, Christian, gay, straight, Jew, Gentile, atheist, agnostic, man, woman, old, young— Christmas is renewed. Jesus takes on flesh again. The light breaks through the darkness once more. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, Christmas will be born anew, no matter what ways we might we might make war on it.','Yes, Virginia, There is a War on Christmas','','inherit','open','open','','3323-revision-8','','','2011-12-23 01:35:16','2011-12-23 09:35:16','',3323,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3323-revision-8/',0,'revision','',0),(3334,123,'2011-12-29 08:00:45','2011-12-29 16:00:45','What I believe isn’t important.\r\n\r\nThe fact that I can put order to my thoughts, sort them into opinions and fan them into beliefs is hardly impressive.  In fact, such thinking is unavoidable.  It’s what our highly evolved human brains do.  They compare and contrast and judge in an endless attempt to make sense of the world around us.  Believing is as automatic as walking or talking or sneezing, and about as noteworthy.\r\n\r\nThere was a time when I considered my beliefs to be something more than just an assemblage of thoughts.  I mistook them for something much more important.  I thought they were me.\r\n\r\nAt various times in my life I believed I was a Catholic, a Unitarian, an agnostic and a secular humanist.  I was a liberal, a feminist, an environmentalist and a pacifist.  I took on new identities in search of a higher self and, down deep, I think, to distance myself from certain vulgarities that characterize the human condition - qualities like greed and aggression.  By connecting certain thoughts, by cobbling together new identities, I convinced myself and others that those unwholesome human traits couldn’t possibly define me.  They defined thieves and rapists and murderers.  I was above all that, and had a portfolio of beliefs to prove it.\r\n\r\nI was not alone in my quest adopt a new identity.  Everyone in the world was doing it right along with me.  Hindus, Muslims and Buddhists.  Socialists, Communists and Greens.  Progressive Unionists, Christian Democrats – some crafting identities the way college freshmen craft double majors.  We were all attempting to rise above our inherited animal nature, but rising above it didn’t make it go away.  We were still greedy and aggressive despite our deeply held beliefs.  We were walking contradictions, projecting our inner conflicts onto the world; in fact, we were the world, and that’s why it was such a bloody mess.\r\n\r\nHaving wandered from one belief system to another, I thought I had explored life’s biggest questions, but I was only asking questions for which my beliefs had provided me pat answers.  I had yet to ask myself the most radical questions, the ones that would eventually smash my beliefs to bits.  They were questions no one seemed to be asking, questions like:\r\n\r\nIf a clash of beliefs can be found at the root of all the violence in the world, then shouldn’t we question their validity – not the validity of any particular belief, but belief itself?\r\n\r\nSeparated from our beliefs, would we lose our moral bearing?  Would we fall prey to our baser instincts and rock the world with depraved acts of violence?  Or is this precisely the behavior we exhibit under the hypnotic spell our beliefs?\r\n\r\nImagine a city whose buildings have been leveled by an earthquake.  That’s the image I had of my mind after my beliefs had been toppled.  I felt like I could see forever in every direction.  The towering thought structures that stood as my beliefs no longer blocked my view of the world.  I felt a disorienting sense of freedom.  Liberated from the beliefs that had conferred my identity, I felt blissfully anonymous.  I was a person without a suffix, without an –ist to affirm my existence.  I had unwittingly joined the only club that matters.  It numbers in the billions, doesn’t charge dues and welcomes career criminals.  It’s called the human race.\r\n\r\nIt’s been years since I disposed of my beliefs, and I have yet to turn into a sociopathic killer. On the contrary, I’ve developed a deep affection for my planet mates now that I’m not measuring them by the yardstick of my beliefs.  Gone are the walls of thought that prevented me from seeing who they really are.  Gone are the lectures I’d give in an attempt to raise their consciousness.  And gone, mercifully, is my compulsion to cast them as evil so that I can appear virtuous\r\n\r\nHowever sacred or profound, a belief is nothing more than a thought, and thought is never the thing it describes.  It can only hint at the wonders it attempts to touch.  Sermons about love garble love’s ineffable beauty.  Speeches about unity clank after the first syllable.  Courting belief is a prescription for a virtual, not a virtuous life.','The Futility of Belief','','publish','open','open','','the-futility-of-belief','','','2011-12-23 10:19:46','2011-12-23 18:19:46','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3334',0,'post','',2),(3335,123,'2011-12-23 03:38:55','2011-12-23 11:38:55','What I believe isn’t important. \n\nThe fact that I can put order to my thoughts, sort them into opinions and fan them into beliefs is hardly impressive.  In fact, such thinking is unavoidable.  It’s what our highly evolved human brains do.  They compare and contrast and judge in an endless attempt to make sense of the world around us.  Believing is as automatic as walking or talking or sneezing, and about as noteworthy.\n\nThere was a time when I considered my beliefs to be something more than just an assemblage of thoughts.  I mistook them for something much more important.  I thought they were me.\n\nAt various times in my life I believed I was a Catholic, a Unitarian, an agnostic and a secular humanist.  I was a liberal, a feminist, an environmentalist and a pacifist.  I took on new identities in search of a higher self and, down deep, I think, to distance myself from certain vulgarities that characterize the human condition - qualities like greed and aggression.  By connecting certain thoughts, by cobbling together new identities, I convinced myself and others that those unwholesome human traits couldn’t possibly define me.  They defined thieves and rapists and murderers.  I was above all that, and had a portfolio of beliefs to prove it.\n\nI was not alone in my quest adopt a new identity.  Everyone in the world was doing it right along with me.  Hindus, Muslims and Buddhists.  Socialists, Communists and Greens.  Progressive Unionists, Christian Democrats – some crafting identities the way college freshmen craft double majors.  We were all attempting to rise above our inherited animal nature, but rising above it didn’t make it go away.  We were still greedy and aggressive despite our deeply held beliefs.  We were walking contradictions, projecting our inner conflicts onto the world; in fact, we were the world, and that’s why it was such a bloody mess.