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Rejection must be one of the most wounding experiences any human being can suffer. To be cast out by another human being, scorned, insulted, the possibility of a relationship spurned because somehow you are not good enough surely has to be the most painful emotion.

Rejection has a twin cousin, betrayal. Betrayal is the highest form of rejection: with the insidious twist that someone close to you, someone intimate with you, someone whom you believed loved you and cared for you, turns on you in hatred or abuse. The highest example is probably the spouse who cheats. It's worse than simple rejection because it carries with it the force of shock: I can't believe you're doing this to me, I thought you loved me, how could you treat me this way. It's a killer, emotionally and sometimes, literally.

All of us have experienced rejection in one form or another. Maybe it was on the playground, when we weren't chosen for the team. Or when the "cool" group at school wouldn't let us hang with them. Maybe our parents hated us or never thought we were good enough. My first conscious experience of rejection came as an eight-year-old at summer camp. A homeschooled oddity from a distinctly weird family, living in my own world because I had no group of peers to shape me, I was hated and ridiculed by the other girls. The entire week was an experience of rejection that left me wary of peer groups for years to come.

Later on, as a shy, awkward, depressed teenager, I felt rejected by those my own age whom I considered "cool". Painfully introverted and fearful, living in a small town where I didn't go to school, I had little opportunity to make friends. Boys were distinctly intimidating, though I'd hung out with them and played sports with them throughout most of my pre- and early-teen years. I felt ugly and unwanted, without the confidence to befriend others, though I longed for closeness.

But probably the deepest and ugliest form of rejection came from my father. A harsh, controlling and abusive man, he made me believe that I was worthless, never good enough to merit his approval, much less his love. He was distant and uninvolved part of the time, violently and irrationally angry the rest. I hated and feared him and at an age when I desperately longed for my father's love, his treatment closed my heart against him.

After I left home, for years this was put behind me. I was fortunate enough to fall in with Christians, go to a Christian college, be embraced by a warm and loving church (another story). But still I fenced my heart off from close involvement. I had few or no close friends to whom I divulged what was really going on inside me. The only person I trusted was the man who became my surrogate father, offering me the warmth and acceptance I'd always craved from my biological dad. I never allowed boys my own age to come too close. Although I had plenty of male friendships, whenever one showed signs of developing into something more, I put up the "No entry" signs so quickly that none of them had a chance. I was determined to protect myself, to keep my heart to myself so that I'd never hurt again. Close relationships, trust, meant pain, and I didn't want it.

But this summer, somehow, one of those boys managed to crash through those barriers. Do you believe in love at first sight? I felt a deep and instant connection to him, and somehow he slipped through. His confidence and attractiveness, coupled with reassurance that he loved me and wouldn't hurt me, intrigued my scarred and wounded heart enough to make me believe that maybe this was a chance. It's not that I didn't try to rebel against it; I did my best to push him away. But he persisted, and I believed him. More fool me? Maybe. But it was what in my heart of hearts I wanted, despite my resistance.

I know now it was meant to be. It was part of a greater purpose wielded by somebody far more powerful and more loving than that boy. He wanted to win my heart even more than that guy did, and was willing to do exactly what he had to do to accomplish it.

The relationship ended with the shock of betrayal. Hurt and astonished by something he did, and his refusal to apologize when confronted by it, I felt that I had no choice but to end it. I cried for days. Despite my certainty that I'd done the right thing, I called him a few days later to talk. I wanted to patch things up, I wanted to sort them out, I wanted to discuss getting back together. He didn't, didn't want to talk, finally became harsh and abusive and in one painful confrontation said words that still sting, told me he didn't even want to be friends and he never wanted to talk to me again.

I've written about it in earlier posts, but it had the effect of a verbal nuclear bomb. I don't give my heart easily, but when I do, I give it all, and despite the fact that I knew that we shouldn't be together, I still loved and cared for him. I'd hoped that if we couldn't be together as a couple, we could at least be friends. When somebody rejects that completely, and goes from vowing love to you to protesting hatred, cutting off the possibility of any kind of relationship, it's a vitriolic shock.

That episode got me to thinking. A lot. And ultimately it was used for a lot of good. But what it made me realize, which hit home with almost an equal force of shock as the event, was this:

Betrayal is probably the most painful of human emotions. But Jesus experienced it. One of his disciples, Judas, a man who'd followed and lived with him and served him and sat at his feet and apparently loved him, betrayed him. To death. Not only that, Peter, one of his closest friends and a member of the "inner three" of disciples, denied even knowing him in his final hour. Imagine being betrayed by a friend, given up to death, undergoing trial and torture, and yet another friend, one of your closest, denies acquaintance. Then Jesus went through the deepest darkness of rejection by his own Father as he carried the sins of the world. It must have been like acid thrown over his soul.

