Real Conversation at Purdue University: Owl City and DNA

I was standing off to one side, inside the barricade of the exhibit. I had just finished one conversation and asked God to let me have a few minutes before the next one. I was zapped and not sure when I would have enough energy for the next conversation. I could hear "Unbelievable" by Owl City wafting through the air. "That's so cool," I thought to myself, "there must be someone on a bicycle riding by playing that song." After a minute or so of zoning out, I tuned back into the song and realized it wasn't going anywhere. (You can tell I was tired.) The song was getting me excited, so I looked to my right and saw the bike that my brain had told me about!

Standing by his bike and writing something on the Free Speech board was Nick*. I ran over to him, leaned over the barricade and said, "Owl City!" Looking up from his writing, Nick said, "Yeah?" And went back to writing. Undeterred by his lack of enthusiasm, I read aloud what he had written, "Everyone is born equal. You can add or subtract to that value later." When I asked what he meant by that, he wrote, "All people are equal. Some people are more equal than others. -Orwell"

I've read Animal Farm, but he had not, so I asked, "what are things that people do that you would say detract from their personal value?" He mentioned things like harming, demeaning, and killing people. We agreed together that abortion is included in his definition of killing. Instead of assuming we were on the same page, I directed the conversation to one of the fundamental points I've been taught to cover with people: "Is there a particular point in pregnancy where you would say abortions should not be done?" He considered this and said, "Around six or seven weeks when the heartbeat starts. It's not a person until then."

We had built a good base for a friendship by this point, so I let some more of my sudden energy channel into my next question: "Would you believe me if I told you the heartbeat starts at 3 weeks?" He seemed unfazed by this and just bumped his statement up to the line I had redrawn for him: "Then they shouldn't abort after three weeks." We talked for a while about why he thought heartbeat was the one thing essential to define the start of value in a person's life.

Instead of debating this with him like I would have done before JFA, I called to mind a fact that I had learned the previous week. "Do you mind if I geek out for a minute?" (As if I hadn't been doing that this whole time.) "Go ahead," he said kindly. So I launched into an explanation of DNA, describing it as a box that is completely human, completely unique, and houses everything we as people can call our body. "The only things that change from conception to you and me are time and food."

He considered that for a while and asked me to draw out the meaning. "Your heartbeat, the one you insist has to be present for value, is already present inside the box of DNA. It just needs time and food to turn into the beating heart and everything else. It's all right there from the very beginning." He thought about it, explained it back to me, and said, "then all abortion is wrong no matter when it happens."

I did a happy dance and we talked on and off for two more hours about Christianity, Buddhism, feminism, and what it means to respect life. At one point, a Christian student joined our conversation and shared her testimony! Afterwards, my energy was waning and his was only increasing. It was 2 o'clock when I said, "Nick, I've loved talking with you. Do you mind if I go eat lunch now?" We exchanged numbers, and he cheerfully biked away.

Real Conversation at Purdue University: Overcoming Stereotypes

I barely had time to ask, "what do you think about abortion?" before she launched. For a few minutes, she unloaded on me with a constant stream of accusations. She was livid and she wanted me to know about the injustices that "people like [me]" were committing against unsuspecting pro-choicers.

At first, there seemed to be very little space for me to use the three skills I had been taught in the Justice For All seminar before outreach: 1) Ask questions with an open heart. 2) Listen to understand. 3) Find common ground where possible.

I employed the listening skill first. In her view, the pro-life movement was abusing women's health institutions, "demanding they close their doors because 'the hallways aren't wide enough.'" She had a list of complaints, but eventually she began to slow her tirade, realizing that I wasn't getting angry or contradicting her.

Finding common ground was difficult, but there were opportunities. "I agree that there have been injustices committed by both sides." When she described the attacks on clinics, I could freely say,  "Our organization does not condone any violence. We respect all life, especially yours." That caught her off guard and I think that was the first time she caught her breath in minutes. Her tone became more gentle, turning sad. She connected to this issue on a personal level.

She had a friend who helped to calm her down. If Kylie* was the pro-choice representative, and I was the pro-life rep, then Sarah was the middle ground. She didn't really know what she believed.

Since we had established that I didn't hate them, I asked a few questions. What would be a good solution to the problems they saw with certain laws? We talked about the adoption system and found more common ground there. What should be done to help women through their pregnancies? We thought through the difficulties of hypothetical pregnancies and I listened as they came up with good alternatives all on their own. I looked back over the past few minutes and noted aloud that we were having a civilized discussion even though we believed different things. Sarah excitedly agreed with me and Kylie frowned, but thanked me for listening to her.

"I hope I gave you something to think about," Kylie said as she walked away. "You did," I said, "And I hope I did the same for you."