\n\nHaving wandered from one belief system to another, I thought I had explored life’s biggest questions, but I was only asking questions for which my beliefs had provided me pat answers.  I had yet to ask myself the most radical questions, the ones that would eventually smash my beliefs to bits.  They were questions no one seemed to be asking, questions like:\n\nIf a clash of beliefs can be found at the root of all the violence in the world, then shouldn’t we question their validity – not the validity of any particular belief, but belief itself? \n\nSeparated from our beliefs, would we lose our moral bearing?  Would we fall prey to our baser instincts and rock the world with depraved acts of violence?  Or is this precisely the behavior we exhibit under the hypnotic spell our beliefs? \n\nImagine a city whose buildings have been leveled by an earthquake.  That’s the image I had of my mind after my beliefs had been toppled.  I felt like I could see forever in every direction.  The towering thought structures that stood as my beliefs no longer blocked my view of the world.  I felt a disorienting sense of freedom.  Liberated from the beliefs that had conferred my identity, I felt blissfully anonymous.  I was a person without a suffix, without an –ist to affirm my existence.  I had unwittingly joined the only club that matters.  It numbers in the billions, doesn’t charge dues and welcomes career criminals.  It’s called the human race. \n\nIt’s been years since I disposed of my beliefs, and I have yet to turn into a sociopathic killer. On the contrary, I’ve developed a deep affection for my planet mates now that I’m not measuring them by the yardstick of my beliefs.  Gone are the walls of thought that prevented me from seeing who they really are.  Gone are the lectures I’d give in an attempt to raise their consciousness.  And gone, mercifully, is my compulsion to cast them as evil so that I can appear virtuous\n\nHowever sacred or profound, a belief is nothing more than a thought, and thought is never the thing it describes.  It can only hint at the wonders it attempts to touch.  Sermons about love garble love’s ineffable beauty.  Speeches about unity clank after the first syllable.  Courting belief is a prescription for a virtual, not a virtuous life.','The Futility of Belief','','inherit','open','open','','3334-revision','','','2011-12-23 03:38:55','2011-12-23 11:38:55','',3334,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3334-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3336,123,'2011-12-23 03:39:45','2011-12-23 11:39:45','What I believe isn’t important. \r\n\r\nThe fact that I can put order to my thoughts, sort them into opinions and fan them into beliefs is hardly impressive.  In fact, such thinking is unavoidable.  It’s what our highly evolved human brains do.  They compare and contrast and judge in an endless attempt to make sense of the world around us.  Believing is as automatic as walking or talking or sneezing, and about as noteworthy.\r\n\r\nThere was a time when I considered my beliefs to be something more than just an assemblage of thoughts.  I mistook them for something much more important.  I thought they were me.\r\n\r\nAt various times in my life I believed I was a Catholic, a Unitarian, an agnostic and a secular humanist.  I was a liberal, a feminist, an environmentalist and a pacifist.  I took on new identities in search of a higher self and, down deep, I think, to distance myself from certain vulgarities that characterize the human condition - qualities like greed and aggression.  By connecting certain thoughts, by cobbling together new identities, I convinced myself and others that those unwholesome human traits couldn’t possibly define me.  They defined thieves and rapists and murderers.  I was above all that, and had a portfolio of beliefs to prove it.\r\n\r\nI was not alone in my quest adopt a new identity.  Everyone in the world was doing it right along with me.  Hindus, Muslims and Buddhists.  Socialists, Communists and Greens.  Progressive Unionists, Christian Democrats – some crafting identities the way college freshmen craft double majors.  We were all attempting to rise above our inherited animal nature, but rising above it didn’t make it go away.  We were still greedy and aggressive despite our deeply held beliefs.  We were walking contradictions, projecting our inner conflicts onto the world; in fact, we were the world, and that’s why it was such a bloody mess.\r\n\r\nHaving wandered from one belief system to another, I thought I had explored life’s biggest questions, but I was only asking questions for which my beliefs had provided me pat answers.  I had yet to ask myself the most radical questions, the ones that would eventually smash my beliefs to bits.  They were questions no one seemed to be asking, questions like:\r\n\r\nIf a clash of beliefs can be found at the root of all the violence in the world, then shouldn’t we question their validity – not the validity of any particular belief, but belief itself? \r\n\r\nSeparated from our beliefs, would we lose our moral bearing?  Would we fall prey to our baser instincts and rock the world with depraved acts of violence?  Or is this precisely the behavior we exhibit under the hypnotic spell our beliefs? \r\n\r\nImagine a city whose buildings have been leveled by an earthquake.  That’s the image I had of my mind after my beliefs had been toppled.  I felt like I could see forever in every direction.  The towering thought structures that stood as my beliefs no longer blocked my view of the world.  I felt a disorienting sense of freedom.  Liberated from the beliefs that had conferred my identity, I felt blissfully anonymous.  I was a person without a suffix, without an –ist to affirm my existence.  I had unwittingly joined the only club that matters.  It numbers in the billions, doesn’t charge dues and welcomes career criminals.  It’s called the human race. \r\n\r\nIt’s been years since I disposed of my beliefs, and I have yet to turn into a sociopathic killer. On the contrary, I’ve developed a deep affection for my planet mates now that I’m not measuring them by the yardstick of my beliefs.  Gone are the walls of thought that prevented me from seeing who they really are.  Gone are the lectures I’d give in an attempt to raise their consciousness.  And gone, mercifully, is my compulsion to cast them as evil so that I can appear virtuous\r\n\r\nHowever sacred or profound, a belief is nothing more than a thought, and thought is never the thing it describes.  It can only hint at the wonders it attempts to touch.  Sermons about love garble love’s ineffable beauty.  Speeches about unity clank after the first syllable.  Courting belief is a prescription for a virtual, not a virtuous life.','The Futility of Belief','','inherit','open','open','','3334-revision-2','','','2011-12-23 03:39:45','2011-12-23 11:39:45','',3334,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3334-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3337,1,'2011-12-23 10:20:52','2011-12-23 18:20:52','What I believe isn’t important.