// book // Love, Pinkie >.<, tells the story of Pinkie, a young girl confronted by the daily bombardments of internal struggles prevalent in our fast-paced, perennially wired, 21st century society.
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A love letter with life messages.
Rockin' your world with Pinkie love.
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The Silent Holocaust
I’m eighteen and I’m lucky. You know why?
I made it outside the womb. Alive.
Today, the story belongs to the millions of little souls whose lives (though never really lived) ended differently.
I could have been one of them. Thank God I wasn’t.
You see, someone fought for me:
“Mr. Hall, I’ve told you there is no heartbeat.”
“I want you to do one more ultrasound.”
“Your insurance won’t cover it. A miscarriage-”
“It doesn’t matter. I want one more ultrasound.”
“Mr. Hall, I understand your grief, but you need to move on. You already have three children. I know you’re upset, but the next practical step is a D&C. You-”
“Doctor, I want one final ultrasound.”
“Mr. Hall, I have to insist-”
“One more ultrasound. That’s final.”
They completed one final ultrasound. They found my heartbeat…I wasn’t a miscarriage after all. IF Dad hadn’t fought, hadn’t insisted, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have written this and you wouldn’t be reading it.
When my father confronted the red-faced doctor nineteen years ago, what was he fighting for? An expendable fetus? A woman’s right to choose?
No, a life. My life.
And what if Dad had been aborted? He wouldn’t have been in that room, he wouldn’t have fought that doctor, and that final ultrasound wouldn’t have happened.
I wouldn’t be here.
How many what-if’s are there? Estimates are that fifty-five million abortions have happened since Roe V. Wade was passed in 1973. Fifty-five million what-if’s andcould-be‘s.
A few pro-life activists wonder how many Albert Einsteins, Steve Jobs, and Isaac Newtons have been sacrificed for the sake of a woman’s reproductive rights.
I can tell you the issue is not how intelligent the child may have been, it’s the worth of a person. I close my eyes and shudder at the number of souls who never made it.
It’s called the Silent Holocaust because a fatal label was slapped on their mouth and they aren’t even allowed the dignity of a scream. This struggle is just a technicality. It’s an abortion of a fetus…they aren’t technically children (who would shriek if we let them).
Now, multiply these injustices times fifty-five million.
Wait. Fifty-five million what? Technicalities or lives?
This question was answered by a panel of nine judges forty years ago today. It’s fifty-five million technicalities.
Our morality is more shredded and broken as the ‘fetuses’ we destroy.
Look in that mirror again and be glad you made it. You were given the gift of life and the honor to live it.
Be glad someone fought for you. I am.
“Speak up for the people who have no voice…”
Men We Aren’t
by Payden Hall
I live in a place that smudges, denies, and disgraces the distinctions that make me a woman.
Frankly, I’m tired of it.
I want to be romanced, I want to have adventure, and I want to bring beauty to the world. Those are three desires that makes me uniquely feminine. Whether you’re a military officer or a housewife, if you’re female, you have them.
Ironically, even Hollywood knows the design of Woman possesses something the Man does not
For example, the following scene is not a likely one you’ll find a popular Hollywood movie:
Soot smudged her high cheekbones. Wiping sweat from her brow, she charged into the roaring flames, determined to rescue her love.
“Help me, Margaret!” A masculine voice shrieked..
James was in the room to her left. The doorway was her only chance to make it in time to rescue James from the hell he was trapped in. She halted for only a half second, mustering up the courage to charge through the flames. She heard James stifle a scream of fright as a timber crashed from the blazing ceiling and knock through the floorboards, blocking her only entry. Cutting her off from James.
“James! I’m coming!” She called bravely.
There was only one thing to do. Fearlessly, she put her small, chafed hands on the smoldering log and heaved. It budged ever so slightly. Straining every muscle in her slender frame, she could feel the strength quickly leaving her arms. The smoking timber burned her flesh, but the girl drowned the pain in her desperate energy, focused only on the man in the other room. The woman put her head down, feet apart, and jerked the log upward. Pushing it aside, she leaped through the doorway and saw him. His towering frame had collapsed on the floor.
“James!” the blackened girl with sweating arms said excitedly.
She knelt down and gingerly put her arms beneath his unconscious body. With a grunt, she gathered him in her arms and carried her precious cargo through the flames and emerged burned, exhausted, but victorious from the scorching flames of her home.
Although modern feminism is pushing and pushing to have it otherwise, you’ll rarely find the above scene in a Hollywood film Why? Because it doesn’t make sense.
A strapping damsel rushes to the knight in distress? While very twenty-first centuryish, that still sounds awkward.
Any normal girl would rather be rescued than do the rescuing. Sure, she wants to be part of an adventure, but she doesn’t want to do the fighting. She wants to be fought for, to be cherished. To be romanced.
Remember the film, Tangled ?
Would it have been the same if Flynn had been up in the tower with flowing, golden hair? Not by a long shot.
Modern feminism declares the age-old story of “damsel in distress” as a relic of a patriarchal society that demonstrates the history of the oppression of women.
I disagree. I love that part of the story.
It’s beautiful and it’s fitting. Rapunzel wouldn’t be as good if it was the dude with the long hair who needed to be rescued.
Since when did equal mean identical, anyway? It never did. Equal but gloriously in-equal. A man is infinitely superior than a woman at being a man and a woman is infinitely superior to a man at being a woman (original, I know).
Perhaps I’m delusional because I think women should be tender and inviting, not Spartan and severe. Well, then I’ll sit behind my rose-colored glasses and enjoy being a woman.
If allowing a man to hold open a door for me because I am a woman makes me appear helpless, if being tender and nurturing because I am a woman makes me seem weak, then I’ll just have to be a wimp.
This whole view of women trying to prove themselves to be equal to men is a waste of a woman.
After all, we are women. We aren’t men.
‘Guard Your Heart’
by Sharon Hodde Miller
Somehow the teaching to guard one’s heart gets translated into, “Deny your feelings” or “Don’t have crushes” or “Don’t go out on dates.” Not surprisingly, the attempt to quash one’s romantic feelings by pretending they don’t exist usually results in failure.
To me, “guarding one’s heart” has always been about wisdom in dating: Don’t get too serious too fast, and don’t give your heart to someone who has proved to be untrustworthy. This is a very different interpretation from, “Don’t have feelings for any man who is not your future husband.”
Guarding my heart is not about sparing me pain in relationships, but tending to the health of my soul.
Put another way, an unguarded heart can lead to a poisoned spiritual wellspring, one that is tainted with bitterness or self-loathing. The repercussions of an unguarded heart are especially apparent in unhealthy parent-child relationships. A number of my female friends learned to guard their hearts from a parent after years of emotional abuse. Until they did so, they were wracked with shame and insecurity. Their wellsprings were not life giving, but toxic.
Unwise dating relationships can have a similar effect. When a woman gives her heart too freely to men who might abuse it, she endangers the wellspring of her soul. That is not to say that women should deny their romantic feelings or should refuse dates unless they are sure they will end in marriage. On the contrary, a first date is perfect for investigating whether a man is trustworthy. It is when a woman determines whether she can give her heart away some day in the future.
“Guard your heart” does not mean “lock it up and throw away the key.” It does not promote emotional suppression. What it does encourage is wisdom, caution, and discernment in how we handle our hearts.
Guarding your heart and tending to your soul—rather than indiscriminately putting your heart out there, blindly following your heart, or diving into intimate relationships without hesitation—is how you are able to love more freely and fully. Guarding your heart is not the antithesis of vulnerability; rather, it makes healthy vulnerability possible in the first place.