Jennifer L. Wright's Blog, page 14

A Pinch of Salt Is All You Need

There’s a light at the end of the tunnel, folks.

Since my kids were born, we’ve been in the throes of “I won’t eat anything but chicken nuggets, macaroni and cheese, and peanut butter sandwiches.” Try as I might to introduce them to different foods, my kids would, without fail, take the one required bite of any new dish, declare it to be disgusting, and either retreat from the table without eating (on a strong parenting day) or wait for me to prepare one of their “approved” foods (on a weak parenting day).

But my ten year-old son is FINALLY becoming more adventurous with his eating habits. He’ll now eat cheeseburgers (yes, you read that right–my kids wouldn’t even eat CHEESEBURGERS before now) and lasagna (regular AND spinach lasagna!). He devoured a whole plate of hot wings last weekend (mild, of course). And, because she wants to do everything her big brother does, my daughter is slowly starting to follow suit.

While this is great news for both my cooking duties and their nutrition, the edible escapades in our home have not come without a few lessons. A few nights ago, after watching my husband sprinkle a bit of salt and pepper upon his corn, my son decided he wanted to try some, too. And, of course, he had to put it on himself.

“Just a little bit,” I told him. “A little goes a long–“

But it was too late. He’d already dumped half the shaker of salt onto his kernels.

Seeing my face, he stuck out his chin and boldly declared he had meant to do that; he liked a lot of salt on his food. Keep in mind, my son had never salted any food in his life, and I use very little salt when cooking because I personally don’t like the taste. But, to a ten-year old, there is nothing more important than saving face. So he gathered the ear in his fingers; With a look of pure grit, he took a huge bite…

…and promptly started to gag.

I’m guessing he won’t be asking to salt his food again any time soon.

This funny (although not for my son!) little anecdote made me think about Jesus’s words on the Sermon on the Mount, when he declares his followers to be the “salt of the earth.”(See Matthew 5:13) So much has been written about what this means and its ramifications for those of us seeking to be obedient to Christ. Salt as a preservative, as an example, that keeps meat from spoiling, much as Jesus does the same for our souls and we are called to help reduce the decay of the world around us by spreading the gospel.

But seeing my son spit out too much salt made me think of the command in a whole new way.

Salt gives flavor (just ask my son!). As Christians, acting as the “salt of earth” involves “flavoring” the world around us. We do this by living, not for ourselves, but for Christ: in service to others, not ourselves. It means using whatever gifts God has given us to bless others. (See 1 Peter 4:10) Just your taste buds perk up when they discover a bit of salt on an otherwise bland piece of food, so our culture will take notice when someone living in a way contrary to cultural norms–in service rather than selfishness, in restraint rather than over-indulgence–makes an appearance in their lives. The way of Christ is so radically different than the ways of the world, people can’t help but pay attention when a true follower of Jesus makes his or her presence known through loving, sacrificial actions.

I think that’s the way all Christians want live. I do. Those of us whose hearts have been radically altered by an encounter with Jesus can’t help but want to live in obedience to Him. We want to love. We want to serve. We want to bless.

It’s just that the world makes is so doggone hard sometimes, doesn’t it?

It’s so easy to look at humanity at large and see only its brokenness. We witness evil every single day, whether it be on the news, in our community, or–tragically–inside our own homes. Social media and news sites are full of stories of pure ugliness. Go to the grocery store–heck, you might not even have to go that far; just look at those around you on the DRIVE to the grocery store–and you’ll witness all kinds of selfish, inconsiderate, self-serving behavior. Sometimes, if we’re honest, we even see those same attitudes in ourselves.

Some days, our culture seems too far gone to save.

But that’s when I think back to the salt incident with my son. “A little goes a long way,” I told him (or, rather, tried to tell him). We are imperfect people. And yet, as Christians, we are also the salt of the earth. In Matthew 5:13, Jesus didn’t say to be the salt of the earth; He said, as His followers, we already are. It is our identity in Him. No matter how messed up the world is out there; no matter how messed up our hearts are in here. When we accept Christ and receive the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, we become the salt of the earth.

And a little bit of salt goes a long way.

I may not be able to change the culture at large. But I can make small choices every day that flavor the world around me. I can hold the door open for the lady at the store whose hands are full. I can let someone who has a smaller order go ahead of me in the checkout line. I can pay it forward at the drive-through. I can choose not to participate in gossip. I can send an encouraging card or text. I can post a praise rather than a problem on social media. I can sweep my neighbor’s walk while I’m out sweeping my own.

None of these actions are going to change the world. But I can guarantee it will cause those involved to take notice. You never know what small acts of obedience will open the door to people’s hearts. Picking up trash along a walk in my neighborhood may not cause anyone to have a radical conversion, but it may lead to an inkling. A question. A conversation.

You, my friends, are the salt of the earth. And, when used, a little bit of salt goes a long way.

Just ask my son.

When The Third Time’s NOT a Charm

Blink and you’ll miss it.

Codell is a small farming community much like many others scattered throughout Kansas. Located in the windswept prairie north of Hays (and the bustling traffic of Interstate 70), Codell was established as a railroad town in 1887 and once boasted hundreds of houses, a school, multiple churches as well as a business district with a bank, telephone central office, lumber yard, grain elevator, stores, a doctor, and a barber. But, also like other small towns in the area, time has not been kind. Census estimates put the population now at barely 100. Most businesses have closed. The railroad was long-since abandoned.

Codell is, for the most part, another forgotten piece of Americana.

Except for one very distinct difference.

Once a year, on May 20, former residents and visitors flock to Codell to remember ‘Cyclone Day,’ an event commemorated at what used to be the town’s high school. Attendees gather around a steel sculpture of a tornado with three dates etched onto its concrete base: 1916, 1917, 1918. They pause to remember and reflect, to share memories of those who survived and those were lost, on the most bizarre and horrific of coincidences.

Because on May 20, for three straight years–1916, 1917, and 1918–Codell was struck by tornadoes.

In 1916, the first tornado (which residents of the time referred to as ‘cyclones’) formed three miles south of Codell. Estimated as an F2, with winds of 113 to 157 miles an hour, the funnel struck the east side of town. The Topeka Daily Capital estimated damage around $12,000, with destruction confined mainly to farm buildings.