\n\nThe fact that I can put order to my thoughts, sort them into opinions and fan them into beliefs is hardly impressive.  In fact, such thinking is unavoidable.  It’s what our highly evolved human brains do.  They compare and contrast and judge in an endless attempt to make sense of the world around us.  Believing is as automatic as walking or talking or sneezing, and about as noteworthy.\n\nThere was a time when I considered my beliefs to be something more than just an assemblage of thoughts.  I mistook them for something much more important.  I thought they were me.\n\nAt various times in my life I believed I was a Catholic, a Unitarian, an agnostic and a secular humanist.  I was a liberal, a feminist, an environmentalist and a pacifist.  I took on new identities in search of a higher self and, down deep, I think, to distance myself from certain vulgarities that characterize the human condition - qualities like greed and aggression.  By connecting certain thoughts, by cobbling together new identities, I convinced myself and others that those unwholesome human traits couldn’t possibly define me.  They defined thieves and rapists and murderers.  I was above all that, and had a portfolio of beliefs to prove it.\n\nI was not alone in my quest adopt a new identity.  Everyone in the world was doing it right along with me.  Hindus, Muslims and Buddhists.  Socialists, Communists and Greens.  Progressive Unionists, Christian Democrats – some crafting identities the way college freshmen craft double majors.  We were all attempting to rise above our inherited animal nature, but rising above it didn’t make it go away.  We were still greedy and aggressive despite our deeply held beliefs.  We were walking contradictions, projecting our inner conflicts onto the world; in fact, we were the world, and that’s why it was such a bloody mess.\n\nHaving wandered from one belief system to another, I thought I had explored life’s biggest questions, but I was only asking questions for which my beliefs had provided me pat answers.  I had yet to ask myself the most radical questions, the ones that would eventually smash my beliefs to bits.  They were questions no one seemed to be asking, questions like:\n\nIf a clash of beliefs can be found at the root of all the violence in the world, then shouldn’t we question their validity – not the validity of any particular belief, but belief itself?\n\nSeparated from our beliefs, would we lose our moral bearing?  Would we fall prey to our baser instincts and rock the world with depraved acts of violence?  Or is this precisely the behavior we exhibit under the hypnotic spell our beliefs?\n\nImagine a city whose buildings have been leveled by an earthquake.  That’s the image I had of my mind after my beliefs had been toppled.  I felt like I could see forever in every direction.  The towering thought structures that stood as my beliefs no longer blocked my view of the world.  I felt a disorienting sense of freedom.  Liberated from the beliefs that had conferred my identity, I felt blissfully anonymous.  I was a person without a suffix, without an –ist to affirm my existence.  I had unwittingly joined the only club that matters.  It numbers in the billions, doesn’t charge dues and welcomes career criminals.  It’s called the human race.\n\nIt’s been years since I disposed of my beliefs, and I have yet to turn into a sociopathic killer. On the contrary, I’ve developed a deep affection for my planet mates now that I’m not measuring them by the yardstick of my beliefs.  Gone are the walls of thought that prevented me from seeing who they really are.  Gone are the lectures I’d give in an attempt to raise their consciousness.  And gone, mercifully, is my compulsion to cast them as evil so that I can appear virtuous\n\nHowever sacred or profound, a belief is nothing more than a thought, and thought is never the thing it describes.  It can only hint at the wonders it attempts to touch.  Sermons about love garble love’s ineffable beauty.  Speeches about unity clank after the first syllable.  Courting belief is a prescription for a virtual, not a virtuous life.','The Futility of Belief','','inherit','open','open','','3334-autosave','','','2011-12-23 10:20:52','2011-12-23 18:20:52','',3334,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3334-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3451,125,'2012-01-12 08:00:26','2012-01-12 16:00:26','A universe containing trillions of stars, clustered into countless galaxies like sand on an beach you could never reach the end of. Each star an angry mixture of gases that are constantly erupting in violent nuclear reactions, catapulting electromagnetic radiation into the darkness of space around it. A universe so delicately governed by its forces that it would have collapsed long ago, except something seems to be holding it together.\r\n\r\nA planet with a perfect symmetry of water and carbon, liquid and gas, so desperately needed to sustain life. Enough carbon, just the right size and shape to master forming compounds, to combine itself with all vital elements and provide an endoskeleton for biologically-active molecules. Enough water to provide a space for most of the chemical reactions needed to form living matter and to absorb and retain heat, making it our handmade blanket, our forged shield against the tumult of temperature change.\r\n\r\nA 27-year-old woman raised in an emotionally abusive house, who runs away at age 15, is pregnant by age 18, and is now addicted to cocaine. A woman so desperate for any sign of affection or empathy that she prostitutes herself while her 9-year-old son raises himself at home alone.\r\n\r\nA God existing outside the restraints of a universe functioning within space and time. A God who, with the very exhalation of a single word could bring to life a universe so finely-tuned. A universe that has such precision that more than two dozen parameters must have values falling within narrowly defined ranges for life of any kind to exist.\r\n\r\nA God that, with the same hands used to guide the stars and galaxies into their perfect locations, created a framework of 3.1 billion base pairs of DNA from which each human being has been created. A God so beautifully guiding His creation that, were the decay rate of protons greater, then life would be exterminated by the release of radiation and, were it smaller, His universe would contain insufficient matter for life.\r\n\r\nA God that formed a universe of perfect suitability so that He could use those same hands to create His most wonderful masterpiece: humanity. A God so completely and furiously dedicated to us that, with the same voice that commands galaxies to exist, can whisper in a 27-year-old woman’s ear, in a still and small voice, that she can know what love is truly supposed to feel like. That her 9-year-old son, in his lowest moments of abandonment and loneliness, is one of His very children.