Sarah smiled back at me as they left.

*Names changed

Real Conversation at Purdue University: Persuasion

He was standing off to the side, studying the exhibit. I walked up and asked what he thought.

"I can't tell you what I think about abortion. My class is right over there. I'm about to do a lecture on persuasion. I don't want them to know what I think."

I asked his name and realized I was talking to a professor. We talked about his PhD program and the culture's general perception of abortion. I deeply wanted to discuss this controversial topic with him, but I couldn't see an open door. I asked, "Do you have any questions?" To my surprise, he did.

"What would you say is the strongest case against abortion?"

It was one of the widest doors I have ever been shown, so I entered without planning my next words.

"I believe the strongest case against abortion is science. Science says that life begins at conception, which makes abortion murder. We stand with science.
"But I also believe that you cannot be 'against' something without being 'for' something else. I am for women. I believe that the strongest case for life is the women who experience pregnancy. They are scared, they need help, and abortion does not provide that help. I have never met a post-abortive woman who did not eventually regret her abortion. My goal is to prevent that pain by offering her a loving alternative, supporting her through her pregnancy and the life of her child as far as she lets me help.
"The strongest case against abortion is science, but the strongest case for life is women. You can't have one without the other."

He accepted my answer, thanked me for my time, and walked away.

Real Conversation at Purdue University: "I'm a miracle!"

I turned around after finishing one conversation and noticed her standing there, looking at the exhibit. I waved and smiled, "Can I ask you what you think about abortion?"

Typically, when I ask that question, people stand there and ponder the question for a moment before answering, but she was ready. After smiling back, she answered with another question. "Say there's a terminally ill woman who is passing on her illness to her unborn child, shouldn't we give the woman the opportunity to end her pregnancy so that she doesn't have to watch her child suffer?"

The question took me by surprise, but it reminded me of something I had learned from Stephanie Gray, a Canadian pro-life apologist. I asked this student if I could ask her another question and she said yes. "You have a friend on the other side of the world who calls you up and says, 'I just found out I have cancer and have only four months to live.' Do you wait until about month three and say 'I guess I should visit them?" Or do you take the next plane out?"

She didn't hesitate at all. "The next plane! Absolutely!" This was very encouraging to me, so I followed up, "Of course! Now apply that to the mother in the hypothetical situation you gave me a moment ago."

Her eyes lit up. "My mom did that!" She explained that her little brother had only been alive three days after he was born. Her mom stayed by his side every moment until he died. "I only wish I would have met him. I've never thought of him in relation to this before. I cannot stand by my question with that in mind."

We exchanged some stories and I got her name. Then she came up with a new question. "Say there's someone with a terminal illness who doesn't want to live anymore because they are tired of knowing they're going to die. Should we give them the chance to choose assisted suicide?"

Again, the question seemed to come from left field, but it brought to mind a question I find very important. I just asked, "Do you believe in miracles?"

Immediately a light turned on in her mind and she burst out, "I'm a miracle!" Diving into her personal story, she explained that she was born with what her doctors described as a terminal illness. Defying the odds, she turned her few month diagnosis into the young woman standing in front of me. "I'm only here because of a miracle! I cannot stand by my question any more."

We shared more stories about miracles we had witnessed in our lives. She wasn't a Christian, but she let me talk about the amazing things I have seen God do in my life and the lives of others. The last thing she told me was, "I would absolutely make every opportunity for a miracle to happen. I hope I get the chance to do that one day."

And she walked away.

Many Roads: From Desperation to Wichita

Almost exactly two years ago, I started asking God to let me go on an adventure. I wanted to be thrown out of my comfort zone, into a strange new land (like Michigan or Pennsylvania), and I wanted to help the pro-life cause while I was at it. I had no plan, so I put my feelers out. I sent job applications to crisis pregnancy centers in seven different states. Anyone could have told you I was desperate. One by one, phone call after email, God shut every one of those doors which had seemed so open and inviting. I couldn't understand why God didn't like my idea. "Anywhere, God, please, but here," was my prayer. He was asking me to stay home, and like the God He is, He gave me opportunities to face a few fears:

-For a long time, I've been afraid that little kids don't like me. It always took them a while to warm up to me. So when I was asked to be a mother's helper for a wonderful family, I said yes. I learned so much letting a three-year-old drag me all over my hometown. She tore apart my fear and replaced it with hope.
-Summer 2015 at the Chapel was hard for me and I was afraid it would only get harder. So when the director asked me to create a counselor position in the Chapel in 2016, I said yes. And I experienced the best summer yet. God let me train as a pro-life counselor and gave me hope to continue my cause.
-During my nightmares, I developed a fear of dogs. So, every time over that year I was asked to watch dogs, I said yes. It was hard at times, but it was incredibly healing. God knew what He was doing.