The second tornado, in 1917, was classified as an F3, with winds of 158 to 206 miles an hour. It hit west of town, again sparing lives and most property.

When May 20, 1918 rolled around, it was no wonder residents were on edge. Although the first two twisters had been mercifully minor in scope and damage, “ss a kid, I was always afraid when May the 20th came around,” former Codell resident Sharolyn Lamb-Gramm told the Hays Daily News in 2018.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t a fear that would go unfounded.

“When the last tornado struck, it hit right down the middle of the town, and wiped out most of our buildings,” Codell resident Joel Russell told the same publication. “It hit our schoolhouse, houses and a lot of the larger businesses. After that, many businesses left and many businesses were hesitant to move to town.”

The 1918 twister was the strongest yet, an F4, with winds of 207 to 260 miles an hour. It left a path of destruction 35 miles along that went right through the center of Codell.

Celesta Adams Glendening lived in Codell at the time and later wrote about the experience in an essay entitled “Cyclone Day.”

Unable to make it to their storm cellar due to the intensity of the storm, Glendening recalled huddling in the kitchen with her family. “Thunder roared, lightning flashed, rain and hail beat against the windows with such force that I knew they would break,” Celesta Glendening wrote.

“We smelled wet plaster, heard nails pulling out of the wood and heard wood breaking. … The house had an upstairs in it, and they told us afterward that the floor of the house was completely covered with debris, all except the small area where we stood. … The house was gone all except the floor, and we had stood up all the time.”

She writes of holding her youngest, Max, in a quilt in her arms as the storm raged over head:

″… Max was still wrapped in the quilt and I was still holding him tight, when all of a sudden he was gone. … Grandpa says I went berserk and tore his shirt completely off of him, as he tried to hold me and, of course, he was holding Worden, and I tried to get away to go find my baby. Grandpa says he finally just pushed me down on the floor, and in a flash of lightning, we saw Max sitting up just a few feet off the floor.”

The child, miraculously, did not a single scratch on his body from the experience.

The same could not be said for Codell.

The town was practically wiped off the face of the earth. Most buildings were demolished, including the school house, businesses, and homes. Ten people were killed and dozens more injured. Although some residents chose to stay behind and rebuilt, many others jumped ship, abandoning what was left of their homestead and livelihoods. The small farming community never truly recovered.

But those who remain–and those who remember–still gather every May 20 to commemorate the town’s unbelievable and nightmarish claim to fame, when the town that was barely a pinprick on the map somehow became a big, glaring bullseye–three times in a row–for nature’s horrific fury.

My Birthright for Some Stew!

“I would sell my soul for a piece of chocolate right now.”

Okay, we all know this a figure of speech. No one would actually sell their soul for food, right? (Although I admit, there were times during the worst of my pregnancy cravings I might have come pretty doggone close!)

But we all know, when it comes down to it, the value of our souls. As Christians, we know our souls have so much value that God sent his Son to die for their redemption (See John 3:16). Our souls aren’t valuable simply because of what they are but whose they are and, by default, the identity they assume once declared righteous: the place they take within the family of the redeemed.

You see, pretty early on, God established pretty on the importance of being in the line of inheritance of those to whom the promise of salvation had been made (see Genesis 17 and 21). The promise was made to Abraham initially but it was through God’s selection–Isaac, not Ishmael–that the line continued and, along with it, the inheritance. As believers, we were adopted into this line of inheritance once we professed faith in Christ.

“If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” (Galatians 3:29) And, later in that same letter: “So you are no longer a slave, but a son; and since you are a son, God has made you also an heir.” (4:7)

And this isn’t the only instance where Scripture makes sure we know our place.

“The Spirit himself testifies with our spirit that we are God’s children. Now if we are his children, then we are heirs–heirs of God and co-heirs with Christ…” (Romans 8:16-17a)

“…giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light.” (Colossians 1:12)

Whether Jew or Gentile, man or woman, firstborn or last born–none of it matters anymore. Unlike in the times of the Old Testament, we no longer have to worry about our bloodlines because it is no longer our blood that determines our inheritance but Jesus’s!

“He redeemed us in order that the blessing given to Abraham might come to the Gentiles through Christ Jesus, so that by faith we might receive the promise of the Spirit.” (Galatians 3:14).

Because of Jesus, we now have a “divine birthright.” We are God’s children and, with that, heirs to the promise of salvation, mercy, and grace. We have hit the familial jackpot, for all intents and purposes.

Why in the world would we ever “despise” that jackpot? Why would we ever give it up? On paper, we wouldn’t; nothing on earth could ever come close to the rewards waiting for us in heaven.

But, in the daily grind of real life….

It takes me back to the story of Jacob and Esau found in Genesis 25. Jacob and Esau were twin brothers born to Rebekah and Isaac (the son of Abraham, for all those keeping track of the genealogy). Although twins, Esau was born first and, according to customs of the time, would stand to inherit headship of the family as well as a double portion of any financial assets. Keep this in mind as we pick up an important and life-changing part of their story in verse 27:

“The boys grew up, and Esau became a skillful hunter, a man of the open country, while Jacob was a quiet man, staying among the tents. Isaac, who had a taste for wild game, loved Esau, but Rebekah loved Jacob. Once when Jacob was cooking some stew, Esau came in from the open country, famished. He said to Jacob, ‘Quick, let me have some of that red stew! I’m famished!’…Jacob replied, ‘First sell me your birthright.’ ‘Look, I am about to die,’ Esau said. ‘What good is the birthright to me?’ But Jacob said, ‘Swear to me first.’ So he swore an oath to him, selling his birthright to Jacob. Then Jacob gave Esau some bread and some lentil stew. He ate and drank, and then got up and left. So Esau despised his birthright.” (verses 27-34)

Now, there is lots to discuss in this portion of Scripture about Jacob and the way he manipulated and connived his way to a birthright that wasn’t his own (or was it?). And if you go on reading in Genesis, you’ll see the Jacob most certainly pays the price for his underhandedness. But that’s not what we’re focused on here. Here, we’re focused on Esau and how readily–and easily–he gave up his inheritance….

…for bread and lentil stew.

Think of all Esau stood to inherit. Though maybe modest by today’s standards, what lay at stake was no small thing back in those days. Land. Livestock. People. Status. Money. Not to mention the promise made to Abraham by the Lord Himself.