\r\n\r\nOur God is relentless.\r\nOur God is overwhelming.\r\nOur God is devoted.\r\nOur God embodies love as a noun and fulfills love as a verb.\r\nOur God knows the names of all the stars, and counts the hairs on all our heads.\r\nOur God formed us out of the dirt in His wisdom, spent a life walking through our dirt in His empathy, let sacrificial blood fall to the dirt in His grace, and picks us up off of the dirt in His love.\r\n\r\nA universe with such an exact mix of elements, forces, and distances could not exist without a Creator that crafted it for the specific and merciful purpose of allowing us to live and worship in His presence.\r\n\r\nThat is the love of God.','The Love Of God','','publish','open','open','','the-love-of-god','','','2011-12-31 13:27:46','2011-12-31 21:27:46','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3451',0,'post','',0),(3339,80,'2011-12-24 09:00:37','2011-12-24 17:00:37','Lately, I\'ve been catching some flack from people close to me.  Some of them have issues with a bumper sticker on my truck, the one you see in the picture at the beginning of this little ditty.  They didn\'t like it, they said, because I couldn\'t be sure it was the truth.  But, it is very much the truth; a truth that is attested to the very nature of Jesus\' birth, life and death.  He was born to a poor family, lived in an occupied country and was put to death by the state.  He\'s not just <em>with</em> the 99%; He <em>is</em> the 99%. Jesus came into the world to bring hope to the poor, the needy and the oppressed; to bring justice to an unjust system; to show us that love and mercy are far more important that things.  If these aren\'t the hallmarks of the Occupy movement, I\'ll eat my hat.\r\n\r\n<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051.jpg\"><img class=\"alignleft\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051-300x112.jpg\" alt=\"Joel Rieves\" width=\"300\" height=\"112\" /></a>If you stop and think about it, the first Occupier was Mary, the mother of Jesus.  After Gabriel told her she would bear the Son of God, she got excited and went to visit her cousin Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.  When she walked into Elizabeth\'s presence, Luke tells us that the child who would become John the Baptist leapt within his mother\'s (Elizabeth) womb.  When Elizabeth told Mary what had happened, Mary responded with what has become with the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55).  In that hymn, she says\r\n<blockquote>\"He shows mercy to everyone,\r\nfrom one generation to the next,\r\nwho honors him as God.\r\n<sup>51</sup> He has shown strength with his arm.\r\nHe has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.\r\n<sup>52</sup> He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones\r\nand lifted up the lowly.\r\n<sup>53</sup> He has filled the hungry with good things\r\nand sent the rich away empty-handed.\"\r\n\r\nFrom the Common English Bible</blockquote>\r\nThis song, sung by His mother sang even before He was born, speaks of how those on top (the rich and powerful) will be brought low and those on the bottom (the poor, the needy, the oppressed) will be raised up.  These words, spoken to a people suffering under the heel of one the most oppressive regimes the world has ever known, were a sorely needed balm.  They were words of hope; hope that, one day, things would be better.   While things today aren\'t anywhere near as bad as they were in first century Palestine, they aren\'t that good.  The Roman boot isn\'t on our neck any longer; it\'s been replaced by a Gucci loafer.  Much like Palestine in Jesus\' day, we live and work under a system that stacks the deck against the masses and in favor of the rich and powerful.  And, just like in Jesus\'s day, there are people working to change that.  They would do well to remember the original Occupiers and follow their lead.','The Original Occupiers','','publish','open','open','','the-original-occupiers','','','2011-12-23 10:13:29','2011-12-23 18:13:29','',0,'http://provoketive.com/?p=3339',0,'post','',0),(3340,80,'2011-12-23 08:12:10','2011-12-23 16:12:10','','DSCF0005','','inherit','open','open','','dscf0005','','','2011-12-23 08:12:10','2011-12-23 16:12:10','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF0005.jpg',0,'attachment','image/jpeg',0),(3341,80,'2011-12-23 08:08:25','2011-12-23 16:08:25','Lately, I\'ve been catching some flack from people  close to me.  Some of them have issues with a bumper sticker on my truck, the one you see in the picture at the beginning of th\n\n&nbsp;\n\nThey didn\'t like it, they said, because I couldn\'t be sure it was the truth.  But, it is very much the truth; a truth that is attested to the Jesus\' birth, life and death.  He was born to a poor family, lived in an occupied country and was put to death by the state.  He\'s not just <em>with</em> the 99%; He <em>is</em> of the 99%. Jesus came into the world to bring hope to the poor, the needy and the oppressed; to bring justice to an unjust system; to show us that love and mercy are far more important that things.  If these aren\'t the hallmarks of the Occupy movement, I\'ll eat my hat.\n\nIf you stop and think about it, the first Occupier was Mary, the mother of Jesus.  After Gabriel told Mary she would bear the Son of God, she got excited visited her cousin Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.  When she walked into Elizabeth\'s presence, Luke tells us that the child who would become John the Baptist leapt within his mother\'s (Elizabeth) womb.  When Elizabeth told Mary what had happened, Mary responded with what has become with <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magnificat\" target=\"_blank\">the Magnificat</a>.  In that hymn, she says\n<blockquote>\"He shows mercy to everyone,\nfrom one generation to the next,\nwho honors him as God.\n<sup>51</sup> He has shown strength with his arm.\nHe has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.\n<sup>52</sup> He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones\nand lifted up the lowly.\n<sup>53</sup> He has filled the hungry with good things\nand sent the rich away empty-handed.\"</blockquote>\nThis song, sung by His mother sang even before He was born, speaks of how those on top (the rich and powerful) will be brought low and those on the bottom (the poor, the needy, the oppressed) will be raised up.  These words, spoken to a people suffering under the heel of one the most oppressive regimes the world has ever known, were a sorely needed balm.  They were words of hope; hope that, one day, things would be better.   While things today aren\'t anywhere near as bad as they were in first century Palestine, they aren\'t good.  The Roman boot isn\'t on our neck any longer; it\'s been replaced by a Gucci loafer.  