I realized that Jesus had shared in betrayal, and understood it, but not only that: I also realized that that is what I had done to him.

We're not used to thinking of God with emotions. We're not used to thinking of him as a person, who thinks and feels as we do. Much less are we used to thinking of our treatment of him as capable of affecting his emotions. Yet in the aftermath of my boyfriend's rejection, I understood: I had done the exact same thing to God.

I loved my boyfriend. I longed for relationship with him. I longed to patch up the problems, I longed to be close to him, I longed to make things right, and if we couldn't be together, at least to be friends. I genuinely wanted his welfare and hoped I could somehow be involved in his life.

But he wanted none of it. In fact, he ended up by hating me and pushing me out of his life altogether. He rejected even the possibility of a cordial relationship, wounding me deeply. None of my outreaches to him affected or changed his mind.

And I had done that to God. Finally, I understood.

God loved me. God longed for relationship with me. God kept on reaching out to me, showing me through people and circumstance his love for me. I knew he wanted to be close to me. I knew he wanted my surrender. I knew he wanted access to my heart. He wanted to befriend me, to know me intimately, for me to love him back and to long for his presence.

And I refused.

I shut God out. I did it consciously and willfully. I knew he was trying to break in and I kept him out. Due to past hurt, I didn't want to yield to protect myself. I hardened my heart and refused to give in to his advances. I hated him, accused him of ruining my life and deliberately hurting me, and I told him to "F--- off" more than once. I knew he was real, but I didn't want him.

After going through the same thing with my boyfriend, I finally understood. I understood the pain God must have felt as he reached out to me again and again and again and watched me slap his hand away every time.

I knew. And I never wanted to do it again.

He had loved me all along. Same as I loved that boy. He cared, and he never gave up.

I'm more thankful than I can ever be able to say. And he won, in the end.

Interior designer and University of Georgia alum (holla!), Lindsey Coral Harper, left South Georgia for The Big Apple and has been kicking the design world's ass ever since. Her resume includes an internship with Ralph Lauren in London, eight years working under famed designer Richard Langham and freelance work for Dorothy Draper, Inc. just to name a few! Images of her New York apartment have been blowing up the design websites/blogs and she was set to be featured in Domino just as the magazine folded...wa wa wa. But don't feel too sorry for her, when you are as talented as she is, you are bound to recover.

Lindsey Harper's NY Apartment

Lindsey's sister and my sister-in-law are bff's so we have been hearing about each other for years but have yet to meet. I finally emailed her introducing myself and she was nice enough to take the time to answer some questions. So here goes...

After years of residing in NY (and abroad), do you think your southern roots have any influence in your designs? If so, in what ways?
ABSOLUTELY! I am Southern to the core, ask anyone who knows me...or ask me a question and you can hear it as I still have the accent. Or as my grandfather used to say, "we don't have an accent, the rest of the world does". One of the things I love about this city is that there is a huge southern contingency and we stick together. I actually have a large group of southern decorating friends and we refer to ourselves (and so do others) as the Southern Mafia. I do think being southern has had a huge influence on my life, the way I live and the way I design and decorate. I am big on comfort and I like most southerner's I love to entertain! I really try to get to know the client and figure out who they are and how they live so that I can make their house or apartment a welcoming and comfortable environment they really love to be in all the time. In the end it's really about lifestyle!

You have such talent for accessorizing and creating eye catching tablescapes. Any advice or rules of thumb you live by?
Why thank you! I do love my accessories. If anything I'm a maximalist not a minimalist. I love shopping, antiquing, flea markets, and junk stores. If an object catches my eye whether it's a great color or a wonderful shape, a bit odd or makes me laugh, I will usually buy it. A great accessory doesn't have to be expensive or "important". It just has to mean something to you. I also love to travel so I bring things home with me typically in my carry-on (I do not check my luggage) and then I have a little reminder of that place and that trip. Most of my accessories are really wonderful memories.

