karigraceplace – where hope springs eternal

How do you change your world? One word at a time, one heart at a time

It Matters

A colleague reminded me last week of a lesson I’d forgotten. It’s the story of how powerful one action can be. If you’re at all interested, please feel free to read on:
I was given a copy of a poem that’s been on my fridge for ever, but I’m afraid my fridge is rather “busy”. Always has been. So this poem gets lost in the shuffle. Since my colleague brought it back to my remembrance I thought I’d share it with my fellow bloggers.

IT MATTERS TO THIS ONE
As I walked along the seashore, this young boy greeted me.
He was tossing stranded starfish back to the deep blue sea.
I said, “Tell me why you bother, why waste your time this way?
There’s a million stranded starfish – does it matter, anyway?”

He said, “It matters to this one. It deserves a chance to grow.
It matters to this one; I can’t save them all, I know.
But it matters to this one: I’ll return it to the sea.
It matters to this one, and it matters to me.

I walked into the classroom; the teacher greeted me.
She was helping Johnny study: he was struggling, I could see.
I said, “Tell me why you bother, why waste your time this way?
Johnny’s only one of millions – does it matter, anyway?”

She said, “It matters to this one. He deserves a chance to grow.
It matters to this one; I can’t save them all, I know.
But it matters to this one: I’ll help him be what he can be.
It matters to this one, and it matters to me.”

Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity -M. L. King

Does the “one” in our life matter? I happen to believe they do.
Kari, the focused and caring
almost all original content, copyright © 2000, karigraceplace.com, all rights reserved

Me and You and a Dog Named Tank

The two most powerful things in existence: a kind word and a thoughtful gesture.
– Ken Langone
Yes, dear, I know it’s really Boo, but where’s the fun in that? And pay attention, or you might just miss the lesson. I’d been reading a lot about PTSD recently, again, and was reminded of this story that, whether true or false – there are both sides claiming ownership out there on the net – is heartwarming nonetheless. We never really know the real story behind the story until we see the end. Here’s one I love:
They told Tom the big black Lab’s name was Reggie as he looked at him lying in his pen. Tom had only been in the area for six months, but everywhere he went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open.
But something was still missing as he attempted to settle in to his new life, and he thought a dog couldn’t hurt.
At first, he thought the shelter had misjudged him in giving up Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad, bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous owner. See, Reggie and Tom didn’t really hit it off when they got home. They struggled for two weeks (which is how long the shelter said to give him to adjust to his new home). Maybe it was the fact that Tom was trying to adjust, too.
For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis balls … he wouldn’t go anywhere without two stuffed in his mouth) got tossed in with all of Tom’s other unpacked boxes.
Tom tried the normal commands the shelter told him he knew, ones like stay and come and heel, and Reggie would follow them … when he felt like it. He never really seemed to listen when his name was called. When he was asked again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly obey.
The relationship just wasn’t working. Reggie chewed a couple shoes and some unpacked boxes. Tom was a little too stern with him and he resented it. The friction got so bad that Tom couldn’t wait for the two weeks to be up, and when it was, he was in full-on search mode for his cell phone amid all of his unpacked stuff.
Related: A Story About Living as Told by a Six Year Old Boy About His Dog
Finally he found it, but before he could punch up the shelter’s number, he also found Reggie’s pad and other toys from the shelter. Tom tossed the pad in Reggie’s direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most enthusiasm that he’d shown since arriving at his new home.
But then Tom called, Hey, Reggie, you like that? Come here and I’ll give you a treat. Instead, he sort of glanced in his direction … maybe ‘glared’ is more accurate … and then gave a discontented sigh and flopped down, with little to no interest.
Well, that’s not going to do it either, Tom thought. And he punched the shelter phone number.
But he hung up when he saw the sealed envelope. It had been completely forgotten and ignored until now. ‘Okay, Reggie,’
Tom said out loud, lets see if your previous owner has any advice.
The note was addressed:
To Whoever Gets My Dog:
Well, I can’t say that I’m happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner.
I’m not even happy writing it.
My last visit with my dog was when I dropped him at the shelter. He knew something was different… I had packed up his pad and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip, but this time … it’s like he knew something was wrong. And something was wrong … which is why I had to try to make it right.
So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it will help you bond with him and he with you.
First, he loves tennis balls, the more the merrier. Sometimes I think he’s part squirrel, the way he hordes them. He usually always has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in there.
Hasn’t done it yet. Doesn’t matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after it, so be careful … really don’t do it by any roads. I made that mistake once, and it almost cost him dearly.
Next, commands. Maybe the shelter staff already told you, but I’ll go over them again: Reggie knows the obvious ones …sit, stay, come, heel. He knows hand signals: back … to turn around and go back when you put your hand straight up; and over … if you put your hand out right or left. Shake … for shaking water off, andpaw … for a high-five. He does down … when he feels like lying down … I bet you could work on that with him some more.
He knows ball, and food and bone and treat like nobody’s business. I trained Reggie with small food treats. Nothing opens his ears like little pieces of hot dog. Feeding schedule: twice a day, once about seven in the morning, and again at six in the evening. Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter has the brand.
He’s up on his shots. Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with yours; they’ll make sure to send you reminders for when he’s due. Be forewarned: Reggie hates the vet. Good luck getting him in the car … I don’t know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but he knows.
Finally, give him some time. I’ve never been married, so it’s only been Reggie and me for his whole life. He’s gone everywhere with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if you can. He sits well in the backseat, and he doesn’t bark or complain. He just loves to be around people and me most especially. This means that this transition is going to be hard, with him going to live with someone new.
And that’s why I need to share one more bit of info with you …
His name’s not Reggie.
I don’t know what made me do it, but when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them his name was Reggie. He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it and will respond to it, of that I have no doubt but I just couldn’t bear to give them his real name. For me to do that, it seemed so final, that handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting that I’d never see him again. And if I end up coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it means everything’s fine.
But if someone else is reading it, well … well it means that his new owner should know his real name. It’ll help you bond with him. Who knows, maybe you’ll even notice a change in his demeanor if he’s been giving you problems.
His real name is Tank … because that is what I drive.

