I can no longer swallow the argument that 'it's just a game' when it comes to the offerings of violent programming being marketed to the world.
They are not games!
They are nothing less than tactical exercises geared to removal of human and Godly emotion in dealing with our fellow beings.
To the degree that we become self-absorbed and accustomed to violence as a daily way of life, we separate ourselves from the Spirit of God by degrees until what we perceive to be light is truly darkness.
Experts within the video gaming industry don't want people to realize that this desensitization is occuring because it would harm the bottom line. But facts are facts. We have proof that subliminal advertising works. We know that media is crammed with distorted images of what we should be, look like and purchase with our hard earned dollars. So when the people who earn their money by exploiting the baser emotions claim that their products are harmless, I have to disagree most vehemently.
If they had no effect either through addictive properties or increases in altered behavior, no one would buy another one and they wouldn't ever use the first game again.
The fact is, by design and engineering, violent games are created for the sole purpose of doing the unacceptable in a safe environment. But it isn't safe.
What we think we will eventually do if we do not heed the promptings of the Holy Spirit and leave those things behind that can harm us spiritually, emotionally and eternally.
I have seen all too many times the headlines of tragedy that violent actions have occured in mimicry of violent games. The rationale is that 'they would have done it anyway' just doesn't ring true.
When we make all things possible by any means possible, we remove God from the equation and are left to our own devices. Much like the people of the Book of Mormon who willingly subjugated themselves to the Father of All Lies and acted most cruelly to those whom they battled, those who enslave their appetites and passions to gaming are teaching their spirit that it doesn't matter what they do.
Eventually, they can't stop without intervention and a huge dose of repentance.
Our armed forces who are commanded into harms way come home with PTSD and a host of issues that they cannot overcome alone. They have lived the reality of the games that are played by a generation of gamers who don't see any harm in what they do. And the harm they have suffered will never fully be repaired in this life.
Sadly, we have a lot of people in this world who are more than willing to make a living off of the backs of other people while exploiting the base elements of human nature.
The truth is that we have a choice. We don't have to cave in and buy these things either for ourselves OR for our children.
It's strange that we wouldn't tell our children to eat from the garbage cans, yet we are willing to allow them to forage through the mental trash of the world and hope there will be no harm.
It's all reality . . . there is nothing virtual about it.
June 4, 2008
June 1, 2008
Big
Tom Hanks has an adventure as a boy become a man overnight due to a single wish made at a carnival.
As we sat here watching the movie for the hundreth time tonight the thought crossed my mind: "Just what would I do if a wish was granted overnight for me?"
What would I wish for and why? How would that wish ripple out and affect the lives of everyone else in my life?
In the movie, Josh only wants to be bigger than he is at that one moment so he can ride a carnival ride with a pretty girl.
But what happens is SO much 'bigger' than he anticipated and so much more complicated than everyone else would ever comprehend.
So, if I were granted a wish from the Zoltan machine, what would it be?
Would I wish to be thin again with the body that I now only see in decades old photographs?
Would I wish to be in college and 'do it right' this time?
Or would I wish for something for someone else?
Could it be possible to make life better for someone else or would that wish make things worse for another?
Oh, the power of a wish!
We teach kids to 'blow out the candles and make a wish' on their birthdays and swear them to silence telling them that if they share their secret wish that it won't come true.
We see a shooting star and wish for things in the silence of our heart.
As night falls, the first star to peek out of the velvet darkness is known as the wishing star and desires are uttered as if that heavenly body can truly govern who or what we are in life.
We make wishes on eyelashes, over candles and sometimes over drinks.
We have foundations set up to take money and grant wishes to people who are dying as if somehow the wish will make up for the passing of life that will soon come.
How does one wish suddenly become so big?
Maybe it is just the idea that we can, with the simple desire to change something, become more than we are all on our own.
It's almost a genetic belief that if we want something enough, we can wish for it to be so and it will come to pass.
I'd like to return to the days where the power of a wish trumped all semblance of reality.
It made the time pass by in heady excitement with the dreams of what might be.
Maybe that faint remembrance is why we enter sweepstakes and contests. We are still captivated by the power of a wish.
The excitement of what could happen overshadows the bigger picture of our daily reality that is just too dull to contemplate. But, with a wish, we can be more than we are right now.