And he gave it all up because he was hungry. He despised (literally “held in contempt,” meaning he gave little regard something that should have been highly regarded). Keep in mind, Esau’s birthright was a gift. He did nothing to earn it; rather, it was given to him as a blessing because of who he was.

An eternal blessing he readily gave up to satisfy temporary cravings.

As Christians, we have also been given an eternal blessing, a gift which we have not earned but has been bestowed upon us because of who we are–God’s children. And how many times each day do we “despise” that gift, giving it way less regard than it deserves?

Any time that we choose sin or fleshly desires over obedience to the Spirit, we are “despising our birthright” as God’s heirs. Our weakness may not be bread and lentil stew (though hunger is a real and powerful force that can tempt us into sin), but there are other appetites that may cause us to disregard our true identities in Christ. Lust, pride, anger, jealousy, revenge, sloth–any time we choose to indulge one of these sins rather than deny our flesh and follow Jesus, we are disrespecting, not only His work on the cross, but also our own birthrights which He shed His blood to secure.

We have a “glorious inheritance” (Ephesians 1:18) awaiting us, one in which nothing on this earth can ever hope to come close. So why do we so often readily treat it with scorn, if not in words then in our actions? Our inheritance leads us to joy, hope, love, and eternal life; our flesh leads only to sin and death (see James 1: 14-15).

Therefore I urge you, fellow believers, to remember who you are in Christ and the beautiful promise for which He died in order to include you. Temptation is strong, but our God is stronger. May we never despise who He has made us to be or the gift He has so graciously given. Let us not be like Esau, rejecting our eternal for an appeasement of the temporary. Instead, let us “be on [our] guard; stand firm in the faith; be men of courage; be strong.” (1 Corinthians 16:13)

Because one day, we will take possession of our portion, our heritage, our full inheritance. John Calvin wrote: “We do not have the full enjoyment of it [our inheritance] at present. . . . We walk . . . in hope, and we do not see the thing as if it were present, but we see it by faith. . . . Although, then, the world gives itself liberty to trample us under foot, as they say…yet we are not destitute of a good remedy. And why Seeing that the Holy Spirit reigns in our hearts, we have something for which to give praise even in the midst of all our temptations. . . . [Therefore,] we should rejoice, mourn, grieve, give thanks, be content, wait” (from Calvin’s Ephesian sermons, delivered in Geneva, 1558—59).

This Is Berlin Calling…

In the height of the Second World War, exhausted American soldiers hunker in their makeshift camps. They are dirty and exhausted, not just from the day’s battle, but from years of continuous warfare. Friends have been lost. Comrades have been maimed. And home–America–has never felt further away.

Someone pulls out a radio. The upbeat melody of a familiar tune–Duke Ellington, perhaps?–begins to float among the soldiers. As the horns start to fade, the soothing voices of the Andrews Sisters waft out to take their place. The men are still bloodied. They are still hungry. They are still tired, battered, and in the middle of a war zone. But, for those few moments, they begin to relax. They feel, at last, as if they are home.

And then she starts to talk.

“This is Berlin calling,” comes the sultry, soothing female voice. “And I’d just like to say that when Berlin calls, it pays to listen.”

So began the nightly charade of Axis Sally, as she was known to American troops. In between playing swing and jazz music–which the Americans loved but Nazis hated–she would denounce the Jews and Franklin Roosevelt, on whom she blamed the war. She would tell the Americans they were fighting on the wrong side; the Germans were actually their friends. She would remind the troops of the good life waiting for them back at home, if they made it there. And if, she often hinted, their wives and girlfriends hadn’t run off with other men.

Typical German propaganda. Except the woman speaking wasn’t German.

“Axis Sally” was actually Mildred Sisk, born in 1900 in Portland, Maine. In 1911, her mother married Robert Bruce Gillars, and she took his surname, becoming Mildred Gillars. Her stepfather was an abusive man, and Mildred’s childhood was marked by trauma; it’s no wonder she found herself drawn to acting and a world of make-believe. Later, she attended Ohio Wesleyan University, where she studied drama, though she left without graduating and moved to New York in hopes of making it big.

It didn’t work out.

Frustrated, Mildred abandoned New York and followed a lover to Algiers before ultimately leaving him to travel Europe with her mother. The pair ended up in Berlin in 1934, just as Adolf Hitler was proclaiming himself absolute dictator of Germany. Sensing a stench on the air, Mildred’s mother returned back to the States; Mildred, on the other, having nothing to return to (at least in her mind) decided to remain in Berlin to study music. She found at job at the Berliz School teaching English and writing film and theater reviews for Variety. In 1940, she took a job at the Reichs-Rundfunk-Gesellschaft, or German State Radio Corporation.

By this point, the Nazi propaganda machine was already a well-oiled beast with Minister Josef Goebbels at its helm. Goebbels saw not only the value of propaganda but its power as well–if done correctly. After all, it was propaganda that had led to the Nazis rise in power in the first place. Print was important, yes, but it was radio, Goebbels believed, that would have the biggest effect on the outcome of the war. Short-wave radio had an enormous reach and was being used by both Axis and Allied forces to reach listeners throughout Europe and across the Atlantic.

But being barked at in German or, worse, in English with a heavy German accent, did not have the effect on Americans Goebbels was looking for. He knew he needed that in order to reach Americans, he needed to appeal to American culture through both speech and music. And, as luck would have it, there was an American woman working for the German State Radio at just that very moment.

Under the guidance of Max Otto Koischwitz (with whom she became romantically involved), Gillars began starring in several propaganda shows aimed at the dismantling the morale of American troops. Her most regular was entitled Home Sweet Home, and intended to undermine the fears of troops far from home. In addition to stoking fears about unfaithful wives and girlfriends, the broadcast tried to make soldiers feel doubt about their mission, their leaders, and their prospects after the war. Other programs included Midge at the Mike, which contained more direct defeatist propaganda against Jews and President Roosevelt, and G.I.’s Letterbox and Medical Reports, which was directed at the U.S. stateside audience and used information on wounded and captured U.S. airmen to cause fear and worry in their families. Gillars often addressed American women in these broadcast; she felt she relate and reach these women in an impactful way because she was one of these women.