Again, if you’re reading this and you’re from the area, maybe my name has been on the news. I told the shelter that they couldn’t make Reggie available for adoption until they received word from my company commander.
See, my parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve left Tank with … and it was my only real request of the Army upon my deployment to Iraq, that they make one phone call the shelter in the event to tell them that Tank could be put up for adoption. Luckily, my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon was headed. He said he’d do it personally. And if you’re reading this, then he made good on his word.
Well, this letter is getting too downright depressing, even though, frankly, I’m just writing it for my dog. I couldn’t imagine if I was writing it for a wife and kids and family. But still, Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as long as the Army has been my family.
And now I hope and pray that you make him part of your family and that he will adjust and come to love you the same way he loved me.
That unconditional love from a dog is what I took with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do something selfless, to protect innocent people from those who would do terrible thing … and to keep those terrible people from coming over here.
If I had to give up Tank in order to do it, I am glad to have done so. He was my example of service and of love. I hope I honored him by my service to my country and comrades…
All right, that’s enough. I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at the shelter. I don’t think I’ll say another good-bye to Tank, though. I cried too much the first time. Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he finally got that third tennis ball in his mouth.
Good luck with Tank. Give him a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight every night from me.
Thank you, Paul Mallory
Tom folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope. Sure he had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even new people. Local kid, killed in Iraq a few months ago and posthumously being awarded the Silver Star because he gave his life to save three buddies. Flags had been at half-mast all summer.
He leaned forward in his chair, rested his elbows on his knees, and said quietly: ‘Hey, Tank’. The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his eyes bright.
C’ mere boy.
He was instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. He sat in front of me, his head tilted; searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months.
Tank, Tom whispered. His tail swished.
He kept whispering his name, over and over, and each time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood him. Tom stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried his face into his scruff and hugged him.
It’s me now, Tank, just you and me. Your old pal gave you to me.
Tank reached up and licked his cheek. So whatdaya say we play some ball? His ears perked again. Yeah? Ball? You like that? Ball? Tank tore from Tom’s hands and disappeared in the next room.
And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in his mouth.
A word can really change a heart. And so can love.
Kari, the work-in-progress
original content, copyright © 2000, karigraceplace.com, all rights reserved