Much like Palestine in Jesus\' day, we live and work under a system that stacks the deck agaisnt the masses and in favor of the rich and powerful.  And, just like in Jesus\'s day, there are people working to change that.  They would do well to remember the original Occupiers and follow their lead.','','','inherit','open','open','','3339-revision','','','2011-12-23 08:08:25','2011-12-23 16:08:25','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3339-revision/',0,'revision','',0),(3342,80,'2011-12-23 08:13:34','2011-12-23 16:13:34','','DSCF0005','','inherit','open','open','','dscf0005-2','','','2011-12-23 08:13:34','2011-12-23 16:13:34','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051.jpg',0,'attachment','image/jpeg',0),(3343,80,'2011-12-23 08:12:44','2011-12-23 16:12:44','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF0005.jpg\"><img class=\"alignnone size-medium wp-image-3340\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF0005-300x112.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"240\" height=\"90\" /></a>Lately, I\'ve been catching some flack from people  close to me.  Some of them have issues with a bumper sticker on my truck, the one you see in the picture at the beginning of this little ditty.  They didn\'t like it, they said, because I couldn\'t be sure it was the truth.  But, it is very much the truth; a truth that is attested to the Jesus\' birth, life and death.  He was born to a poor family, lived in an occupied country and was put to death by the state.  He\'s not just <em>with</em> the 99%; He <em>is</em> of the 99%. Jesus came into the world to bring hope to the poor, the needy and the oppressed; to bring justice to an unjust system; to show us that love and mercy are far more important that things.  If these aren\'t the hallmarks of the Occupy movement, I\'ll eat my hat.\r\n\r\nIf you stop and think about it, the first Occupier was Mary, the mother of Jesus.  After Gabriel told Mary she would bear the Son of God, she got excited visited her cousin Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.  When she walked into Elizabeth\'s presence, Luke tells us that the child who would become John the Baptist leapt within his mother\'s (Elizabeth) womb.  When Elizabeth told Mary what had happened, Mary responded with what has become with <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magnificat\" target=\"_blank\">the Magnificat</a>.  In that hymn, she says\r\n<blockquote>\"He shows mercy to everyone,\r\nfrom one generation to the next,\r\nwho honors him as God.\r\n<sup>51</sup> He has shown strength with his arm.\r\nHe has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.\r\n<sup>52</sup> He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones\r\nand lifted up the lowly.\r\n<sup>53</sup> He has filled the hungry with good things\r\nand sent the rich away empty-handed.\"</blockquote>\r\nThis song, sung by His mother sang even before He was born, speaks of how those on top (the rich and powerful) will be brought low and those on the bottom (the poor, the needy, the oppressed) will be raised up.  These words, spoken to a people suffering under the heel of one the most oppressive regimes the world has ever known, were a sorely needed balm.  They were words of hope; hope that, one day, things would be better.   While things today aren\'t anywhere near as bad as they were in first century Palestine, they aren\'t good.  The Roman boot isn\'t on our neck any longer; it\'s been replaced by a Gucci loafer.  Much like Palestine in Jesus\' day, we live and work under a system that stacks the deck agaisnt the masses and in favor of the rich and powerful.  And, just like in Jesus\'s day, there are people working to change that.  They would do well to remember the original Occupiers and follow their lead.','','','inherit','open','open','','3339-revision-2','','','2011-12-23 08:12:44','2011-12-23 16:12:44','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3339-revision-2/',0,'revision','',0),(3344,80,'2011-12-23 08:14:24','2011-12-23 16:14:24','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-3342\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051-300x112.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"300\" height=\"112\" /></a>Lately, I\'ve been catching some flack from people close to me.  Some of them have issues with a bumper sticker on my truck, the one you see in the picture at the beginning of this little ditty.  They didn\'t like it, they said, because I couldn\'t be sure it was the truth.  But, it is very much the truth; a truth that is attested to the Jesus\' birth, life and death.  He was born to a poor family, lived in an occupied country and was put to death by the state.  He\'s not just <em>with</em> the 99%; He <em>is</em> of the 99%. Jesus came into the world to bring hope to the poor, the needy and the oppressed; to bring justice to an unjust system; to show us that love and mercy are far more important that things.  If these aren\'t the hallmarks of the Occupy movement, I\'ll eat my hat.\n\nIf you stop and think about it, the first Occupier was Mary, the mother of Jesus.  After Gabriel told Mary she would bear the Son of God, she got excited visited her cousin Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.  When she walked into Elizabeth\'s presence, Luke tells us that the child who would become John the Baptist leapt within his mother\'s (Elizabeth) womb.  When Elizabeth told Mary what had happened, Mary responded with what has become with <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magnificat\" target=\"_blank\">the Magnificat</a>.  In that hymn, she says\n<blockquote>\"He shows mercy to everyone,\nfrom one generation to the next,\nwho honors him as God.\n<sup>51</sup> He has shown strength with his arm.\nHe has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.\n<sup>52</sup> He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones\nand lifted up the lowly.\n<sup>53</sup> He has filled the hungry with good things\nand sent the rich away empty-handed.\"</blockquote>\nThis song, sung by His mother sang even before He was born, speaks of how those on top (the rich and powerful) will be brought low and those on the bottom (the poor, the needy, the oppressed) will be raised up.  These words, spoken to a people suffering under the heel of one the most oppressive regimes the world has ever known, were a sorely needed balm.  They were words of hope; hope that, one day, things would be better.   While things today aren\'t anywhere near as bad as they were in first century Palestine, they aren\'t good.  The Roman boot isn\'t on our neck any longer; it\'s been replaced by a Gucci loafer.  Much like Palestine in Jesus\' day, we live and work under a system that stacks the deck agaisnt the masses and in favor of the rich and powerful.  And, just like in Jesus\'s day, there are people working to change that.  