Wishes can make us bigger, stronger, faster, prettier, more able and somehow make up for the difference between who we want to be and who we really are when we see our own flawed face in the mirror each morning.
I'd like another wish. . . I just don't know whether I am ready for it to become true.
But I think I'm ready to give it a try.
As we sat here watching the movie for the hundreth time tonight the thought crossed my mind: "Just what would I do if a wish was granted overnight for me?"
What would I wish for and why? How would that wish ripple out and affect the lives of everyone else in my life?
In the movie, Josh only wants to be bigger than he is at that one moment so he can ride a carnival ride with a pretty girl.
But what happens is SO much 'bigger' than he anticipated and so much more complicated than everyone else would ever comprehend.
So, if I were granted a wish from the Zoltan machine, what would it be?
Would I wish to be thin again with the body that I now only see in decades old photographs?
Would I wish to be in college and 'do it right' this time?
Or would I wish for something for someone else?
Could it be possible to make life better for someone else or would that wish make things worse for another?
Oh, the power of a wish!
We teach kids to 'blow out the candles and make a wish' on their birthdays and swear them to silence telling them that if they share their secret wish that it won't come true.
We see a shooting star and wish for things in the silence of our heart.
As night falls, the first star to peek out of the velvet darkness is known as the wishing star and desires are uttered as if that heavenly body can truly govern who or what we are in life.
We make wishes on eyelashes, over candles and sometimes over drinks.
We have foundations set up to take money and grant wishes to people who are dying as if somehow the wish will make up for the passing of life that will soon come.
How does one wish suddenly become so big?
Maybe it is just the idea that we can, with the simple desire to change something, become more than we are all on our own.
It's almost a genetic belief that if we want something enough, we can wish for it to be so and it will come to pass.
I'd like to return to the days where the power of a wish trumped all semblance of reality.
It made the time pass by in heady excitement with the dreams of what might be.
Maybe that faint remembrance is why we enter sweepstakes and contests. We are still captivated by the power of a wish.
The excitement of what could happen overshadows the bigger picture of our daily reality that is just too dull to contemplate. But, with a wish, we can be more than we are right now.
Wishes can make us bigger, stronger, faster, prettier, more able and somehow make up for the difference between who we want to be and who we really are when we see our own flawed face in the mirror each morning.
I'd like another wish. . . I just don't know whether I am ready for it to become true.
But I think I'm ready to give it a try.
May 31, 2008
Slom, Drinds and Blue Jeans
Jean Kerr, author of several books, wrote of her experience in having movers come and pack up her household goods and label them variously for the relocation to their new home.
After laughing myself silly at the antics of her family in her books and the puzzlement over the indication that one box contained 'Sloms, Drinds and Blue Jeans', I realized we have all shared something similar in our lives.
During the course of our married life we have moved like nomads in search of an oasis several times. School, jobs and sanity propelled us to make the moves. One such time, we had a box carefully labeled 'stuff'.
Upon opening the box, I discovered the contents to be pens with no ink, pencils that were broken or worn down to the nub, a broken plastic ruler, empty pencil lead tubes, some scissors that needed to be sharpened and repointed, rubber bands that were no longer elastic and a host of other desk drawer items that most certainly were bound for the dumpster instead of the moving van.
Why we kept these little gems is beyond my comprehension.
Likewise, we had other boxes which were dutifully moved WITHOUT OPENING THEM for a couple of moves.
I finally decided that if there was something we truly NEEDED in those cartons, we would have opened it up long ago and threw them out.
Having mentioned that to a lady at church one day, the look of horror that crossed her face let me know that I had committed sin tantamount to throwing the baby out with the bathwater.
Stammering her objections to me she said, "But what if there was something VALUABLE in those boxes?"
When I recovered my breath from laughing so hard I got a stitch in my side, I truthfully informed her that we were NOT related to the Getty's and that we didn't HAVE any valuables.
While I haven't ever employed professional movers to help us relocate, I have used the assistance of friends, church members and people from work who owed me a favor. This might explain the contents of the 'stuff' box that defied all worldly explanation. I can take solace in the fact that maybe, just maybe, I DIDN'T pack that box and maybe someone else is to blame!