“Good evening, women of America,” she said during one of her shows. “As you know, as time goes on, I think of you more and more. I can’t somehow seem to get you out of my head. You women in America, waiting for the one you love, waiting and weeping in the secrecy of your own room, thinking of the husband, the son, or the brother who is being sacrificed by Franklin D. Roosevelt, perishing on the fringes of Europe…”

Though the content and audience of each program differed, the goal was always the same: to sow discontent and defeat into the hearts of the American people.

One program, however, went above and beyond the usual repertoire.

On May 11, 1944, just a few weeks prior to the D-Day invasion, German State Radio aired a program entitled Vision of Invasion.’ Written by Koischwitz, Gillars starred as Evelyn, a mother in Ohio who, in a dream, sees her son dying a horrific death on landing craft in the English Channel during an attempted invasion on Europe. Sounds of agonized screams and bombs could be heard in the background of the performance. It was a chilling and gruesome production…..

…and one that landed Gillars in a whole heap of trouble at war’s end.

U.S. Army Counter Intelligence Corps caught up with ‘Axis Sally’ in 1946, despite her attempts to blend in with the other displaced people amassing throughout Europe. She was held in internment camps until she was brought back to the U.S. to face trial in 1948, where she faced 10 counts of treason (though it was eventually reduced to eight). She was found guilty of only one–for her role in Vision of Invasion. She was fined $10,000 and sentenced to 10 to 30 years in prison; she was the first woman ever convicted of treason against the United States.

Gillars served her sentence at the Federal Reformatory for Women in Alders, West Virginia. During her time behind bars, she converted to Catholicism and, upon her release in 1961 after serving 12 years, the Catholic Church arranged for her to live at the Our Lady of Bethlehem Convent in Columbus, Ohio. She taught German, French, and music at nearby St. Joseph Academy and even ended up going back to Ohio Wesleyan University in 1973 to complete her degree–a Bachelor of Arts in speech.

Those around her claim they had no idea about her past life until after her death in 1988.

Gillars ‘legacy is complicated one. On one hand, she claimed she toed the line, always careful that what she said never crossed the line into treason, that she stayed in Germany (and her job) for the man she loved, and that she had no knowledge about the true atrocities of Nazi Germany (including the “Final Solution”). On the flip side, one woman who was close to Gillars during her time in Columbus said that one of Gillars’ most prized possession was a cup that had been given to her by Heinrich Himmler, the head of the SS.

So, who was the real Axis Sally? We may never know. But what can be certain is that the program, which aired its final broadcast on this day in 1945, made a lasting impression on its listeners.

Just not the one Goebbels intended.

Writing to the Saturday Evening Post, Corporal Edward Van Dyke said, “Sally is a dandy. The sweetheart of the Armed Forces. She plays nothing but swing and good swing…We get an enormous bang out of her. We love her. ‘That’s all boys,’ she coos at the end of each broadcast, ‘and a sweet kiss from Sally.’ Well, Sally,” he added, “we’ll be in Berlin soon with a great big kiss for you…if you have any kisser left.”

The Worst (and Best) Gift I Ever Received

I don’t remember a lot about my childhood birthdays but there is one particular moment from one particular birthday that lingers even now, over thirty years later. One of those “flashbulb” memories, if you will.

It was my sixth birthday, and my parents threw a large bonfire-type get together with my entire extended family. The celebration was held in our barn, and there was hot dogs and s’mores over an open fire, a hayride with all my cousins, and lots nighttime hide-and-seek in the fields surrounding our house. One of the best types of birthdays, in my opinion.

But what stands out the most to me was one particular gift I received from my grandmother. She was always a sweet, thoughtful woman, who gave the best presents. I always looked forward to hers the most. So it was with no shortage of anticipation that I ripped off the blue wrapping paper–yep, still remember that it was blue–……to find a Mr. Coffee coffee pot.

A coffee pot.

For a 6 year-old.

Tears welled up in my eyes. My grandmother’s present, the one I’d been looking forward to the most, had disappointed in a MAJOR way. Yes, there were other presents. But this was my grandma. I adored her and I thought she adored me….and then she showed up at my party with the most baffling and inconsiderate gift (not even my PARENTS drank coffee!) I remember thrusting the box at my mom and rushing from the barn.

To make a long story short, it took over thirty minutes for my mother to, first of all, FIND me, and then convince me to come back to the barn and open the coffee pot box.

Because it wasn’t a coffee pot, of course. My grandma had simply used that to package the gift. Inside was the most beautiful piggy bank full of money. Not just one gift but TWO.

Gifts I viewed as worthless and nearly rejected…all because of the packaging.

We humans are so fickle, aren’t we?

When Jesus came to earth, His “packaging” wasn’t exactly what the Jews had been expecting. As foretold by the prophet Isaiah, “he had no beauty or majesty to attract us to him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him. He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering. Like one from whom men hide their faces he was despised, and we esteemed him not.” (53:2b-3)

Jesus didn’t look like the Messiah. He didn’t act like the Messiah. (At least according to the wisest men of the times). Even one of his soon-to-be disciples asked upon hearing about Him, “Nazareth! Can anything good come from there?” (John 1: 46) The greatest gift God ever gave mankind was rejected and counted as worthless. So much so that He was put to death for not just failing expectations, but offending them.

It wasn’t until after His resurrection that His true worth was revealed.

As with anything within the pages of Scripture, it’s easy to put down the people of Jesus’s time as foolish or ignorant. We think that we ourselves would never miss out on God in the flesh standing right in front of us. But even those of us now who have the benefit of hindsight through the lens of the Resurrection sometimes reject Jesus.

And I’m not just talking about atheists and non-believers.

“If we deliberately keep on sinning after we have received the knowledge of the truth, no sacrifice for sins is left, but only a fearful expectation of judgment and of raging fire that will consume the enemies of God. Anyone who rejected the law of Moses died without mercy on the testimony of two or three witnesses. How much more severely do you think a man deserves to be punished who has trampled the Son of God under foot, who has treated as an unholy thing the blood of the covenant that sanctified him, and who has insulted the Spirit of grace?” (Hebrews 10: 26-29, emphasis mine).

The use of the word “trampled” in the verse above has the Greek connotation of scorn or counting something as worthless. The implication here is that those of us who have seen the light and accepted the salvation offered by Jesus–but yet keep on living a life of sin–have, in a sense, rejected His work on the cross. We’ve counted as worthless the blood He spilled.