You clearly are not afraid of color! Where does your color inspiration come from? And are there any colors that you refuse to work with?
I certainly love color. Not sure why, but it just makes me happy. And if you think my apartment is colorful, you should see my closet!! Maybe because I'm a redhead, I had to deal with pairing colors and getting colors right from an early age. I also think my color confidence comes from working with RKL. He too admired color and wasn't afraid to use it. He trusted me to pick paint colors for him on several jobs in the beginning of my career there. A few years later I was specifying all the colors for all of my clients and big jobs, no questions asked. He was a huge risk taker and pushed me to think outside of the box. I also like to try new things and new colors!! There are so many great colors, textiles and color combinations out there...why do the same thing over and over?! The only color I'm really adverse to is white! I rarely do white walls. Unless you have a KILLER art collection, you are going to have to really beg me to give you white walls. If I do white walls look closely, they are probably a textured paper and will definitely be paired with an amazing hi-gloss colored ceiling! Don't you just love when a really well done hi-gloss ceiling looks like glass!

Some of Lindsey Harper's Design Projects

Palm Beach

New York

This busy designer is currently working on several projects from Vermont to New York to Palm Beach. Click here to see LCH Interiors full portfolio.

Lindsey also has an online shop, called Lamshop, with her bestie and business partner, Maggie Currey, which offers custom furniture, art and one-of-a-kind treasures. Lindsey said they are working on some new pieces incorporating fun elements like Shagreen, Tortoise, Malachite, and Faux Bois as well as some new jewel-inspired tables that are "very glam." I cannot wait to see what she comes up with next!!!

Yet again, this post is going to be on a similar theme as the last few. This may be a difficult post for those who are not Christians or who don't consider themselves to have a faith relationship with God to relate to. I apologize, but this is what I'm wrestling through right now, which is why there isn't much else I feel like writing about.

I grew up in an extremely dysfunctional and even abusive family which claimed to be Christian. My idea of God was of an overbearing, tyrannical, angry, intolerant, judgemental, demanding, impossible-to-please, punishing Father. Kind of like my own dad.

He ruled by fear rather than by love. I was right with God on the basis of my own works, not by faith in the total grace of God given as a result of the death of Jesus. I could never do enough, never accomplish enough, never be good enough, to merit his favour. Rather, I was sure his wrath was waiting to descend on my head.

When I went away to Bible college, this view of God clashed radically with what I learned there. Particularly from a man who became my mentor and substitute father—a man whose relationship with God was strong and committed and who sought to reflect God's love to me.

But I still didn't quite "get" it.

A few years ago, I was drawn into the charismatic movement. For those who don't know what that means, it's basically a belief that the gifts of the Holy Spirit, including miraculous gifts such as tongues, healing, and prophecy, didn't cease with the apostles but still continue today. The ongoing revelation and activity of God are welcomed and sought out. It's marked by a hunger for God's presence, a desperation for his power, knowing that without him we're nothing. We need him to speak to us, to heal us, to love us, to "show up" every time we pray or gather together.

I was powerfully touched by God, in some miraculous ways. There's no doubt about it; it was strong, unmistakeable, and real. I was not expecting any of it, and it cannot be said that it was psychological. I won't go into details about it, but it was real. I was set free. I soaked in the presence of God. I worshipped, I found a new love for him, I was set free from bondage, I had a power to talk about God and to pray for people and to see his presence touch them. It was wonderful.

Until, old hurts cropped up. And I found myself increasingly dragged down again into darkness, into shutting God out, into anger at him, into isolation, depression, and desperation. A cycle set itself up: God would break into my life, speak to me, touch me. I'd be on a "high" for a little while, but then would start to descend again. Until, after a while, I got so disillusioned and burned out that there was no "high". Just anger, bitterness, and a desperate wish to die.

I knew God still loved me. I knew I was his child. I couldn't escape that fact, much as I wished to. There were still unmistakeable signs of his care. He still spoke to me through other people. He still manifested love and grace and forgiveness, reaching out to me to demonstrate that he still wanted me. If only I would have him, if only I would let him in, he would do anything that I wanted him to. Set me free from fear. Give me the love I craved. Never let me feel alone.

But I shut him out. Disappointment, anger, and despair were too strong to allow me to yield. Stubbornness and a long history of being alone created in me a fear of being vulnerable, of being in relationship, of allowing him inside me to see what was really there. To deal with it. To love me.

Until. God sent along this boy. Who has a passion for God. Who has seen God invade his life incredibly and deliver him from in some ways worse darkness than I've ever seen. And I can no longer run. I can no longer hide. My alienation from God, despite my belief in him, is being forced out into the open. He, both God and this boy, will not allow me not to deal with it any longer.

