Freedom Run: Fighting Darkness One Step at a Time.

Yet another day of school. I promised myself I'd study in five minutes. First, facebook. JUST five minutes.

M had posted something that had a big red X logo. I scanned it for anything interesting. "We're in to end it" the post said. End what? *Scroll* Ahh. Human trafficking. Good cause, I thought. Good cause indeed. *Scroll*

S had posted something that had a big red X logo. I did a double take. The same post! I'm  proud of you, S. I nodded silently to myself. Perhaps I should re-post this. It's a good cause. It'd be good to raise awareness about human trafficking.

I moved the mouse over to the "share" button.

NO.

What?

NO. This isn't what you were trained to do. This is not how your parents, your youth leader and your time at Summit Ministries trained you to think.

Oh, ok. What, then?

Check it out.

I shifted the mouse just in time and clicked on the link.

The website was mostly black and red, with the big X logo etched in flashy places. I scrolled through, taking it in. Statistics barreled at me. And estimated 27 million people are enslaved worldwide. Over 100,000 thousand people are enslaved in AMERICA alone. Two children are sold every minute. 

Every MINUTE? The bloody logo stared at me, daring me to believe these outrageous facts.

I can't just ignore this.

I looked at the top of the page and found the "Action" tab. There must be something I could do, some way I could support this movement besides re-posting it onto my social media network. A list of fundraiser ideas came up. Host a bake sale, have a car wash, do a dodge ball tournament, on and on. My hometown does dozens of these a year. They looked way to ordinary. HOST A MARATHON. I jumped. The words flashed at me. I laughed. I don't run! And I'm supposed to host a marathon? That's comical, really.

School tickled my brain and I closed the tab. Homework doesn't wait well.

But I couldn't get the idea out of my mind. I tried not to think about it as an obligation, but in the back of my brain I boiled down the marathon to a more workable portion: a 5k run. A day passed, then a few days, and a week. I couldn't forget about the horrible things I'd read about girls deceived into sex trafficking, and children who didn't recognize pimps until it was too late.

I presented the idea of a 5k to raise awareness about human trafficking - especially sex trafficking - to my college Bible study and my youth leader. They fanned the idea into a plan and volunteered to help see it carried out.

We are hosting a Freedom Run.

Together we have organized a 5k run/walk for June 22nd. Check in begins at 7 AM and the race begins at 8 AM. There is a kids run starting at 9 AM and a silent auction during the races. Strollers are welcome! No skateboards, bikes, wheely-shoes, etc.

Register early for the run to ensure a t-shirt! The deadline for early registration is June 8th. Registration info and the registration form can be found at www.stayclassy.org/1corinth926. Registration after the deadline costs $35. The kids run is only $5 but I still need a registration for each entrant.

There is even a place for people to volunteer NOT to run! We'll need some to point the way for the runners, some to keep track of timing to determine first place winners, some to manage check in, somebody to help with water tables, etc. There will be plenty of work for people who would love to help in a way that doesn't involve a lot of sweat.

If you have questions about donations, donating items for the silent auction, sponsoring our race, registration or volunteering, please contact me! My email is gianna.freedomrun@gmail.com.

Thank you so much for your support and prayers.

May God bless our humble event and use each dollar for precious people caught in trafficking and for his glory.

Amen.

The Meaning of Meaning

Because of course all my Summit friends aren't over-loaded with school, or brain-fried with lectures, or exhausted with their families. We opted to review...right?

"Alright, my topic is the Meaning of Meaning.
"We all know that Ideas have...?"

"Consequences," we replied in attempted unison.

"And bad ideas have bad consequences," Michael Bauman added, doubling our perception of the first idea.

A few kids began twirling their pens. Most of us sat and tried to wrap our heads around that in the two seconds before our lecturer used those statements as the foundation for his hour's argument.

He launched.
We gulped.

"This guy's terrible," the guy next to me warned in a whisper.
"Whaaa?" I raised an eyebrow.
"He'll throw out a question and then take the opposite position you take."
"Oh. Um, I don't like arguments like that." And that determined me to just sit this one out and glean what I could from others.

"My other point is that sloppy language makes sloppy thought possible. But back to the first point.
"When you read a book who determines what it means? Do you determine the meaning, or does the author?"

"Well you do."
I glanced at the kid. Not if I have anything to say about it! I thought.

Seriously? As a writer, that's quite defeating! I write my opinion on several things. And if each reader is free to take the words I write and turn them into anything they want to hear, it completely negates the purpose of writing in the first place!

I sat a little on edge, mentally daring somebody to agree with him. But at the same time, fear nibbled my mind. If words I write can mean anything, then they will never truly say what I want them to; not only would it completely cancel out the purpose of writing, but I could be accused of so many false ideas. Writers would be stripped of their influence over culture. Meanings could be twisted to support any position on anything.

And isn't this exactly where people covertly begin to destroy positive influence and ideas? By undermining meaning. People who take away meaning can convince you to question everything from their bias of meaninglessness. And to those who learn this teaching innocently, it even makes sense.