You see, once we come to faith in Jesus, we are freed from the bondage of sin. Jesus gave His life for ours–and now our lives belong to Him. If we profess Him as Lord then deliberately go right back into our sin, we are “trampling” on the work of the cross. He died so we can choose a better way. Choosing a life instead marked by sin is, in a sense, saying that sin is better.

You may never say it with your lips, but your actions speak loud and clear: Jesus’s sacrifice was worthless.

It’s a hard and extremely convicting truth to hear. Every time I choose my sin–because let’s be honest, sin is a choice; I know right and choose wrong–I am rejecting Jesus’s work on the cross as not enough.

“Yes, Jesus, I know You’ve freed me, but look at this shiny, pretty sin over here. I think I want that more.”

“Yes, Jesus, I know You’ve given me everything, but what I really want is this thing over that I know is bad for me but just looks so darn tempting.”

I’m rejecting His gift and choosing another one for myself. One that in no way, shape, or form will ever measure up to the true worth of the one He’s already given me.

It’s just like my “coffee pot” all those years ago. I rejected that box based on its appearance, not knowing the true value of the gift inside. From the outside, Christianity can look like a bunch of out-dated, out-of-touch rules and regulations; why would I want Truth with a capital “T” when I can just make up my own based on my feelings? It’s not until you dig deep–open the box–that you discover the true merit within: a relationship with the One who made you, knows You, and loves you so much that He was willing to die for you.

Jesus is a lot of things. But worthless isn’t one of them. Let us not count His sacrifice as cheap, His gift as paltry, by either rejecting Him outright or–worse–accepting Him and then refusing to let go of our sin. No matter how appealing that sin may look on the outside, I can guarantee that the treasure inside that “ugly old coffee box” of Jesus, is much, much better.

Even better than a piggy bank full of money.

3-2-1, Action…or Explosion!

In 1945, the world witnessed the true power of nuclear weapons when two atomic bombs were dropped on Japan, one on Hiroshima on August 6, and on Nagasaki three days later. Realizing the potential (and perhaps ramifications) of such a weapon, at the war’s end, the United States created the Atomic Energy Commission (AEC) to both study and develop atomic science and technology. Although the Manhattan Project had successfully tested the world’s first nuclear bomb in the New Mexico desert, the AEC knew a more long-term, permanent testing area would need to be established in order carry out more tests and maintain the level of secrecy required as the Cold War era dawned.

On December 18, 1950, President Harry Truman authorized the establishment of a 680 square mile portion of the Las Vegas Bombing and Gunnery Range, just 65 miles northwest of Las Vegas, Nevada, as the Nevada Proving Ground, which would be under the management of the AEC. Just a little over a month later, on January 27, 1951, nuclear testing at the NTS officially began with the detonation of Shot Able, a 1-kiloton bomb that became the first air-dropped nuclear device to be exploded on American soil.

And the testing only exploded (no pun intended) from there.

Between 1951 and 1992, when the last nuclear explosion was conducted, over 1,000 nuclear tests were conducted on the Proving Grounds. Although technically “top secret,” mushroom clouds and seismic activity could be seen and felt in nearby Las Vegas. And the City of Sin has never been known for keeping things quiet.

Rumors and rumblings of explosions in the desert began to expand and caught the attention of KTLA station manager Klaus Chambers. Intrigued, in February of 1951, he sent a crew from Los Angeles to Las Vegas in hopes of catching one of these mushroom clouds on air. Since the crew wasn’t able to get anywhere near the testing grounds, reporter Stan Chambers and crew secretly positioned a camera on top of a high-rise hotel and aimed their camera northwest.

And then they waited.

And waited. And waited.

At approximately 5:30 AM on February 1, a B-50 bomber dropped a Ranger Easy Bomb with a 1-kiloton payload 65 miles northwest of Las Vegas. Live images of the explosion went from Chambers’ camera to KTLA’s transmitter on Mount Wilson Observatory over 200 miles away and then right into the homes of viewers in Los Angeles (those who were awake and watching at the early morning hour).

“We stayed on the air,” Chambers recalled later. “They waited for the right time, and all of a sudden there was the flash. The people watched it. Gil [Martin, KTLA anchor] described. [Robin] Lane [KTLA station staffer] talked about it, and that was our telecast. That one flash. You just this blinding white light. It didn’t seem real. We didn’t have videotape. You couldn’t say, ‘Let’s see that again.'”

One and done. No instant replay. No analyzing. No endless loops. Either you saw it or you didn’t.

But enough people saw it to get tongues wagging even outside of the Nevada desert.

The U.S. government’s top secret project wasn’t so secret any longer.

Because of this, in early 1952, the Atomic Energy Commission decided to permit press coverage and a live coast-to-coast television broadcast of its next atomic bomb test. By this time, the U.S. was embroiled in another conflict, and it was thought that a televised explosion would build public support and show how an atomic weapon could save the lives of thousands of American soldiers if and when it was deployed in battle. As such, the military decided to go all out with the test; “for the first time,” according to History, “ground and airborne troops would conduct military maneuvers on a simulated nuclear battlefield after the blast. Fifteen hundred soldiers would be crouched in 4-foot-deep trenches just four miles from “ground zero,” closer than American troops had ever been to a blast zone. Plans called for the detonation to occur 3,500 feet above the desert, a record altitude for a nuclear test, in order to prevent the ground to be crossed by the soldiers from becoming highly radioactive.”

The logistics of broadcasting such an event, however, proved monumental. Nevertheless, KTLA–who had “broken” the story only a year earlier–was more than up for the challenge. Klaus Landsberg and his team established a 300-mile microwave system over a chain of mountain peaks between the testing ground and Los Angeles, the longest ever attempted by a television station at the time. Six cameras would cover the event, which would then be simulcast on the major networks.

Before sunrise on April 22, 1952, a caravan of journalists traveled from Las Vegas to the nuclear testing ground at Yucca Flat. On a rugged collection of rocks just ten miles from ground zero–dubbed “News Nob”–hundreds of journalists, photographers, and broadcasters took out notebooks and set up cameras, preparing for “Operation Big Shot.” At just before 9:30 AM, 9:30 a.m. a B-50 bomber released a 33-kiloton bomb, more powerful than those dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, from 30,000 feet above their heads.