At the end of the yard sale today, I was left with a collection of things that simply had been trotted out too many times to be useful to anyone anymore. They hadn't sold and weren't going to sell. It was time to pack them up and make that long drive to the thrift shop and donate them to a charitable cause that could get a nickle out of the stuff that I couldn't sell.
I have noticed that stuff which wouldn't garner a second glance at a yardsale is stocked in a thrift store shelf somewhere, it starts looking like a much better deal than in someone's garage or on a table under the tree on their lawn.
Not sure why that is, but it exists nonetheless.
It is almost as if somehow the legitimacy of a storefront makes junk seem a bit better than it does when it lies on a table filled with dusty knick-knacks like posed pigs and cute kittens in a wall hanging display.
It's an elevation in status by location. That, of course, is the first rule of business - location, location, location.
If only I could move my yard sale to a store front with helpful and understanding clerks who could move the "junk" into the realm of "merchandise".
Maybe the secret is to find a family who is moving, and carefully drive by and deposit a strangely labeled box in their moving van which has been filled to the brim with those things that you no longer wish to keep.
Then imagine the fun when they arrive at the new place only to discover a box that everyone swears they didn't pack!!!
Oh well. Delusion has set in and it's time for bed.
Besides which, I don't have any neighbors who are moving . . . yet.
After laughing myself silly at the antics of her family in her books and the puzzlement over the indication that one box contained 'Sloms, Drinds and Blue Jeans', I realized we have all shared something similar in our lives.
During the course of our married life we have moved like nomads in search of an oasis several times. School, jobs and sanity propelled us to make the moves. One such time, we had a box carefully labeled 'stuff'.
Upon opening the box, I discovered the contents to be pens with no ink, pencils that were broken or worn down to the nub, a broken plastic ruler, empty pencil lead tubes, some scissors that needed to be sharpened and repointed, rubber bands that were no longer elastic and a host of other desk drawer items that most certainly were bound for the dumpster instead of the moving van.
Why we kept these little gems is beyond my comprehension.
Likewise, we had other boxes which were dutifully moved WITHOUT OPENING THEM for a couple of moves.
I finally decided that if there was something we truly NEEDED in those cartons, we would have opened it up long ago and threw them out.
Having mentioned that to a lady at church one day, the look of horror that crossed her face let me know that I had committed sin tantamount to throwing the baby out with the bathwater.
Stammering her objections to me she said, "But what if there was something VALUABLE in those boxes?"
When I recovered my breath from laughing so hard I got a stitch in my side, I truthfully informed her that we were NOT related to the Getty's and that we didn't HAVE any valuables.
While I haven't ever employed professional movers to help us relocate, I have used the assistance of friends, church members and people from work who owed me a favor. This might explain the contents of the 'stuff' box that defied all worldly explanation. I can take solace in the fact that maybe, just maybe, I DIDN'T pack that box and maybe someone else is to blame!
At the end of the yard sale today, I was left with a collection of things that simply had been trotted out too many times to be useful to anyone anymore. They hadn't sold and weren't going to sell. It was time to pack them up and make that long drive to the thrift shop and donate them to a charitable cause that could get a nickle out of the stuff that I couldn't sell.
I have noticed that stuff which wouldn't garner a second glance at a yardsale is stocked in a thrift store shelf somewhere, it starts looking like a much better deal than in someone's garage or on a table under the tree on their lawn.
Not sure why that is, but it exists nonetheless.
It is almost as if somehow the legitimacy of a storefront makes junk seem a bit better than it does when it lies on a table filled with dusty knick-knacks like posed pigs and cute kittens in a wall hanging display.
It's an elevation in status by location. That, of course, is the first rule of business - location, location, location.
If only I could move my yard sale to a store front with helpful and understanding clerks who could move the "junk" into the realm of "merchandise".
Maybe the secret is to find a family who is moving, and carefully drive by and deposit a strangely labeled box in their moving van which has been filled to the brim with those things that you no longer wish to keep.
Then imagine the fun when they arrive at the new place only to discover a box that everyone swears they didn't pack!!!
Oh well. Delusion has set in and it's time for bed.
Besides which, I don't have any neighbors who are moving . . . yet.