They would do well to remember the original Occupiers and follow their lead.','','','inherit','open','open','','3339-revision-3','','','2011-12-23 08:14:24','2011-12-23 16:14:24','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3339-revision-3/',0,'revision','',0),(3345,80,'2011-12-23 08:14:57','2011-12-23 16:14:57','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-3342\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051-300x112.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"300\" height=\"112\" /></a>Lately, I\'ve been catching some flack from people close to me.  Some of them have issues with a bumper sticker on my truck, the one you see in the picture at the beginning of this little ditty.  They didn\'t like it, they said, because I couldn\'t be sure it was the truth.  But, it is very much the truth; a truth that is attested to the Jesus\' birth, life and death.  He was born to a poor family, lived in an occupied country and was put to death by the state.  He\'s not just <em>with</em> the 99%; He <em>is</em> of the 99%. Jesus came into the world to bring hope to the poor, the needy and the oppressed; to bring justice to an unjust system; to show us that love and mercy are far more important that things.  If these aren\'t the hallmarks of the Occupy movement, I\'ll eat my hat.\r\n\r\nIf you stop and think about it, the first Occupier was Mary, the mother of Jesus.  After Gabriel told Mary she would bear the Son of God, she got excited visited her cousin Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.  When she walked into Elizabeth\'s presence, Luke tells us that the child who would become John the Baptist leapt within his mother\'s (Elizabeth) womb.  When Elizabeth told Mary what had happened, Mary responded with what has become with <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magnificat\" target=\"_blank\">the Magnificat</a>.  In that hymn, she says\r\n\r\n\"He shows mercy to everyone,\r\nfrom one generation to the next,\r\nwho honors him as God.\r\n<sup>51</sup> He has shown strength with his arm.\r\nHe has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.\r\n<sup>52</sup> He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones\r\nand lifted up the lowly.\r\n<sup>53</sup> He has filled the hungry with good things\r\nand sent the rich away empty-handed.\"\r\n\r\nThis song, sung by His mother sang even before He was born, speaks of how those on top (the rich and powerful) will be brought low and those on the bottom (the poor, the needy, the oppressed) will be raised up.  These words, spoken to a people suffering under the heel of one the most oppressive regimes the world has ever known, were a sorely needed balm.  They were words of hope; hope that, one day, things would be better.   While things today aren\'t anywhere near as bad as they were in first century Palestine, they aren\'t good.  The Roman boot isn\'t on our neck any longer; it\'s been replaced by a Gucci loafer.  Much like Palestine in Jesus\' day, we live and work under a system that stacks the deck against the masses and in favor of the rich and powerful.  And, just like in Jesus\'s day, there are people working to change that.  They would do well to remember the original Occupiers and follow their lead.','','','inherit','open','open','','3339-revision-4','','','2011-12-23 08:14:57','2011-12-23 16:14:57','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3339-revision-4/',0,'revision','',0),(3346,80,'2011-12-23 08:15:14','2011-12-23 16:15:14','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-3342\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051-300x112.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"300\" height=\"112\" /></a>Lately, I\'ve been catching some flack from people close to me.  Some of them have issues with a bumper sticker on my truck, the one you see in the picture at the beginning of this little ditty.  They didn\'t like it, they said, because I couldn\'t be sure it was the truth.  But, it is very much the truth; a truth that is attested to the Jesus\' birth, life and death.  He was born to a poor family, lived in an occupied country and was put to death by the state.  He\'s not just <em>with</em> the 99%; He <em>is</em> of the 99%. Jesus came into the world to bring hope to the poor, the needy and the oppressed; to bring justice to an unjust system; to show us that love and mercy are far more important that things.  If these aren\'t the hallmarks of the Occupy movement, I\'ll eat my hat.\r\n\r\nIf you stop and think about it, the first Occupier was Mary, the mother of Jesus.  After Gabriel told Mary she would bear the Son of God, she got excited visited her cousin Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.  When she walked into Elizabeth\'s presence, Luke tells us that the child who would become John the Baptist leapt within his mother\'s (Elizabeth) womb.  When Elizabeth told Mary what had happened, Mary responded with what has become with <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magnificat\" target=\"_blank\">the Magnificat</a>.  In that hymn, she says\r\n<blockquote>\"He shows mercy to everyone,\r\nfrom one generation to the next,\r\nwho honors him as God.\r\n<sup>51</sup> He has shown strength with his arm.\r\nHe has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.\r\n<sup>52</sup> He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones\r\nand lifted up the lowly.\r\n<sup>53</sup> He has filled the hungry with good things\r\nand sent the rich away empty-handed.\"</blockquote>\r\nThis song, sung by His mother sang even before He was born, speaks of how those on top (the rich and powerful) will be brought low and those on the bottom (the poor, the needy, the oppressed) will be raised up.  These words, spoken to a people suffering under the heel of one the most oppressive regimes the world has ever known, were a sorely needed balm.  They were words of hope; hope that, one day, things would be better.   While things today aren\'t anywhere near as bad as they were in first century Palestine, they aren\'t good.  The Roman boot isn\'t on our neck any longer; it\'s been replaced by a Gucci loafer.  Much like Palestine in Jesus\' day, we live and work under a system that stacks the deck against the masses and in favor of the rich and powerful.  And, just like in Jesus\'s day, there are people working to change that.  They would do well to remember the original Occupiers and follow their lead.','','','inherit','open','open','','3339-revision-5','','','2011-12-23 08:15:14','2011-12-23 16:15:14','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3339-revision-5/',0,'revision','',0),(3347,80,'2011-12-23 08:16:08','2011-12-23 16:16:08','<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051.jpg\"><img class=\"aligncenter size-medium wp-image-3342\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051-300x112.jpg\" alt=\"\" width=\"300\" height=\"112\" /></a>Lately, I\'ve been catching some flack from people close to me.  Some of them have issues with a bumper sticker on my truck, the one you see in the picture at the beginning of this little ditty.  