United Press International’s Hugh Baille described the ensuing flash as if “hell burst from the skies.” Gene Sherman of the Los Angeles Times called the shock wave “the lash of an invisible giant whip” and described a “weirdly, devastatingly beautiful white cloud [that] rose then from a detached white stalk. It churned with purple, yellow, and red.”

Viewers at home, however, saw none of this.

In the era of black and white televisions, millions of Americans saw not a cloud of purple, yellow, and red. They didn’t even see a flash. The blast was intense it temporarily blinded the camera, resulting in an optical malfunction in which the audience saw a tiny pinpoint of white light in a screen full of darkness. In addition, “the power supply at News Nob failed less than 15 minutes before the blast, knocking the closet cameras out of service. As a result, a more remote camera on Mount Charleston, 40 miles away from the Yucca Flat, captured the blast until power was finally restored and the News Nob cameras turned on to give viewers a closer look as the mushroom cloud blossomed. Normal programming was resumed before the all-clear was given and paratroopers jumped from planes and soldiers emerged from the trenches to simulate a battle in ‘ground zero.'” (History)

The U.S. Government’s “atomic open house,” at least according to most viewers and, later, Billboard magazine, was a dud.

But rather than cause Americans to lose interest, the broadcast only seemed to heighten it. Over 35 million people tuned in to watch, and the Yucca Flats explosion of April 22 became the first of many televised explosions over the next several years, including the infamous and chilling “Annie” test of March 1953, in which millions of Americans were able to witness the effects a 16-kiloton nuclear explosion upon a “typical American town” built in Yucca Flats for the experiment.

The age of the atomic bomb was here. And thanks in part to television, people were able to see firsthand that it wasn’t necessarily a great thing.

Holy Week Hiatus

#wellnesswednesday is on hiatus this week as I spend this Holy Week with my family and in reflection of the love and sacrifice of my Savior.

May you be blessed this Easter season.

“For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.” -Colossians 1: 13-14

The Spanish Artist and the German Dog

The door to the studio was shut tight.  Inside, Pablo Picasso, one of the most famous artists of the 20th century, was hard at work on his latest masterpiece—and he was not to be disturbed.  Lump (pronounced “loomp”) was not discouraged.  He pushed his way inside and dropped a stone at the feet of the painter, tail wagging expectantly.  Picasso, interrupted in mid-stroke, smiled at the dachshund and kicked the stone, sending Lump running after it.

So was a typical day in the life of the Spanish painter and his German dog.  Although Picasso was extremely private and withdrawn, even with friends and family, someone did manage to get close to him, spending his days eating off his plate, watching him paint, and curling up in his lap.  That someone was Lump, a German-born dachshund who arrived at Picasso’s home one day with a photographer—and promptly decided to stay.

Picasso’s life was marked by great violence and political changes.  He lived in Europe and saw firsthand the destruction of war, such as World War I, World War II, and the Spanish Civil War.  He lost family and countless friends to these conflicts, and it changed him forever. Finding solace in work, he created over 50,000 paintings, drawings, sculptures, and poems during his lifetime.  This obsession with art, in addition to the horrors he witnessed during the wars, caused Picasso to become extremely solitary and withdrawn.  He and his wife Jacqueline retreated to the French countryside where they could live and work in private.

 And then, one spring morning in 1957, Picasso’s friend, David Douglas Duncan, stopped by for a visit with his dog, Lump.  Now, Picasso was no stranger to animals.  He often worked animals into his art and had several animals around the house, including a dog named Yan, whom he practically ignored.  Animals were, for the most part, objects to be painted, not living things to be cuddled and cared for.  But, for some reason, he was immediately smitten with the little German dachshund.  He surprised his wife by taking Lump into his arms.  He surprised her even more when he allowed the dog to stay behind once his “owner” had left.  Lump had somehow, in the course of one day, entered Picasso’s very small inner circle of friends.

Lump became a constant companion to the great painter.  He was often found in Picasso’s lap, eating off of his plate.  He was one of the very few who was allowed into Picasso’s studio and spent many hours there simply watching the man work on his latest masterpiece.  Lump was also one of the even fewer who was allowed to interrupt. Dropping a rock at Picasso’s feet and having him kick it was one of his favorite games.  And, surprisingly, the work-a-holic often took a break from his art to play with Lump.

Picasso, however, was an artist to his core, and he could not separate his work from his relationships.  So it should come as no surprise that his relationship with Lump became a part of his art.  He painted Lump into his variations of Velázquez’s Las Meninas, replacing the large manly-looking dog with a long, sausage-shaped one.  

He also made art for Lump.  On the day they met, Picasso asked Mr. Duncan if Lump had ever had his own plate.  When told no, Picasso proceeded to paint a portrait of Lump on the very plate off of which he had just eaten.  This plate is now housed in the Harry Ransom Center in Texas as a valuable piece of art.  In addition, when Picasso discovered that Lump had lived in an apartment most of his life and had never seen a rabbit, he fashioned one out of an old pastry box and laughed with glee as Lump promptly destroyed it.  It might have been the only time Picasso laughed at destroyed art!

Pablo Picasso, who passed away on this day in 1973, is remembered by millions as one of the most influential artists of the 20th century.  However, he is remembered by those who knew him best, such as his good friend Mr. Duncan, as a “one-man solar system powered by a single energy source—work,” which included no one but his wife Jacqueline and, incredibly, Lump, who also passed away in 1973.          

So what was it about the German dog that so fascinated the Spanish painter?  Picasso would only say, slyly, “Lump, he’s not a dog, he’s not a little man, he’s something else.”  And, thanks to his presence in Picasso’s life and art, he will remain so forever.

***If you’d like to see pictures of Picasso and Lump’s adorable friendship, David Douglas Duncan, Lump’s original owner, released a book of photographs entitled “Picasso and Lump: A Dachshund’s Odyssey.” It is available from Bulfinch Press.

Why, Then, Do You Judge Your Own Brother?

My children attend a private Christian school and, for the most part, it is a blessing. Every day I am thankful to have this opportunity to send my kids to a place where they are surrounded by other believers, where they are taught the Truth of God’s Word, and where the focus on their education isn’t only their minds, but their hearts and spirits as well. As a working mother, homeschool isn’t feasible for us, and I never take for granted how fortunate we are to have the option of a Christ-centered education for our children.