It's a good thing. But it's hard. So very hard. Everything in me wants to run away. Everything in me wants to hide, as I've always hidden. Everything in me wants to tell God to "F*** off," as I often have, and leave me alone. Everything in me wants to stay stubborn and proud and alone, not to humble myself, not to admit my need, not to ask for his grace, not to allow him to invade me and take over. I don't want to have to talk to other people and admit my need of help. I don't want to have to humble myself.

But I do. And that's causing a lot of conflict right now.

Fortunately, God is very patient. Fortunately, the human agent he's sent seems very committed to this and has the spiritual vision to see the end result. But I still know it's my choice. I still know that in the balance hangs my life, both spiritual and otherwise. I still know that I can turn either way.

But I don't want to. I want to choose life. But it's killing me right now. The habits of a lifetime, born out of hurt and fear and cemented when this girl was very, very small, are hard to overcome. The fear of being hurt. The fear of being vulnerable. The fear of being abandoned, left alone if I show them who I really am.

What's going to happen? Well, God's pretty strong, so I'm rooting for him in this one. But it's not something that I can lie back and passively have happen. I have a part to play, a part in actively submitting to him and seeking out the means he's given me to be made well. That's faith. That's obedience.

For the first time in my life, I think that I need to do it. Praying, that he is going to give me the grace. Because otherwise, I'll cut and run.

This morning I came across an article via Fark.com titled "Evangelical Group's Motto: Breed to Succeed."

It's a long article, but for those who aren't interested enough to read it in full, here's a brief digest: a small but growing number of conservative evangelicals, mainly in the United States, subscribe to the belief that a married woman's main function is to bear children. They oppose all forms of birth control, believing that it's "obedience to God" to allow nature to take its course, and, in their view, to allow God to determine how many children they have. Logically, he will then take care of them financially, because if he gives them, he has to provide. Women stay home and take care of the children, including homeschooling, while men are the sole breadwinners. Patriarchalism is a given, with the man the head of the home.

The reasoning behind this? Well, the more children Christians have, the more Christians there will be. Conservative (Republican) voters will be raised up, outnumbering liberals who are disobedient to the God-given mandate to reproduce. A Christian army will be launched who will vote red, fight the culture wars, and take the mission to the next generation. America will once again return to its "roots" and become the godly nation it was intended to be. The growing threat of Muslims, who often have large families, is a stimulus.

This movement is called "Quiverfull", from Psalm 127, which reads in part, "Sons are a heritage from the LORD, children a reward from him. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are sons born in one's youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them."

This all sounds eerily familiar to me. That's because I grew up steeped in this reasoning, and I watched its effect on not only my family but countless others in our homeschool group and circle of friends who subscribed to this philosophy.

My parents had five children and homeschooled. We were among the smaller families in our group—10 or 14 children was not unknown. Large extended vans with stacking-doll-like gradations of the same physical type spilling out were common. My parents' best friends were a couple, the weary wife-half of which produced a child about every year for as long as I knew them. Homeschooling was a given: if you were righteous you didn't expose your kids to the evils of the godless public school system. You taught them at home where you were free to indoctrinate them as you chose. The assumption was that if you raised them right and sheltered them enough, they'd turn out believing what you believe.

Patriarchalism was also the norm. Men were the heads of their homes, and depending on the man, this could be a good thing or a very bad thing. Taken to its extreme, some men, my father among them, believed this conferred the right to do whatever they pleased to their wives and children—including ordering them around, shouting at them, and beating them. The men worked outside the home, and no matter how financially or materially deprived the family was, the wife never, ever did.

Of course this was all backed up by certain well-worn verses from the Bible, interpreted by the men, and wives believed their duty was to submit.

But I'm not interested in writing a story about my experiences. I'm more interested in explaining why I believe this mentality to be so sadly wrong. I don't write with any rancour against the people who believe this; I'm well-familiar with the reasoning and, at one time, would have swallowed it myself to some extent. However, I believe it to be a radically flawed system based on a very faulty understanding of the Scriptures, and that's why I don't subscribe to it and never will.

Before I begin, a caveat: I realize with any response like this there's a danger of stereotyping or lumping all people in a certain belief system together. I certainly don't believe all "Quiverfull" families are headed by abusive men; or that they're all militant, hyper-legalistic, or naive. I'm sure there are many if not most who are gracious, well-intentioned, and lovely people. However, I do believe the reasoning itself to be misguided at best; and it's that which I'll attempt to address.