They didn\'t like it, they said, because I couldn\'t be sure it was the truth.  But, it is very much the truth; a truth that is attested to the very nature of Jesus\' birth, life and death.  He was born to a poor family, lived in an occupied country and was put to death by the state.  He\'s not just <em>with</em> the 99%; He <em>is</em> of the 99%. Jesus came into the world to bring hope to the poor, the needy and the oppressed; to bring justice to an unjust system; to show us that love and mercy are far more important that things.  If these aren\'t the hallmarks of the Occupy movement, I\'ll eat my hat.\r\n\r\nIf you stop and think about it, the first Occupier was Mary, the mother of Jesus.  After Gabriel told Mary she would bear the Son of God, she got excited visited her cousin Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.  When she walked into Elizabeth\'s presence, Luke tells us that the child who would become John the Baptist leapt within his mother\'s (Elizabeth) womb.  When Elizabeth told Mary what had happened, Mary responded with what has become with <a href=\"http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magnificat\" target=\"_blank\">the Magnificat</a>.  In that hymn, she says\r\n<blockquote>\"He shows mercy to everyone,\r\nfrom one generation to the next,\r\nwho honors him as God.\r\n<sup>51</sup> He has shown strength with his arm.\r\nHe has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.\r\n<sup>52</sup> He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones\r\nand lifted up the lowly.\r\n<sup>53</sup> He has filled the hungry with good things\r\nand sent the rich away empty-handed.\"</blockquote>\r\nThis song, sung by His mother sang even before He was born, speaks of how those on top (the rich and powerful) will be brought low and those on the bottom (the poor, the needy, the oppressed) will be raised up.  These words, spoken to a people suffering under the heel of one the most oppressive regimes the world has ever known, were a sorely needed balm.  They were words of hope; hope that, one day, things would be better.   While things today aren\'t anywhere near as bad as they were in first century Palestine, they aren\'t good.  The Roman boot isn\'t on our neck any longer; it\'s been replaced by a Gucci loafer.  Much like Palestine in Jesus\' day, we live and work under a system that stacks the deck against the masses and in favor of the rich and powerful.  And, just like in Jesus\'s day, there are people working to change that.  They would do well to remember the original Occupiers and follow their lead.','','','inherit','open','open','','3339-revision-6','','','2011-12-23 08:16:08','2011-12-23 16:16:08','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3339-revision-6/',0,'revision','',0),(3348,1,'2011-12-23 10:10:41','2011-12-23 18:10:41','Lately, I\'ve been catching some flack from people close to me.  Some of them have issues with a bumper sticker on my truck, the one you see in the picture at the beginning of this little ditty.  They didn\'t like it, they said, because I couldn\'t be sure it was the truth.  But, it is very much the truth; a truth that is attested to the very nature of Jesus\' birth, life and death.  He was born to a poor family, lived in an occupied country and was put to death by the state.  He\'s not just <em>with</em> the 99%; He <em>is</em> the 99%. Jesus came into the world to bring hope to the poor, the needy and the oppressed; to bring justice to an unjust system; to show us that love and mercy are far more important that things.  If these aren\'t the hallmarks of the Occupy movement, I\'ll eat my hat.\n\n<a href=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051.jpg\"><img class=\"alignleft\" src=\"http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/DSCF00051-300x112.jpg\" alt=\"Joel Rieves\" width=\"300\" height=\"112\" /></a>If you stop and think about it, the first Occupier was Mary, the mother of Jesus.  After Gabriel told her she would bear the Son of God, she got excited and went to visit her cousin Elizabeth, who was also pregnant.  When she walked into Elizabeth\'s presence, Luke tells us that the child who would become John the Baptist leapt within his mother\'s (Elizabeth) womb.  When Elizabeth told Mary what had happened, Mary responded with what has become with the Magnificat (Luke 1:46-55).  In that hymn, she says\n<blockquote>\"He shows mercy to everyone,\nfrom one generation to the next,\nwho honors him as God.\n<sup>51</sup> He has shown strength with his arm.\nHe has scattered those with arrogant thoughts and proud inclinations.\n<sup>52</sup> He has pulled the powerful down from their thrones\nand lifted up the lowly.\n<sup>53</sup> He has filled the hungry with good things\nand sent the rich away empty-handed.\"\n\nFrom the Common English Bible</blockquote>\nThis song, sung by His mother sang even before He was born, speaks of how those on top (the rich and powerful) will be brought low and those on the bottom (the poor, the needy, the oppressed) will be raised up.  These words, spoken to a people suffering under the heel of one the most oppressive regimes the world has ever known, were a sorely needed balm.  They were words of hope; hope that, one day, things would be better.   While things today aren\'t anywhere near as bad as they were in first century Palestine, they aren\'t that good.  The Roman boot isn\'t on our neck any longer; it\'s been replaced by a Gucci loafer.  Much like Palestine in Jesus\' day, we live and work under a system that stacks the deck against the masses and in favor of the rich and powerful.  And, just like in Jesus\'s day, there are people working to change that.  They would do well to remember the original Occupiers and follow their lead.','The Original Occupiers','','inherit','open','open','','3339-autosave','','','2011-12-23 10:10:41','2011-12-23 18:10:41','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/2011/12/23/3339-autosave/',0,'revision','',0),(3364,1,'2011-12-23 10:12:55','2011-12-23 18:12:55','','mary_occupy','','inherit','open','open','','mary_occupy','','','2011-12-23 10:12:55','2011-12-23 18:12:55','',3339,'http://provoketive.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/mary_occupy.png',0,'attachment','image/png',0),(3952,64,'2012-01-11 13:16:48','2012-01-11 21:16:48','<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is a thoughtful experiment, one that challenges men and women of the 21<sup>st</sup> century church to shake off their old ideas about where women fit in the Church. In a charming and disarming style, Jim Henderson challenges the evangelical Church, its pastors and ministry leaders to start listening to the women in their lives, their daughters, wives, mothers and friends, and those women that work tirelessly by their side every day in the service of the Kingdom. (I was tempted to write \"their kingdom.