You and Me and a Dog Named Tank

Yes, dear, I know it’s really Boo, but where’s the fun in that? And pay attention, or you might just miss the lesson. I’d been reading a lot about PTSD recently, again, and was reminded of this story that, whether true or false – there are both sides claiming ownership out there on the net – is heartwarming nonetheless.
This is the story of how a kind-hearted person adopted a shelter black labrador and discovered the dog’s true name.
Have a box of tissue ready. You’ll need it.

Wiping away my tears, I was about to hit “Publish” on this post but decided to search on the web for more info on Tank’s original owner, the soldier “Paul Mallory.”

A Place of Pain

A good friend of mine for over 20 years, though she doesn’t have a clue, is Joyce Meyer. Next to my pastor she’s probably sown more into my spiritual growth than anyone else. Yesterday she said that when you go through things in life it may be painful, but the only way out is through. And through always means pain. She has also said in the past that the same door you went through to get into a situation is the same door you’ll have to go through to leave it.
I’m well familiar with pain. In my few short years on this planet I’ve definitely had my share of heartache. One of my heroes, my worship pastor, Scott Schazline, says that you can’t teach what you haven’t survived. How right I have found that he is. For one so young he has a whole lot of wisdom. My guy Gary always says it’s not what you go through, it’s how you go through it. We all make choices, and we can say all we want that our choices are ours alone to make and that they don’t affect anyone else but it’s not true. Actions always have consequences, and some can be devastating.
Case in point: one of my favourite introductions to any book other than the Bible that I’ve ever read. The book is called The Oath, by Frank Perretti. In the 10th Anniversary edition he chose to share why he wrote the book in the first place. It changed my life. I’ve quoted it on my blog before but it speaks to me every single time I read it. Here it is, for those who never have, and please don’t sue me – I’m just trying to share something that could be life-changing for you to:
“Sin is the monster we love to deny.
It can stalk us, bite a slice out of our lives, return again and bite again, and even as we bleed and hobble, we prefer to believe nothing has happened. That makes sin the perfect monster, a man-eater that blinds and numbs its victims, convincing them that nothing is wrong and there is no need to flee, and then consumes them at its leisure.
We’ve all been assailed by the beast, sometimes face-to-face, but all too often from a direction we aren’t prepared to defend, and it’s only in recognizing the beast for what it is that we can hope to escape at all. In Jesus Christ we are forgiven and empowered to overcome sin, but opening the door and tossing the beast kitchen scraps of our character is no way to drive it off. Toying with an animal that is actually toying with us is a sure way to lose part of ourselves.
I was watching it happen to some friends of mine the year I began writing The Oath. As the rest of us just kept on praising the Lord, loving one another, smiling, and trying not to be judgmental, some really good people walked stupidly, blindly into the jaws of sin. The tooth marks still show today, in ruined marriages and soiled ministries. The rest of us should have said something.
In The Oath, I tried to say something through a vicious drama. I gave sin a form, an identifiable embodiment hellbent to consume the hero. I chose an obscure, remote setting because sin shies from examination just as vermin flee from the light, and in this place, there are no rules. Denial is easy, and sin is protected. The consequences, of course, play out just as they do in so many real lives: we’ve all seen friends, relatives, and fellow believers dragged out the door by a pet that got too big to control. Some have managed to come back, bleeding and bruised, hopefully healing and wiser. Some have never come back at all. And some of us have been there.
The Oath is a story we’ve all had a part in, to one degree or another. And years later, it still cries out the same warning God gave Cain: Sin is crouching at the door, and it wants you, but you must overcome it.”
My question to you today, dear reader, is simply this; what can you do to help heal a broken wounded world on its way to the wrong destination?

