| i can't help but pity you. |

"Not by choice," clamor the LGBT community. "We were born like this. Love accepts all members of society, regardless of irrelevant details such as sexual orientation."

Not so, ‪#‎LGTB. As with courage, (http://time.com/3904701/caitlyn-jenner-bruce-barack-obama/) America has rewritten her definition of love.

No, LGTB community, you were not born with an inherent instinct to lust after the members of your own sex. You chose it. You are not glorified animals with predispositions impossible for you to conquer. Your design is a little lower than the angels, crafted in the image of God, and God makes no mistakes with human design. No, LGTB, it's not called a gene. It's called sin. You chose to succumb. You chose to lust. And ultimately, you chose to grind the principles of nature and of the God who authored them into the gravel. And the leaders of your country and my country are clapping their hands.

But LGTB community, yours will not be the last laugh. Why? Because your kingdom and its ultimate monarch are finite. And God’s wrath will not remain bottled forever. Someday, you will bow the knee. And America’s leaders will bend with you. Your faces to the earth, you will declare the name of Jesus Christ and acknowledge His Lordship, but the Bible has news for you.

By then, it will be too late.

Barring the possibility of your repentance, it will not be a happy moment for you. “Gay Pride" will be crying out to the nearest rocks to fall upon it and protect it from the face of God. And America’s leaders will be crying out with it.

#LGTB, someday your pride will be the source of your greatest agony. And with that knowledge, I can’t help but pity you. Just a little bit.

America, I love you, but I am so disappointed in you.

| beyond homeward bound. |

via

To chronicle the past two weeks would require far too many words for one post, but I’ll take the risks and phrase it this way- it was a colorful combination of crazy and awesome.
After relocating twice during the past ten months, removing myself two thousand, one hundred and ninety miles (not that exact figures are my habit, but whatever) from home, I flew back with my mom and brother to visit some family and friends in the Northeast. To state it kindly, the western portion of the United States is drenched with charisma and personality and all of those animated ingredients that invariably glue a place to a person’s heart, but . . .
How do you say it?
Crawling up the freeway in a ruthless downpour, staring at the first traces of your childhood emerging through the layers of clouds  . . . I think that’s the kind of feeling they write Grammy-winning songs about. Not that I’m particularly educated concerning the Grammy industry, but if anything deserves a song, coming home does.

Except . . .

It wasn’t coming home.

Not for real.

Because we had Delta tickets taking us away only three days down the road. It was short. Short and sweet. Some things are supposed to be that way. Coming home isn’t one of them.

I didn’t take any pictures. Don’t ask me why, because I’ve employed the past three days in wondering the same logical thing. I still have memories. Pictures get faded or wrinkled or deleted, but memories don’t.
The two days we spent in Vermont dissolved like sugar in iced tea. I solidified my relationships with some incredible people, enjoyed some conversations that I’m still repeating in my brain, and remembered what the color green looked like.


But now...

We're back here. And that's where the Father planted me. I can't help but smile at the depiction of a freeway wildflower grappling to jerk free of its roots, demanding of its Creator why He didn't choose to plant it in the Boston Public Garden.

Christ never blazes a trail for His children without a positive purpose in mind.
And as for me, the definition of that purpose might include learning to remember that green isn't the only color in the rainbow.

Blessings,