\") Henderson, a spirited advocate for powerless people, has done the work for you. Through the narratives of fifteen women, he threads together themes that he found while listening. <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is a daring challenge to the Church to rethink the issue of women in ministry and issues a gentle threat for what may happen if you choose not to listen.\n\nWhile I do not doubt the sincerity of the author, the irony that lingered with me as I read the hundreds of pages of narrative is something Henderson alluded to himself that <strong><em>those with power</em></strong> don’t understand the necessity of the conversation.  I believe the very same people this book is challenging, made up their minds long ago (in seminary) and are unlikely to be swayed by the singularly sad stories of women, even women in their own church.  Through research done by the Barna Group the author has dug up another mostly silent, ever resilient group of people serving in the church -- <strong><em>the oblivious</em>,</strong> those who “drank the cool aid” long ago and trusted those with authority for their own beliefs.  They feel there is no need for this conversation either.\n\nMy personal experience has been that the more you challenge someone’s core belief the more rigid they become – asking who has the right to challenge long held “biblical” truths, certainly not women.\n\nKnowing the push back, Henderson valiantly reinforces through his stories  the idea that <strong><em>those without power</em></strong> are growing weary, doubtful and even suspicious of the Church.  And that women of faith and conscience who do choose to stay in the Church, are balancing on a tightrope every day; feel the tension between living with their convictions and the lingering thought of just not showing up.  Both options many days are simply untenable.  While <em>it seems that the only ones who do want this conversation are a small minority of mostly women whose theological views make them misfits in the evangelical church today I would encourage the reader to ask why?   </em>\n\n<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> is primarily written as a challenge to (male) pastors.  It is a grave warning with the promise or threat that if pastor’s are unwilling to rethink these issues, more and more women will simply leave the community of faith. If pastors are unwilling to listen and think, the threat is that more and more women will walk. Ultimately I don’t think your average pastor believes that, nor does he think this issue is important enough. As he reads <em>The Resignation of Eve</em>, he may be compelled by the stories and even feel genuinely bad for the women described in the book, still <em>for the most part your everyday mainline denominational male leader won’t be swayed by a bunch of stories about women. </em>Because this about more than just “Eve.” And that is a lingering, unanswered question in the book.\n\n<strong><em>We are talking about a culture that defies change. </em></strong>As they defend their point of view, today’s pastor believes they are protecting their church from culture creep. I agree with Tom Wright when he says that the authority of God is embodied in Jesus himself, not in the literal words of the Bible. But most pastors today would hold that the issue of women’s empowerment in the church is a <em>cultural phenomenon stemming from the evil of feminism and therefore must be stopped.</em> By choosing which verses in the Bible are cultural and which are not, they cherry-pick a more patriarchal view that I would contend is culturally inappropriate for the 21<sup>st</sup> century.  Take 1 Timothy for instance. Even if you interpret it <em>literally, </em>these are instructions and restrictions for the behavior of some women in the first century church.  Some churches prohibit women\'s leadership in churches because they use these verses to \"prove\" that God doesn\'t approve.  But they happily ignore the verses right beside them, about how women are adorned and how they should dress, saying that is cultural. When you read it with context, and contrast this text and other texts in the New Testament, I believe it requires the reader to listen to more than one or two voices speaking about the role of women.\n\nHenderson is quick to point to the other examples: Jesus’ treatment of women, women as apostles and teachers, women financing the ministry, women sitting at Jesus\' feet learning from him with the other disciples, a woman being the first to speak to Jesus after his Resurrection, all examples of empowering of women in the early church, which you can see if you don\'t restrict your reading to a few very restrictive sections.\n\nWise pastors must begin to recognize and listen to women’s voices in the church. And women must with discernment do their own homework!  The early church does not need to be prescriptive for how we run churches today, but this idea challenges the essence of how most pastors view scriptures.\n\n<em>The Resignation of Eve</em> acknowledges with compassion the tensions women face but the premise is unfair. We are dared to bolt from our churches and force the church’s hand, in order for them to somehow see how important we are. <em>But you must</em> <em>appreciate the tragic fact that this will be held against us.</em> The very nature of our character will be called into question, women who have faithfully worked, loved, served the Church for generations. This would be a heartbreaking ending to the story.\n\nWomen in the church today are being pulled between being perceived as unfaithfully driven by need for power and by living by our God-given convictions within the faith community.  Reading <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> I found myself utterly exhausted by the trouble the women must exert to be faithful in the church today. The intentions of this book are so good! But I was left with questions hanging.  The same question that I live with every day. Are men and women ready to have a serious conversation about the role of women in the church? Or will it, as I fear, fall on deaf ears because the Church, her pastors and ministry leaders have already made up their minds?\n\nIn the introduction Lynne Hybel’s message was liberating, as she flirts with women challenging us to \"<strong><em>take ourselves seriously.\"</em></strong>  I wanted to say “There are so many of us that do, Lynne, if only it were the same for men.” I do recommend this book to you because it does that most enigmatic and beautiful thing, it listens to women.  Whether you choose to eavesdrop on these stories in <em>The Resignation of Eve</em> or sit down for a cup of tea with an actual breathing woman in your life, I challenge to please, start listening.','The Resignation of Eve: A Review','','inherit','open','open','','3951-revision','','','2012-01-11 13:16:48','2012-01-11 21:16:48','',3951,'http://provoketive.com/2012/01/11/3951-revision/',0,'revision','',0),