Kari, the healed and healing
almost all original content, copyright © 2000, karigraceplace.com, all rights reserved

Mr. Adam, I Presume?

If it wasn’t for Mr. Adam and Mrs. Eve we wouldn’t be in this pickle, we’d all be living in a garden naked and eating free fruit. I know. But I’m tired of blaming others. If I truly want change, it might just have to start with me. A good friend of mine last night introduced me to a concept I’d never really thought about before. She, like me, apparently learns a lot of God principles from many things other than His Word, although that is always the plumbline for my life and if something I learn doesn’t line up with that I throw it out. Her simple but profound statement was this: a good call girl doesn’t sell her body; she sells the promise of it. How like satan. He always sells the dream, the illusion, the hope that this – whatever your ‘this’ is – will bring you comfort, satisfaction, pleasure, enjoyment. How fleeting and empty his promises truly are. He, like a good call girl, promises what he knows you want but hopes you won’t discover will never truly fill that empty place in your heart.
You see it everywhere you look. Empty promises that never truly deliver. The beer commercials promising fun but never showing you the hangover next morning. Stunning car commercials that forget to mention the payments will put you into debt. Sexy men and hot women supposedly having a grand old time but never showing you the results of sex outside of marriage. The longer I live the more clearly I see his deception and I’m so very thankful. That same friend taught me another concept, too. 1st Peter 5 verse 9 says we have to “stand firm against him (the devil), and be strong in your faith. Remember your Christian brothers and sisters all over the world are going through the same kind of suffering.” It’s good to know we’re not alone, isn’t it? How about 1st Peter 4 verse 12? The “Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you, as though some strange thing has happened to you” verse. Oh, joy. Actually, it is. The next part goes on to say not only should we not think it strange, we should actually rejoice. Don’t know about you, but that’s easier said than done for me. The kicker? James 1 verse 2. Which tells us we’re supposed to “count it all joy” when we get into these situations. The Message bible, a personal fave of mine, digs a little deeper, and tells us to “consider it a sheer gift when tests and challenges come at you from all sides.” Just in case ya didn’t get the NIV or NLT, that’ll make it abundantly clear. Verse 3 goes on to tell us “don’t try to get out of anything prematurely”. As Joyce Meyer would say, “Ouch! Hallelujah!”
He has a great point. As my pastor often says, there’s no such thing as unjoy. Happiness actually comes from the root Anglo Saxon word hap, which means happenstance. In other words, if everything in your life is “happening” the way you would like, you’re happy. Forgive me but that seems like a shallow way to live. I’d rather dive in deep, even if it gets messy from time to time. Heidi Baker says, never stop stopping for the one. God knows I’ve been the one, many times, and those who stopped to notice rate highly in my book.
So it’s a new day and I have a new question for you. Will you live an authentic, no-holes-barred, honest-to-goodness real life in front of those you encounter? Some will love you for it, others won’t, but the ones who relate will appreciate the lack of hypocrisy. Are you willing to come with me on the new journey of being authentically real? Joyce says it’s time to start a Love Revolution, and that it starts with her. I’m right behind her. The buck stops here, and it stops with me. What do you say? Together we can take a healing Christ to a hurting world. And it will make all the difference.
Kari, the on-fire, Holy-Ghost-filled, seeking, satisfied, sanctified child of the Most High God
original content, copyright © 2000, karigraceplace.com, all rights reserved
ps. by the way, will you please smack them both upside the head for me, if you get to Heaven first? Thank you.