But, as with everything in this fallen world, even Christian school isn’t perfect.

I received a heavy dose of this truth the other day when my seven year-old daughter came home in tears because a classmate told her that she wasn’t a “real” Christian because she watches “Spongebob Squarepants.”

I wrapped my daughter in a hug and whispered sweet assurances in her ear all while internally face palming. “Spongebob Squarepants” is by no means a “Christian” show. But, as parents, my husband and I have made the decision to allow her to watch certain episodes (the older seasons, which are free on Amazon Prime) when we are with her so we can see exactly what she’s seeing. We know the show isn’t perfect. There are some questionable insinuations (imposed upon the show by culture rather than the other way around, I believe) and immature potty-humor moments, sure. But it makes us all laugh, and I feel no sense of conviction from the Holy Spirit about allowing her to view a few minutes of silly nonsense.

And now, because of some off-the-cuff comment at school, my Jesus-loving 1st grader thinks she is going to hell if she even glances at a commercial for Spongebob.

Face palm, face palm, face palm.

Don’t get me wrong. I get it: kids are extremely black-and-white. Most are unable to deal with the nuances of culture and faith (which is why having parents and/or a school strongly rooted in Truth is so important). But I think the reason this particular topic hit a nerve for me is because I witness the same thing in people who should know better:

Jesus-professing adults.

In Romans, Paul dealt specifically with this issue in a chapter of Scripture that is too-often twisted. In 13, he says, “Let no debt remain outstanding, except the continuing debt to love one another, for he who loves his fellowman has fulfilled the law. The commandments, ‘Do not commit adultery,’ ‘Do not murder,’ ‘Do not steal,’ ‘Do not covet,’ and whatever other commandments there may be, are summed up in this one rule: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love does no harm to its neighbor. Therefore, love is the fulfillment of the law.” —Romans 13: 8:10 (emphasis mine)

What Paul is saying here is that all the commandments under the law can be summed up by simply loving your neighbor. He further simplifies this by saying that loving your neighbor is as easy as not causing them harm. Not too hard, right? Call me naive, but I think it’s easy not to murder someone. Not to steal from someone. Not to cheat on someone. All of these commandments to do no bodily harm are pretty cut and dry.

It’s the things that may cause spiritual harm that get a little murkier.

Thankfully, Paul understood this too.

“Accept him whose faith is weak, without passing judgment on disputable matters. One man’s faith allows him to eat everything, but another man, who’s faith is weak, eats only vegetables. The man who eats everything must not look down on him who does not, and the man who does not eat everything must not condemn the man who does, for God has accepted him. Who are you to judge someone else’s servant? To his own master he stands or falls. And he will stand, for the Lord is able to make him stand.” —Romans 14: 1-4

We all have different spiritual convictions based on where we are in our faith journeys. Some people feel convicted about eating certain foods. Others about drinking alcohol. Still others about movies, tv shows, books, and music. What we cannot do, if we are truly going to love our brothers and sisters in Christ, is make judgements about how “good” of a Christian he or she is based on matters of personal conviction. Even worse is when we make a person doubt his or her salvation because of these trivial issues.

As a writer and avid reader, I’ve come up against this issue a lot in the literary world. I have deep love for the Harry Potter series for a variety of reasons, many of them having to do with seasons in my life that were occurring when I first read the books. Without going into too much detail, I will simply say the books are special to me; they hold a level of nostalgia and comfort with their pages, and I can honestly say I would not have become a writer without the words of J.K. Rowling.

Others feel differently. Others reject the book because of their inclusion of witchcraft and wizardry, their focus on magic, even the insinuation of a homosexual character.

I could write a thousand page treatise on the defense of Harry Potter but, because that isn’t the focus of this article, I won’t. However, because of my love for the series, I have been confronted several times and told I’m “dancing with the devil.” That I’m “inviting the devil in.” That I’m exposing my kids to corruption and evil.

And yes, that I’m not a “real” Christian.

Now (and I say this with all humility), I’m willing to deal with a lot of criticisms. But when someone doubts my love for Jesus, the authenticity of my faith, and even the assurance of my salvation….well, I do a have a line. And THAT is it.

Because, when it comes down to it, I feel no conviction in my spirit about reading Harry Potter. There are MANY movies, shows, books, and music in which I choose not to partake because of my conscious, but Harry Potter is not one of them. And, because of this, I don’t consider myself any less of a Christian because I enjoy immersing myself in the world of Hogwarts than someone who enjoys, say, true crime stories or hip hop music.

As Paul continues in Romans 14, “one man considers one day more sacred than another; another man considers every day alike. Each one should be fully convinced in his own mind” (verse 5).

In these matters of personal conviction not specifically addressed within Scripture, the role of the Holy Spirit cannot be overstated. Each of us has different views on different things based on where we are in our faith journeys. For you, maybe Harry Potter does make you feel uncomfortable and convicted. If that’s the case, you absolutely should refrain from it. But to make a judgement about another believer’s faith and/or salvation based on their partaking in certain media is not only unkind, it is unloving–the very thing upon which Jesus Himself told us filter all of our actions.

But there’s a flip side to this issue as well. Just because I have the freedom in Christ to do as I wish (being in full obedience to the guidance of the Holy Spirit, of course) doesn’t mean that I should. To use Harry Potter as an example again, just as it would be unloving for a convicted friend to question my faith based on my reading of the books, it would be unloving of me to force that passion upon my friend by, say, encouraging him or her to watch the movies or come to my Harry Potter book club (I don’t have one, by the way, but it sounds like fun!)

Paul tells us, “make up your mind not to put any stumbling block or obstacle in your brother’s way. As one who is in Lord Jesus, I am fully convinced that no food is unclean in itself. But if anyone regards something as unclean, then for him it is unclean. If your brother is distressed because of what you eat, you are no longer acting in love. Do not by your eating destroy your brother for whom Christ died.” —(Romans 14: 13b-15).

Me pulling out a Harry Potter book in front of someone who is convinced in their spirit the books are not appropriate for them would be no different than pouring a glass of wine in front of a recovering alcoholic. In order to live in “peace and mutual edification” (Romans 14:19), we must concern ourselves not only with the personal convictions of our own spirits, but also with the personal convictions of those around us.