It can't be true though. If somebody is telling you that meaning is only interpretation, then you are quite free to interpret that to mean anything. Even that meaning only means the author's intent. People who teach this twisted view want to be the exception to this philosophy. And so it doesn't work.

"Ok. Secondly, sloppy thought makes sloppy language possible. Case in point. Let us consider hypothetically that Jill has a very clear idea about R. Jill decides to write a book about R. She chooses her words carefully, and is very specific with her language. Her book is published and Jack picks it up. He reads carefully, following the author's intent. And when Jack has finished reading the book, the ideas about R that Jill had are successfully and accurately communicated to Jack.
"However! Maybe Jill was a sloppy thinker. Perhaps she didn't bother to ponder R enough to get a clear picture of it. Moreover, when she wrote, she used a "hand grenade" style of writing (thank you for the quote, Michael Bauman) and chose words that roughly described her already-shaky R. Jack can read this two ways. If Jack is a sloppy reader, he may be so confused by Jill's disorganized thoughts in disorganized writing that he gets a shaky picture of S instead of R.

"Or perhaps, Jack is a good reader and he thinks what a stupid author."

"Our world was spoken into existence; language is at the core of our world. You have to get the words right."

The Unsung Anthem

O say, can you see, by the dawn's early light,

what so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming?

Whose broad stripes and bright stars, thro' the perilous fight,

O'er the ramparts we watched, were so gallantly streaming?

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air,

Gave proof thro' the night that our flag was still there.

O say, does that Star-spangled Banner still wave

O're the land of the free and the home of the brave?

We correctly remove our hats and place our right hands over our hearts. We look at our flag and remember the freedoms that those colors symbolize.

Then twenty-five percent of the way through this tribute, we place each cap back on its head and walk away.

How many have heard these words sung at sporting events, at a funeral, or in church?

On the shore dimly seen, thro' the mists of the deep,
Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning's first beam,
In full glory reflected, now shines in the stream;

'Tis the Star-Spangled Banner, Oh long may it wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

For the sake of each fallen soldier from 1776 until now, follow the story of the song. 

In 1814, Francis Scott Key boarded a British ship to negotiate the release of his friend, the Dr. William Beanes. He was forced to wait on the ship and watch the British attack Fort McHenry through the night. Through the first verse, Key has wondered, desperately, whether that flag still waves. Now his breath catches and he stiffens slightly - defiantly. There on the shore, scarcely discernable in the predawn gloom, crowded as it is with the smoky atmosphere of bloodshed, there were glimpses of red, white and blue.

But it wasn't morning yet.

And then innocent, beautiful light twisted the dark horizon into a rainbow. The flag stood.

And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle's confusion
A home and a country should leave us no more?
Their blood has wash'd out their foul footstep's pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Key gives us the foundation suitably placed at the end. A country defended itself before his eyes. He lived and breathed the struggle of keeping America free. And he must forcibly remind us of the Help that aided each one in that struggle.

Oh, thus be it ever when free men shall stand
Between their loved homes and the war's desolation!
Blest with vict'ry and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Pow'r that hath made and preserved us a nation!
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto, "In God is our trust"
And the Star-Spangled Banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

God bless America.

Just New York City

I was going to blog about going to New York.

Now I don't know if I can. So much of it was just tourist attractions and travel! I enjoyed it without a doubt, but there was so little of substance that happened.

So I'll compromise. I'll post my pictures and give you a photo blog post (for once) and get this self-inflicted need to blog about NYC off my mind.

Then I can freely write about things that actually give me words.



This is my first picture of the skyline! If only the UPS truck hadn't changed lanes. Grrrr.

This is the Lincoln Tunnel. It goes under the Hudson River from Brooklyn, New Jersey to New York City, New York. This picture was supposed to show how wet the walls were from being right under the river.





This was the old graveyard at Trinity church. William Bradford is burried here! Also - think National Treasure.

The boys started feeding the pidgeons during breakfast.



And they gathered somewhat of a crowd before they realized it wasn't a very good idea.

This is the 9/11 memorial site. the water runs from a under a ledge down to the first level, and then it falls down into that square in the center.

Around the rim is a ledge on which is inscribed the name of every victim of 9/11 from the two towers, from the Pentagon, from the volunteer rescue workers, and from the victims of the terrorist attack in 1993.

These are some of the names inscribed on that ledge.

And this next picture is what brought all of this into focus for me.

Inna. The nickname of one of my dearest friends. I had to stand for a minute to take this in. It struck me then that people's friends died here. That their families, their sisters, their childhood playmates did not escape the tower before it fell. That the pain from this tragedy was still hurting my country.

The rest of the pictures I took at Ground Zero were much less from a tourist's point of view, and more from that of a touched countryman. It was a sad lesson, but I am grateful I learned it.

Thoughtfully,

Gianna.

(More pictures later. :)