These roads through fears and hopes were not what I was asking for. Slowly, though, He taught me to be content. I stopped asking to leave. "Show me what you want me to do and I'll do it."
So He sent me down more little roads that I didn't understand at the time:

-I never technically signed up to help at Bible Day Camp, but I showed up and they put me to work. At the end of that week, our kids knew how to spell "Christian", put on several skits all by themselves, and were hugging me goodbye.
-I didn't go back on Staff at the Chapel this summer, but I did visit my sisters several times. I was blessed over and over again by the camaraderie of 2017 Staff and was given the gift of leaving with peace each time.
-I'm not good at dancing and it used to make me very self-conscious, but I attended nine dances this year. And loved every minute of those swing dances, contra dances, and Civil War balls. They were thoroughly unexpected adventures.

On July 30th, I was offered an internship with Justice For All, a pro-life organization that does campus outreach all over the States. I applied and was accepted in two weeks. Two weeks later I packed my life into my car and drove to Kansas. I've been here for two weeks now. That blows my mind. After two years, God sent me on a road trip I never expected. "Would you ever have thought you'd end up in Wichita, Kansas?" One friend asked me when I got the news. "No," I answered, "never."

So here I am, and I will be using this blog to keep people posted on what God is doing in this place I didn't know to ask for after He filled my days with one small road after another.

Chorus of "Many Roads" by Andrew Peterson

"Could it be that the many roads

You took to get here

Were just for me to tell this story

And for you to hear this song

And your many hopes

And your many fears

Were meant to bring you here all along"

They Are Not Real

For a blog titled "Cheery"type, I've written a lot of things that haven't been cheery. I'm an optimist, so I thought it would be easier when I started this blog to write about happy things. Since then, I've realized that happiness isn't the core idea behind optimism. Keeping faith in the midst of hard things is more of the idea, and I want to share a story with you from the past couple years where I learned something new about faith. If you have or are experiencing a battle against your own mind, I hope my own battle can help you.



Tacked to a corkboard in my room is this black square of construction paper with the words "They are not real" written in chalk. It's right where I can see it when I wake up from a nightmare to remind me that the nightmares do not reflect reality in any way. I needed the reminder because, for a long time, I couldn't tell the difference between nightmare and truth.

I haven't always struggled with nightmares. I never got them as a kid and I didn't understand what the big deal was. When mine started in 2013, I did some research on dreams and found very little for my effort. Nobody really understands what goes on in our brains while we sleep. That's why I'm writing this. Because there are those who defy the statistic that says that only children have nightmares. If those people are anything like me, they have felt alone and, frankly, crazy.

They started gradually. A few scattered nightmares in 2012, followed by two months of consistent nightmares in summer of 2013. There were more in 2014, but it got bad in February of 2015 where I had one nightmare a week for four months. That spell clearly ended by the grace of God. A couple months later though, they came back... and that's where it got crazy.

That August, the nightmares came back with a vengeance. They followed a terribly difficult summer. Confused by what God was doing in my life, I tried to get rid of these nightmares on my own. I relentlessly researched solutions, stayed up late and woke up early, tried new eating habits; I thought I tried everything. Nothing worked. On average, I had a nightmare every two days. Sometimes I could go a whole two weeks without getting one, and sometimes I would get four in one night. They just kept coming month after month after month.

All this I was virtually silent about. By spring of 2016, three people knew how bad things were and they were praying for me. The problem was, I had given up praying for me. I accepted that I didn't understand what God was doing and just let it happen. I stopped trying to cover up the circles under my eyes. I forgot what rest felt like. That year, I accepted the fact that at least once a week I would wake up screaming, sweating, or afraid of whoever I had dreamt about. My understanding of what a nightmare was deepened painfully. Some of my nightmares took people that I loved and changed them. Tweaked them. Gave them new personalities and replaced my memories of them with these new memories that were fake, but oh so real in my head. Because of the frequency and intensity of my dreams, I had forgotten who certain friends really were. Some nightmares involved the deaths of loved ones. Others, recurring ones, gave me new fears like a fear of big dogs and bad men. You see, when I woke up from a nightmare, it stayed in my head. That was the greatest struggle. I couldn't shake them. Images from what I had seen during the night followed me all throughout the day. They bothered me and dragged me down to the point where I was afraid to sleep.

I didn't know how to tell others what I was experiencing. To me, it sounded crazy, dumb, as though I should know better than to be influenced by what I was seeing. It was embarrassing. Because there's nothing "actually wrong." Because it's inexplicable. I couldn't trust my brain to tell me the difference between a real memory and a memory fabricated by a dream. Sproul said one time, "At times, I myself am vexed by thorny questions about memory. I have had dreams so vivid and intense that years later I am not sure if I am remembering a dream or a real experience." Real seemed so far away. I was lost and defeated. When a year passed, I wrote in my diary, "I don't know how to hope that this trend will go away." But it did. After 13 months, it ended.