The belief that Christian families are required to have as many children as possible and to leave birth control "up to God" is an Old Testament one. In Genesis, Adam and Eve were commanded to "Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it" (Genesis 1:28). Abraham was told that he would be the father of nations and his offspring would be as numerous as the stars of the sky (Genesis 15 & 17). Psalm 127, as quoted above, states that children are a blessing and implies that the more one has, the more blessed.

In Old Testament Israel, that was true. The Jews were God's "chosen people" out of all the nations of the world. To birth more ethnic Jews was literally to increase the number of God's people (outwardly speaking, at least). Added to this were the practical implications, not unique to Jews but common to every agriculturally-based society both ancient and modern, that the more children you had, the more labourers to work your fields and herd your flocks. Children were also the ultimate "old-age security", guaranteeing a future of provision when you were too old to take care of yourself.

Barrennes was considered the ultimate curse. In Psalm 113:9, God is praised as the one who "settles the barren woman in her home as a happy mother of children." Barren wives such as Sarah (Abraham's wife), Leah (Jacob's wife) or Hannah (Samuel's mother) were grieved and deeply distressed by their failure to have children. In each case, God miraculously intervened and gave these women a child, sparing them a lifetime of dishonour. Often, however (as with Sarah and Leah), the ancient custom of giving the husband a female bondservant to bear him a child on the wife's behalf was practiced. This was seen as a better alternative than no children at all.

The Jews were not unique in these beliefs and practices. However, one factor unique to the Jews was that the Messiah was expected to be born to a Jewish woman. Every Jewish woman hoped that she could be the one to bear the Messiah, or at the very least, to further his line. She was doing her duty to her people (and possibly bringing great honour and blessing upon herself) through childbirth.

However, all of this radically changes with the New Testament. What was implicitly stated throughout the OT is now made explicit: that membership in the true people of God is no longer tied to ethnicity, but belongs to those who repent and have faith (e.g., John the Baptist's preaching: Matthew 3:9-10). In fact, we're even told that all along this has been the case: not everyone who was born an Israelite was a true child of God, but only those who had the same faith as Abraham (Romans 2:28-29; 4:12). The Jews' idea that by the simple fact of membership to a physical nation they were guaranteed right status with God, was knocked on its head repeatedly by Jesus (e.g., Matthew 8:10-12).

All of this may seem rather pedantic and irrelevant, particularly to those who don't claim a Christian faith; but it's central to the reasoning behind this modern-day movement.

Going further in the New Testament, we nowhere find commands to Christians to "be fruitful and multiply" in a physical sense. We do find very clear and explicit commands to be fruitful and multiply in a spiritual sense. In the so-called "Great Commission" (and in other passages throughout the gospels), Jesus commands us to "go and make disciples of all nations" (Matthew 28:18-20). The people of God are now the church, those who receive the mysterious new birth by the Spirit, those who repent and cast all their faith on Jesus. This people grows not by physically reproducing, but as those who've experienced it go out and share it with others, teaching and proclaiming what Jesus taught, accompanied by physical demonstrations of his power. In this way, the kingdom extends.

If, as "Quiverfull" advocates state, a Christian's main duty is to produce children to grow the kingdom of God, then why is Jesus, the Lord and Head of our faith, completely and totally silent on the subject? He blesses children (Matthew 19:13-15), but never commands us to bear them. Even on this occasion, he uses it to teach a spiritual lesson. One would think if childrearing was a main goal of his church, he would have said something about it somewhere. Something to the effect of, "Blessed are the fertile, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven." But there's nothing.

When Jesus does mention offspring, it isn't with the kind of positive spin that the "Quiverfulls'" beliefs would indicate. A sample: "If anyone comes to me and does not hate his father and mother, his wife and children, his brothers and sisters—yes, even his own life—he cannot be my disciple." (Luke 14:25-27). Jesus is not talking about hatred in the sense that we normally understand it, but a willingness to put him first, above even our closest family, to the extent that we'll suffer their loss if obedience to him requires it. Surely we'd expect that given Jesus' very limited discussion of earthly families, he'd devote the time he did spend to ideals like having lots of children! Instead, when he does mention the subject, it's to tell us that even this area of our lives is to lie in subjection to him. Jesus is paramount, not procreation.