Though each of us is made in God’s image and accepted into His family upon the confession of Christ, our individual personalities remain intact. Therefore, we must be careful to receive one another as individuals, loved and accepted by God, each on his or her own faith journey. Doing this means deferring to God on matters on which we may disagree and which are not explicitly outlined in Scripture. Rather than judge, we must encourage one another. Rather than tear down, we must build each other up. But, above all, we must love one another. So that “with one heart and mouth you may glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Romans 15:6)

****One item of note before closing this out. Romans 14 says a lot of things about being loving and accepting, but it has also been twisted in recent years to affirm and receive arguments NOT in line with God’s truth. As with all Scripture, read the chapter with a strong understanding of who God is and who He is NOT. Romans 14 does NOT say that Christians should go against their own consciouses to accommodate a believer who disagrees. It does NOT say a Christian should refrain from judging a believer engaging in obvious sin (as outlined clearly in Scripture). It also does not say that strong Christians should hide their freedom for fear of offending weaker believers. Grace, mercy, sensitivity, and the direction of the Holy Spirit are all imperative in living out the delicate truths of Romans 14. This post was not meant to make light of the very real struggle it presents but rather offer a practical example of its application.

No One Was Responsible

On the northwest corner of Greene Street and Washington Place in Manhattan sits the Asch Building. Made of iron and steel and constructed in 1900, the ten-story building was named after its owner–Joseph J. Asch–and, upon its completion, offered office and factory space for several of New York’s rising industries.

In 1911, the 8th, 9th, and 10th floors housed the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory, a garment-producing business owned by Max Blanck and Isaac Harris. The men were notoriously hardline bosses, putting profit above all else. The factory employed around 500 workers, most of them female immigrants who spoke little English and were desperate for any job that would put a roof over their heads and food on their tables. And the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory did that–but just barely. Most of the women worked 12-hour days, 7 days a week, and made only $15 a week. Even though just a few years earlier, in 1909, the International Ladies Garment Workers Union led a strike demanding higher pay and shorter and more predictable hours, the Triangle Shirtwaist Company was one of the few manufacturers who resisted, hiring police as thugs to imprison the striking women, and paying off politicians to look the other way. But, so desperate were the women employed by Blanck and Issac, that most of them chose to stay anyway.

Some money was better than none at all.

But it wasn’t just the pay. Working conditions inside the Asch Building were poor; a sweatshop, in fact, by today’s standards. Women sometimes had to supply their own needles, thread, irons and sometimes, even their own sewing machines, often putting them further in debt even before their wages began. They sat elbow-to-elbow, back-to-back at crowded tables for their long shifts. There were no bathrooms. Four elevators provided access to the factory floors but, in 1911, only one was fully operational and the workers had to file down a long, narrow corridor in order to reach it. There were two stairways down to the street but both were locked during operating hours to prevent theft and unauthorized breaks. Although fires were common in garment factories due to the mass of highly flammable materials inside–the Triangle factory itself caught fire twice in 1902 and the Diamond Waist Company factory (also owned by Blanck and Harris) also burned twice, in 1907 and in 1910–the floors had no alarm system or sprinklers in place. Their suppression system consisted of a fire hose, rotted and with a rusted-shut valve, and water buckets.

Water buckets that, on the afternoon of March 25, 1911, were empty.

Although smoking was banned in the factory, workers were known to sometimes sneak cigarettes. It was on one such discarded prohibited cigarette that court testimony later placed the plan for a fire that broke out on the factory floor shortly before 4 pm. Because of the abundance of cloth, flames spread rapidly and panic quickly ensued among the 500 workers. However, the cramped conditions and bulky equipment trapped many of those trying to escape. Those fortunate enough to reach stairwells found the doors locked; the one working elevator could only hold twelve people at a time, and it was only able to make 4 trips before breaking down because of the heat. Even the fire escape bent under the weight of workers trying to flee.

Firefighters arrived within minutes, only to discover their ladders were too short to reach the 8th floor. A net was unfurled to catch those willing to jump, but it too ripped under the weight of multiple bodies, rendering it useless. People on the street as well as those who had managed to escape to roof and, subsequently, to other buildings watched in horror as workers, faced with an impossible choice, flung themselves to their deaths from the building in desperation. The fire was so intense, within 18 minutes, it was all over. Forty-nine workers had burned to death or been suffocated by smoke, 36 were dead in the elevator shaft and 58 died from jumping to the sidewalks. With two more dying later from their injuries, a total of 146 people were killed by the fire.

But winds of change swirled from the ashes.

An estimated 350,000 people joined in a massive funeral procession for the fire’s victims. On April 5, just a few short weeks after the fire, workers’ unions set up a march down Fifth Avenue to protest the conditions that had led to the fire. It was attended by 80,000 people. Although Blanck and Harris were eventually found not guilty of manslaughter in an ensuing trial, the pair had to be escorted out a side door of the courthouse to avoid an angry crowd.

Workers had had enough and people, it seemed, were finally willing to listen.

Although reprehensible, Blanck and Harris’s actions hadn’t been illegal. And that fault lay with the government, which had done little to ensure safe workplaces and hadn’t been prepared for the fire. In New York, a Committee for Public Safety was created, which could identify specific problems and lobby for new legislation. Legislators also created the Factory Investigating Commission, to “investigate factory conditions in this and other cities and to report remedial measures of legislation to prevent hazard or loss of life among employees through fire, unsanitary conditions, and occupational diseases.” Over the next few years, it investigated thousands of workplaces and ended up creating  thirty-eight new laws regulating labor in New York state mandating everything from better building access and the availability of fire extinguishers to better eating and toilet facilities for workers.

The Asch building still stands today, the fire having only gutted a few of the floors. The building was refurbished and New York University began to use the eighth floor of the building for a library and classrooms in 1916. Philanthropist Frederick Brown later bought the building and subsequently donated it to the university in 1929, when it was renamed the Brown Building. It was listed on the National Register of Historical Places and named a National Historical Landmark in 1991. In 2002, the building was incorporated into the Silver Center for Arts and Science and, a year later, was designated a New York City landmark. Plans are underway to enact a permanent memorial to the victims of the fire there.