May 25, 2008
Music soothes the savage beast
Having been plagued with nightmares of a most horrendous variety for most of my life, there have been some stretches of time where sleep was a vague memory. Night after night, the terror comes and even awake, the dreams bring frightening emotions and feelings that are persistent and feel very real. A constant in all of these episodes is a feeling of impending doom and dread that is as difficult to shake as anything I have ever known.
But, when those times come, I can get a relief and release from the grip of the terror in only a couple of ways.
While I pour my heart and soul out in my prayers, I reach for my scriptures and for my music. They are the only solace for the agony.
I have been directly counseled to do just those two things when the night terrors come. They provide a source of comfort that none else can.
And the blessing of having a worthy priesthood holder in the home who can help me sort through the madness is something I cannot underestimate. No matter what time of the day or night, Rick is willing to help me and share his and the Lord's strength with me at a moment of total weakness and helplessness.
It is a true saying that music soothes the savage beast. While some sayings are just that and full of mostly hot air, this one is right on target as it not only soothes the beast, it removes it.
How thankful I am that a loving and kind Father in Heaven provided solace and calm in the simple melodies and harmonies that can bring peace through the storm!
I remember reading a sign on a billboard by a little country church that I pass on the way to Jared's school now and again. It read "Stop telling your God how big the storm is. Instead, tell the storm how big your God is!"
The simplicity and truth of the statement isn't lost on me.
On those nights when I have nothing left but the tiny flame of hope to cling to, I reach out to the One who can and will make it possible to survive the night.
Then, the beast recedes, the peace and calm are restored and the living presence of an all wise and caring Father and His Merciful Son come and bring a lightness that defies all human understanding. It is a blessing that I ardently seek in those scary hours when the night seems so very dark and long.
Through the inspiration of the scriptures words and the gentle whispering of the Holy Spirit in the music, there is peace and the soothing calm brought by the touch of the Master's hand on a troubled sea of emotional turmoil.
I know I have far more doubts in my life than I should. I can't always claim to act faithfully. I know that Father is willing to reach out to me even when I don't always reach out to take His hand. But in the times that I do, something akin to miraculous occurs. The things that seem so very troubling in the shadows of the night are swallowed up in the glorious light of His truth.
He is in charge.
HE IS IN CHARGE.
And with that, the peace and calm are brought near and the music echoes His promises made in the Holy Scriptures that He will always love and care for us as His Children.
But, when those times come, I can get a relief and release from the grip of the terror in only a couple of ways.
While I pour my heart and soul out in my prayers, I reach for my scriptures and for my music. They are the only solace for the agony.
I have been directly counseled to do just those two things when the night terrors come. They provide a source of comfort that none else can.
And the blessing of having a worthy priesthood holder in the home who can help me sort through the madness is something I cannot underestimate. No matter what time of the day or night, Rick is willing to help me and share his and the Lord's strength with me at a moment of total weakness and helplessness.
It is a true saying that music soothes the savage beast. While some sayings are just that and full of mostly hot air, this one is right on target as it not only soothes the beast, it removes it.
How thankful I am that a loving and kind Father in Heaven provided solace and calm in the simple melodies and harmonies that can bring peace through the storm!
I remember reading a sign on a billboard by a little country church that I pass on the way to Jared's school now and again. It read "Stop telling your God how big the storm is. Instead, tell the storm how big your God is!"
The simplicity and truth of the statement isn't lost on me.
On those nights when I have nothing left but the tiny flame of hope to cling to, I reach out to the One who can and will make it possible to survive the night.
Then, the beast recedes, the peace and calm are restored and the living presence of an all wise and caring Father and His Merciful Son come and bring a lightness that defies all human understanding. It is a blessing that I ardently seek in those scary hours when the night seems so very dark and long.
Through the inspiration of the scriptures words and the gentle whispering of the Holy Spirit in the music, there is peace and the soothing calm brought by the touch of the Master's hand on a troubled sea of emotional turmoil.
I know I have far more doubts in my life than I should. I can't always claim to act faithfully. I know that Father is willing to reach out to me even when I don't always reach out to take His hand. But in the times that I do, something akin to miraculous occurs. The things that seem so very troubling in the shadows of the night are swallowed up in the glorious light of His truth.
He is in charge.
HE IS IN CHARGE.
And with that, the peace and calm are brought near and the music echoes His promises made in the Holy Scriptures that He will always love and care for us as His Children.
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