As we move into Acts and follow the apostles' example, the pattern continues. They go out, preach the gospel, heal the sick, raise the dead, cast out demons. The church grows. No word in Peter or Paul's preaching about the duty to have kids. 3000 were saved in one day as a result of Peter's first sermon (Acts 2)! Pretty effective church growth strategy: it would take a long time to achieve those kinds of numbers through physical birth.

Moving on to the rest of the New Testament, we find nothing, anywhere, commanding Christians to bear children, or to have as many as possible. There are brief commands to women to love their husbands and children and to care for them (Titus 2:4-5); commands to fathers about how to treat their children (Ephesians 6:4); and a command to Christian children to obey their parents (Ephesians 6:1). The New Testament does not direct but assumes that many if not most of the new believers come from families. The kingdom, this new way of life, has its bearing and effect on every aspect of life, including how one treats one's offspring. Family life is important. But considering the proportion of importance the "Quiverfull" adherents give it, there is remarkably little about it in the NT.

Instead, the primary thrust of the New Testament, and most of its commands, is about how we are to treat one another in the church. The church is the family of God. Even single people and widows have their rightful place in this new community. Spiritual ties, our common Father God, our Lord Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit indwelling us, are stronger than physical ties. There are clear warnings to those who neglect their families (1 Timothy 5:8), but the main focus of the NT is the newly-created family of God, made up of Jews, Gentiles, men, women, young, old, married and single. This family is to love one another, care for one another, practice family life as commanded by Jesus, and grow the family by telling others.

In summary, the method of growth for the kingdom of God is this: preach the gospel. Make disciples. Do the works of Jesus. This kingdom will affect how we treat our biological families, but the family of God is our primary allegiance.

But outweighing it all for me, is one striking factor that I can't help but believe the "Quiverfulls" don't take into account: the simple fact that Jesus, our Lord and Master, was single. He didn't ever bear children (extra-biblical speculation like Dan Brown's The Da Vinci Code notwithstanding). Paul, the greatest apostle, author of most of the New Testament, was single. Not only that, both Jesus and Paul state explicitly that some will be called to singleness for the sake of the kingdom (Matthew 19:11-12 & 1 Corinthians 7:1-9). Paul even says that if one can accept it, singleness is a better option because it allows undivided devotion to the Lord (1 Cor 7:32-35)! So were Jesus and Paul, and single Christians today and throughout the ages, radically disobedient? Were they missing the purposes of God, not furthering the growth and cause of the church, by not having kids? What would all the churches Paul founded say? What would Christians throughout two millenia of church history, myself included, who have benefited from the fact that Paul was single and free to travel and risk his life to spread the gospel, say?

I think I know. I know what I would say.

There are questions I'd love to ask the Quiverfulls. Like, how can you assume that by having children you'll further the kingdom of God when membership in the kingdom is not by physical birth but spiritual? Can you assume that all of your children will be Christians just because you are? Because you "raise them right"? What if a majority of your children choose to rebel (as so many do), and live their own lifestyle? What if they grow up outwardly conforming but inwardly empty? What if they carry on your values but never know God? How tragic!

What about single Christians? What about Christian couples who are infertile? Are they somehow disobedient to God? What about women whose lives will be endangered if they bear more children? Are they "rebellious" if they undergo tubal ligation? Or should they simply "trust God" and risk major health problems or death?

How are you living Jesus' radical call to leave it all and follow him if your main goal is a steady job and a nice home life for your kids and you wouldn't even consider getting up and going to another nation to give the gospel, perhaps to people who have never heard? How can you justify having little to give because your limited income is stretched to its capacity by the needs of multiple kids? How do you explain the fact that no New Testament command exists to have children?

What about adoption? If the main goal is to raise kids who will carry on your Christian faith, why not make room for those who otherwise wouldn't have a chance by not having so many of your own? Why not show mercy by giving family life and the privileges of education, culture, and health care to a poor child from a third-world country? Why not adopt a child from another ethnicity? If you're white, take in a black, Asian, or Latino child. Why not help those who are already born but destined to a lifetime of disadvantage, rather than producing so many of your own?

Please understand I am not saying it is wrong to have children. I am not even saying it is wrong to have multiple children, if a particular couple feels that is their calling from God and they have the desire, energy, and resources to care for them. I can't help thinking it's excessive and unnecessary, but then, that's my personal opinion. What I am decrying is the notion that equates having lots of children and raising them in a particular way is somehow integral to the purposes of God and advances his kingdom. It's not and it doesn't. It misses the point of the New Testament entirely. It's trying to build a kingdom on earth, and well-intentioned as it may be, it's never going to happen. Not only that, a lot of the kids raised in these families (like myself, my siblings, and many others I know) are going to see the emptiness and fallacy behind this mentality and either reject Christianity entirely, or discover a Jesus whose kingdom is not of this world. Like I, I'm thankful, did.