The Story of a Rug

I saw the phrase Rag Rugging recently, and it stuck with me. I once heard the story of how a rug was made. This isn’t it, but it’s the closest I can find. When I heard it, my mind immediately started to learn spiritual things.
The link below shows the story of a rug, if you’re interested, but almost everything in life has a deeper meaning. For me it was this:
The Grand Weaver, as Ravvi Zacharias calls Him, decided may years ago to make a rug that would astound an amaze. It involved a death, and new life. The rug design in and of itself was very carefully designed. In fact, He decided to make many, many rugs. He has “knit” us “together in our mother’s womb”, Psalm 139 verse 13, intricately and expertly. Even on your worst days, remember there are two sides to every rug, and God loves your messy side!
If more women knew they had worth and value regardless of their past, they’d quit allowing the culture to define them and start defining their culture! I’m so over the outside. I prefer the inside. Character, integrity, honesty, faithfulness. How about you?
Kari, the happy rug
original content, copyright © 2000, karigraceplace.com, all rights reserved http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T1gcOupNCi8

http://diaryofasuperchamp.wordpress.com/2014/04/28/5-reasons-why-many-christian-girls-remain-single/

The High Price of Nice

I’m tempted to tell you I’m no saint, but God says in many places that I am. So I’ve decided not to fight it any more. I may have a flesh-back (B.C – Before Christ) moment every once in a while, but I’m still a saint. Like Joyce Meyer says, I’m OK and I’m on my way! It’s dysfunctional to always be nice, especially if you’re in a destructive relationship. Leslie Vernick says that the opposite of love isn’t hate – it’s indifference. Many would disagree, but the more I pondered this the more I realized how much I believe it to be true. So many people are in relationships that live this out, day in day out.
In a movie I saw recently, a man said something I found very profound. They were being held in captivity against their will, and one young woman had already committed suicide. When the newcomer asked why, the older, considerably wiser man said, “She grew tired of her terms of servitude”. It spoke volumes to me. How long will it take for us to grow tired of our terms of servitude? To whom am I a slave? you may ask. To the enemy of our souls, the great deceiver, the first angel to fall in a perfect environment called heaven. I’ve decided to stand up and take what belongs to me, just like Matthew 11.12 says. If I’m wrong and God convicts me, I’ll be quick to come and ask your forgiveness. But I don’t intimidation and control any more. No, sorry, wrong number – not happening. I choose love. Tough love or hard love, it’s your choice. And I choose mercy. In their book, Burn, by Ted Dekker and Tosca Lee, one of their characters said this and I just couldn’t stop thinking about it: more amazing to me than justice is mercy. In that same book, an old gypsy woman said something else that I’ve thought on many times: the heart has two chambers; one for John, and one for Judas. I’ve come to realize that it’s a daily, sometimes minute-by-minute, choice. We have the choice to love Jesus, or betray Him. With every thought, word and deed in our life we do one or the other. How I pray I make the right choice. Sion Alford once said that souls are attached to your gift. I never want someone to crash and burn because I had a flesh-back. I’m ready for that batch of new mercies, now, Lord…
Kari, the sometimes nice but perfectly human saint
original content, copyright © 2000, karigraceplace.com, all rights reserved

I Hear You Knocking…

… but you can’t come in. Dave Edmunds made it famous, but how many Christians live their lives there? God is always speaking, but I’m not always listening. One of the things I so treasure about Joyce Meyer is that she’s really hard to misunderstand. Take, for instance, this one passage from her book, How to Hear from God:

“We are to seek the Lord wholeheartedly. Many want God to take care of them, but they don’t really want to sacrifice the time and devotion it takes to grow in the knowledge of Him and His Word – and they don’t want to commit time to pray. God told Abraham, “I will make a covenant with you. I will make your name famous. I will make you rich. I will do things for you that nobody else could do… but here’s your part; you must walk wholeheartedly before Me”, (see Genesis 12-15). Abraham fell on his face before God. He knew he was in the presence of an awesome God who meant business… God’s glory is a wonderful exchange for our wholehearted devotion.”

If we’ll focus on Him, and deliberately set aside all the distractions of our lives, it will keep our spirit free to hear and receive all the good things He’s trying to give us. God wants to prosper us to the extent that everyone on earth who sees our lives will know there He exists, and He’s faithful to His promises. It’s not our rep that’s on the line, it’s His. Numbers 14.14 says that the inhabitants of the land had heard that He was with the Israelites. Isaiah 62 says that nations will see their righteousness, and the kings will see their glory.