The fears have faded. I've already forgotten most of the content of my 100+ nightmares, though there are some I may never forget. It's been three months since I had a nightmare. (I had a freak nightmare in late November. That was a big deal, and I'll explain in a minute.) That's the longest peaceful streak I've experienced in two years.

What I've realized is that God doesn't always increase our faith by answering our prayers.  "At other times, He leaves our problems but gives us His strength so that we can have victory over them on a day to day basis, thus revealing His sustaining grace." -Sande. Lots of times, He calls us to trust Him in the midst of hard things. "Sometimes He calms the storm, and other times He calms His child." -Krippayne. I'm only beginning to understand the depths of this faith thing. I've failed many times and I know that failing is human and common and a battle that I will fight for the rest of my life. But God is gracious and faithful. "He will cover you with His pinions, and under His wings you will find refuge; his faithfulness is a shield and a buckler. You will not fear the terror of the night. . . When he calls to me, I will answer him; I will be with him in trouble..." Psalm 91: 4-5; 15.

When the nightmares stopped in September, I started to seek advice for what I should do if they came back. I firmly believe that the nightmares stopped because of a conversation I had with my mother. I finally opened up to her about what I had been going through and she listened and helped me. This is the advice that she gave me for if the nightmares ever came back: to write down the details. To tell someone I trust. To pray immediately for faith, trust, peace. Then, one night in late November, I was given a chance to use this advice. I woke up screaming from the worst nightmare I've ever had and I immediately prayed. I wrote down the dream. I kept praying. I listened to music, prayed for the people in my dream, and was able to fall back asleep. Later that week, I told my best friend about my nightmare and she helped me get past it. I haven't had a nightmare since. There's no guarantee they won't come back, but I'm ready this time because I'm surrounded by people who love me and a God who understands.

Moral of the story: you're not alone. You feel alone, you think it's better that way, but it's not. Seek out help. Talk to God. Don't stop talking to God. Tell people you trust and ask them to pray for you and with you. They won't understand. Your battle is different from theirs, different from mine, but just because we don't understand doesn't mean we can't help. People wanted to help me, but I didn't ask them. When I finally did, they responded lovingly. Reach out and let people reach out to you. It makes a difference. It might not make the trouble go away, but you will have help. God gives strength to those who ask.

My Doctor Who Scarf Projects

A few years ago, one of my best friends introduced me to Doctor Who and the 4th Doctor's scarf, one of the show's iconic accessories. In the autumn of 2013, I decided to learn how to knit, and my friend kindly pestered me about knitting the 12 foot long scarf for him. In January of 2015, I finally did. Since then, I have made a test scarf for myself, an improved one for him, two commissions for friends, a custom blue version for my crazy uncle, an Etsy commission, a custom edition for my little sister (the width is two stitches narrower than the original), and the season 18 "red" scarf.

 Each scarf took between twelve days and four weeks to complete. I was ridiculously excited for the first one. I basically only stopped to eat and sleep between Christmas Eve and mid January. The fastest was the most recent original.

 The first day the scarf on the left was delivered, it weathered snow, twigs, sawdust, and sweat. Since then it has stretched to 14 feet and visited several states. The scarf on the right is mine. It has gone from 10 feet to 10 and a half feet and has seen less travel. Another difference between the scarves is that my scarf used a green yarn that was discontinued before I was able to stock up for the other scarves. The latter green was worsted, which assisted in most of the second scarf's expansion.

 My first commission! I met the recipient of my third scarf and nerded out with her about the show and all the places this scarf would visit. Her's also sports the later, more vibrant green.

 The blue version was my favorite challenge. I searched craft stores including JoAnn fabrics, Michael's, A.C.Moore, and Hobby Lobby for weeks before finding the perfect combination of six blues and one complimentary gray. The pattern is the same as the original except with eight tassels instead of the recommended ten.

 This was taken the day I completed the first project, before I even put the tassels on. It measured ten and a half feet, shorter than expected because I accidentally used the wrong gauge needles.
The scarf project has been the theme of my year, so far taking up about six months. I've learned a lot about patience and dedication in the process. Investing in the yarn, tools, and time was a commitment almost as big as my part-time job earlier this year.

My last project this year was the "red" scarf from season 18. Before stretching, it measured 13'6'' long, 10'' wide. I knitted it in 2 and a half weeks using acrylic yarn. It took another week and a half to put the ends in, crochet the edging, and put all 42 tassels on. My sister looks like the Doctor's companion, Tegan, so she did the modeling for me.