I have a habit of storing plastic bags, and, when I go to the supermarket to do my shopping, taking them along with me. This is to prevent myself receiving fifty gazillion more each and every time I shop which will carry my groceries for perhaps ten minutes between the store and my house and then go into a landfill somewhere to do their bit to clog up the biosphere for ten million years (do plastic bags ever break down?). This way, the idea goes, I will be doing my bit to save the environment and put a tiny finger in the very leaky dam that stands in the way of the flood of thousands and millions and trillions of plastic bags leaving supermarkets every day. Every day. Think of it. Think of how many they give you, then multiply that by how many people shop at your supermarket, and contemplate the staggering amount of plastic bag wastage that goes on at one supermarket alone. Then multiply that by all the stores in the world and, well—it's frightening.

I severely miss the supermarket I shopped at in Toronto, which charged you 5 cents per plastic bag. The bags were capacious and sturdy and if you had forgotten to bring some of your own, it was worthwhile buying a few because they could be stored up at home for the next trip or used as dandy garbage bags. Failing that, there was a helpful stash of empty cardboard boxes that produce and the like came in to be had for the taking, if you were driving or had the African habit of carrying things on your head. This served very nicely to keep to an absolute minimum the number of plastic bags leaving the store, and to encourage everyone to bring their own and to stuff them as fully as possible. It was a brilliant system. And since most of the people who shopped there were recent immigrants from India, Africa, the Middle East, China and the Caribbean, who knew about economy and whose cash flow was generally not overwhelming, people followed it scrupulously.

But, sadly, there is no supermarket like it, that I know of, in this area.

And so, at the checkout registers of the supermarkets, plastic bags flow as freely as water. Buying a pack of gum? Put it in a plastic bag. Bread? Has to go by itself in another plastic bag. Cans? Three of 'em will be put into a double-bagger. By the time it's over, fifty dollars' worth of groceries has procured you fifty bags to boot.

Most people are quite happy with this system. They stroll with their trollies stuffed full of bags to the car and take them home where presumably they keep some of them for cat litter and garbage bags and, I don't know, throw out the rest? I can't imagine one household creating a demand for that many plastic bags in one week, ever.

Cashiers and bag boys like giving you plastic bags. It is what they are used to. Your purchases can be swiftly and easily deposited into bags using the neat little hanging system they have by their counter and hoisted into your trolley for takeaway. They know by heart what things should go into what bags and how many things to put in each bag and what to double-bag and what needs to go by itself. They like their little system. It is safe, predictable, easy, quick, and they can do it without thinking. I don't blame them. It's their job.

And then along come I to put a monkey wrench into the works.

Because I politely request that they use the plastic bags that I've brought. Or if it's just one or two items I just say, "I don't need a bag, thanks." Most of the time they are in the midst of swift and automatic movement to deposit my purchases into a bag. And they have to stop, and re-calculate. And look at me as if either I've grown three heads and announced that I'll be commuting home in my spaceship, or as if they've had to take their brains out of park to deal with me and they are not very happy with the disruption to their routine.

Most of the time, they will politely comply. However, this is with varying degrees of success. Often, the bag boys don't realize that the giant canvas bag I carry my bags in is actually a BAG, and thus capable of stowing groceries in. So once I had a kind but befuddled bag boy give me new plastic bags in lieu of using the canvas one, which he folded neatly and returned to me. Once I told a cashier I didn't need the bag she'd put my purchase in, only for her to turn around and throw it out (I suppose it was unusable after holding a fleece jacket for all of three seconds).

Last time I went shopping, the cashier, who hadn't heard my request, swiftly stuffed the few remaining items the bag boy hadn't yet gotten to into three new plastic bags. Then, the bag boy, now having two of my original bags left over, kindly put them into ANOTHER plastic bag for me to take home! I was staggered. I don't know what kept me from saying anything because it lurched forward out of my protesting brain and then somehow got stopped at my tongue. I suppose it's fear of making a public scene, or being perceived as peculiar and idiosyncratic, or of annoying someone who is doing you a service by requesting them to do it in the manner you actually desire. Whatever it was, I didn't say anything, but I carefully and vengefully left those three or four extra bags in the trolley when I returned it. I don't know what happened to them. Probably they just got thrown out. But at least it wasn't me who did it.