Kerry Shook talked recently about what he called, “The Art of Being All There.” He said that our heavenly Father asks the same of you that anyone close to you wants – to be loved. With all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. Whatever you value, your heart will follow, according to Luke 12.34. When you give something your undivided attention it stands out, because it’s uncommon. Most people don’t bother. As well as undivided attention, he also talked about giving constant appreciation, suggesting that we actually ask those closest to us what you can do to make them to feel loved. How many times I forget to ask. Many are stuck in dysfunction, afraid of change, because the familiar is non-threatening. I believe the comfort zone is the dead zone, where feelings are almost non-existent. I’ll take passion any time, even if it’s a little misguided. A passionate person I can work with. The reward for trust is always greater than the risk. I long to be what Kerry calls a, “Soul-saving station”. Many of my friends are dying to know Jesus, whether they know it or not. Gloria Copeland talked many years ago about how God’s will for our lives is simple – to hear, and do. To pray, and obey. Will I show and tell? Yes, I will. Will you?

Kari, the listening soul-saving station original content, copyright © 2000, karigraceplace.com, all rights reserved

I’ve Got the Power!

I hate to tell you this but it didn’t originate with Jim Cary. It started way back 2,000 years ago. Luke 10.19 tells the story. Behold, I give you power… he goes on to talk about snakes, and scorpions, and how nothing will harm you, but my point is, it’s free. It’s for us. Could ya use a little power today? I sure could.
If you can imagine it, God can do above it! Cref once said that there ain’t no high like the Most High. I couldn’t agree more. And He’s not the Most High by mistake.
This culture is certainly doing its best to remove Him from everything. Some say it started in 1962 when the Supreme Court took prayer out of schools; I stay it started long before then, with apathy. The silence of the lambs has had ramifications decades later.
I try not to judge, believe me. There’s One Judge and I’m surely not Him. I must admit that even my own daughter found it hard not to judge a gal by her tractor. Clothes. Attitude. She found this out when she first went to college; definitely a wakeup call.
I’m tired of being judged when all I’m doing is inspecting the fruit. I’m tired of watching power stripped from me and doing nothing about it. So now I’m choosing exert my first amendment right, lift up my voice, and testify to what God has done – because if I take control of my atmosphere the devil loses the right to it.
I don’t mean ta diss ya, Jim, but we’re the ones with the power. We overcome by our Saviour’s Blood and our own words, according to Revelation 12.11. That’s how we win, y’all! Phil Driscoll once said that the greatest power in the universe resides on the inside of you. How easily I forget. I also lose sight of what makes God smile: things done in secret, where noone else sees. Or cares. This country may be in a heap of mess right now but I don’t believe God is done with it. Or me. I’m using my mouth to change things. Who’s with me?
Kari, the so-called ‘right’ severely wronged and saying so
original content, copyright © 2000, karigraceplace.com, all rights reserved

Itsy Bitsy Teeny Weeny

Today I’d like to venture into the land-mine of another sensitive subject, if I may – modesty.
Invented by the French engineer Louis Rayard in 1946, the bikini was it for site of the atomic bomb testing currently underway in his day; he anticipated an outcry of outrage, as he exposed the belly button for the first time ever, a cultural “atom bomb” if you will. Which indeed he got. He apparently didn’t consider it a true bikini unless it could be pulled through, of all things, a wedding ring; it was so scandalous for its day that no model would wear it. He ended up having to hire a stripper for its debut. Does that tell you something? It does me.
Rumour has it that it took a while for this garment to catch on in the US, since it was considered a “licensuous garment favoured by Mediterranean types”. In 1957 Modern Girl Magazine said that no girl with “tact or decency” would ever wear it. However, once the 1960’s sexual revolution kicked it became square not to wear one. Modern day gurus have even dubbed it “the millennial equivalent of the power suit.” A slight difference of opinion, don’t you agree?
Five years ago Princeton University male students volunteered for a research study on how the male brain reacts to clothing. Or lack of it. Guess what bikini-clad beauties do to a healthy male brain? They light up the “tool” part, of all places. The medial prefrontal cortex however is often unaffected (the part of your brain registering thought of another’s thoughts, feelings, and intentions). Researchers were shocked; they almost never see that part of the brain shut down. Translation: it shows the objectifying of objects, rather than seeing people. Something to be used, not connected with. Who wants that kind of power? Is less really more? Perhaps not.
Jessica Rey has a vid out where she talks of the value of modesty, and how we have almost completely lost it in our present culture. However, and there’s always a however, as we all know, critics of this school of thought have had their day and I want to give equal representation so with this in mind, here are a few snippets from one her blog.
“I grew up in a community where modesty was over-emphasized” (emphasis mine) – you’ve got to know I have an issue right off the bat, btw. “I don’t want to contribute to the grossly incorrect notion that the Bible only addresses fashion in the context of modesty.” It didn’t, last time I checked. “It’s one thing to know what’s right and not always act in accordance with that…” Precisely my point. Right behaviour verses wrong. Not leading others into places they’ll regret later. “It’s another to be less than 100% certain about what’s right in the first place.” I’m not. I’m 100% proof positive certain of where I stand on this issue. Then she has the kindness to ask readers to “adjust your grace-o-meter accordingly.” Wow. Never heard that one before. I’ll bear that in mind for my future blogging excursions.
This blogger argues that bikini-wearing should not be associated with sexual looseness. No one said it was. But there’s a better way. (And an FYI for the blogger, there’s bikinis and then there’s bikinis.) She goes on to say that modesty is “a product of culture.” I happen to disagree, as evidenced by our current one. PG13 slash X rated movies are consistently the highest revenue generating profit makers, according to the stats. “It’s all subjective anyway.” Again I happen to disagree. I know cultures vary in their views of modest but it’s fickle and it can change on a dime. As the blogger herself quite rightly points out, even though Jessica is very modestly dressed according to our present-day society in bygone days women showed neither wrist nor ankle. That doesn’t mean it’s subjective, it simply means culture has changed. I remind her of her own words, “it’s one thing to know what’s right” and not always do it…
The blogger goes on to say that if we are to throw out the bikini, why not the bathwater too? Reintroduce “bath machines”. I found this a strange argument, but still, it’s worth some thought.
Nobody is advocating that we return to the days of women being “baby-making machines meant for serving their husbands in the kitchen.” I fail to see the connection; I’m not quite sure how she got on that subject, when the focus of Rey’s talk was modesty. Her comment, “Bikinis may or may not stimulate particular attitudes towards women; they certainly cannot force them” I also found interesting, since our culture proves many men objectify women. It just doesn’t claim the bikini is the whole reason for this. Neither do I.
I’m happy to say I agree with Jessica Rey – why does it have to be Itsy Bitsy? It’s not about fashion, or even popularity, it’s about dignity. Her last question still haunts me: How will you use your beauty?
The blogger then goes on to take issue with Rey’s chosen example of modesty, Audrey Hepburn, implying it irrelevant since Ms. Hepburn had no figure to speak of, claiming any woman more well-endowed would not be considered modest in Ms. Hepburn’s; she also points out that Rey’s swimsuit designs would not cover such a woman’s cleavage, saying the line does not include plus sizes for said women, yet “despite the numerous flaws I see in Rey’s reasoning…” she still respects her. Wow. Call me dense if you will but all I see is a pot calling a kettle black.
Someone famous once said that those who are doing nothing will always criticize those who are doing something. I’d give ‘em credit if I could remember who they were, I truly would. What I see is a young woman passionately trying to introduce the concept of less being more when it comes to unveiling one’s body, and I believe this is sorely needed in our generation. Am I wrong? Seriously. I want to know. What am I missing?
Kari, the stubbornly modest and proud of it
original content, copyright © 2000, karigraceplace.com, all rights reserved

http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/18144320-decent-exposure

http://unwrinkling.com/a-response-to-jessica-rey-evolution-of-the-swimsuit/

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