Last night, I watched a heartbreaking documentary called "Invisible Children". This movie was filmed by three American college students who went to Africa in 2003 intending to document refugees in the Sudan. Instead, they ended up in northern Uganda, where they heard about an even more alarming situation. For 20 years, a civil war has raged there between the rebels of the "Lord's Resistance Army", led by a demonically-inspired man called Joseph Kony, and the government. This army's purpose is purportedly to fight the government and help the Acholi people. Instead, it terrorizes them. Tens of thousands of children (no one is exactly sure how many) between the ages of eight and fourteen have been forcibly abducted, often by other children, and spirited away into the bush by Kony and his rebels. There they are made to participate in senseless brutality so evil it would make you weep to hear it described. Children are tortured and killed violently if they cannot keep up, or if they are suspected of rebellion, or simply at whim. Children are made to kill other children, and told they themselves will be killed if they refuse to participate. Girls are made into sex slaves for lieutenants and commanders, and often come back from the bush, if they escape at all, with one or more children and sexually transmitted diseases, including AIDS.

Some of the children manage to escape. But if and when they do, they are scarred for life. Their drawings are all of soldiers, death, bloodshed. They have missed much or all of their education and their childhood is gone. They live in fear of being hunted down and killed or re-recruited by the rebel army. Many of them are permanently crippled or maimed. Many of the girls have children. They have seen things no child should ever see and been forced to participate in things no child should even know about. They are in desperate need spiritually, emotionally, and physically.

The Lord's Resistance Army has all the trappings of a cult: spirit possession, weird religious practices, and brainwashing. The soldiers are told that if they smear shea oil on their bodies, they will be invincible to enemy bullets. If they die, it is because they were "unclean" or somehow disobeyed orders. Children are systematically desensitized by being forced to participate in violence, and psychologically damaged by having weird "mind games" played with them. It is dark and demonic in the most real and insidious sense.

In a perverse double injustice, the children who escape are often ostracized by their community. Haunted by a past that none of them chose, they are unable to reintegrate, to continue their schooling, or to find work. They live under condemnation for actions that they were forced into under threat to their lives. The children born to the girls by rebel fathers face double shunning.

As a result of all of this, children in northern Uganda live in terror for their lives. Because most kidnappings happen at night, children who live in rural areas participate in what is called the "Night Commute". Each evening they walk, sometimes for miles, from their homes into town centres, carrying only their bed mats, and sleep, packed like sardines, on the floors of hospitals, bus parks, or anywhere indoors that is perceived to be safe. Each morning they get up before dawn to perform the trek back home. Each one repeats the same mantra: "We don't want to sleep at home because it is not safe. We fear being abducted by the rebels."

One can only imagine the disruption, both to the school life (when can they do homework?) and the emotional and mental life of these children who grow up having to commute every night because sleeping at home is not safe. Even upon those who are not abducted, the toll is taken.

So what can we do? These three college students started an organization called Invisible Children to document the plight of these boys and girls. They could not forget, and neither should we. Their aim is to educate the American public, to create a groundswell of support, and in turn to pressurize the American government to act to end this war. A humanitarian crisis of terrible proportions is happening in Uganda, and the West is mostly ignorant or uncaring. What we need is for people to learn about this, and from knowledge to do something. As one of the adults in the documentary I watched last night cried, "Are we not human beings?" Another, a bishop, forcibly reiterated that Africans are made in the image of God and that justice is for all, regardless of colour.

One concrete action that everybody can take will be happening on April 29th. That night, in cities all across America, a "Global Night Commute" will be held. People are asked to spend one night sleeping on the ground in their city centre, in solidarity with the children of Uganda. If it is a big enough event, the media will have to cover it. If the media cover it, the government will know that this is an issue that Americans care about. So please visit the website, www.invisiblechildren.com, find out if there's a Night Commute in a city near you, and sign up. It's only one night. It's a small price to pay to help raise awareness and stop this hideous war.

The website also contains many other ways in which you can help, including buying the DVD of the documentary, or buying a bracelet made by a former child soldier in Uganda accompanied by a DVD of that child's story.

I know the people who read this blog are few. But we all have spheres of influence. Read the website. Learn about the situation. Buy the DVD. Show it at your church or youth club or school. Make other people aware. Get involved. Pray about how to help. Just as faith without action is dead, knowledge without action is dead. Do something. Even if it's "just" giving money. The children of Uganda will thank you.