It's hard to believe that a nation whose anthem proclaims this:

O Lord, our God, arise,
Scatter her enemies,
And make them fall.
Confound their politics,
Frustrate their knavish tricks,
On Thee our hopes we fix,
God save us all.

...has arrested and convicted a Christian man for preaching the Word of God in the streets of Glasgow, Scotland.

According to Shawn Holes' website, he was arrested on March 18 for preaching against homosexuality in the streets of Glasgow. Here is a brief account from a fellow preacher who was there with him on Thursday:

We were preaching today on the streets and experiencing much adversity from police. We were warned not to preach against homosexuality, and if we did we could get arrested. Brother Shawn Holes was preaching when a group of young people began to shout questions at him. One question that they insisted on getting an answer was the issue of homosexuality. Shawn told them it was a sin against God, and that he loved them, and this is why he was telling them the truth. After he stepped down from preaching he was arrested and taken into custody. (Read the full account here.)

According to his website, Mr. Holes was given two options: 1) plead guilty of "some really trumped up charges and possibly pay a small fine of hopefully only 50 pounds or so and go home by Monday" or 2) plead guilty to the charges and "have to spend up to 8 weeks waiting for the trial NOT being allowed to leave the country with no guarentee of winning the case."

Shawn chose option one.

Believe it or not, there is much controversy amongst Christians both in Glasgow and in the States about whether or not this husband and father of two made the right decision. His blog post announcing his release from jail has to date spurred 81 responses - some encouraging Mr. Holes, some reprimanding him, and some downright criticizing him for his decision to plead guilty. Without proper facts to form my own opinion (since this is sadly not a newsworthy story in the UK), I choose not to cast judgement on this brother in Christ. I believe it is more beneficial to consider how in a DEMOCRATIC SOCIETY a Christian can go to jail for simply reading God's word cautioning against the sin of homosexuality (1 Corinthians 6:9-10 is exceedingly clear).

Though this is admittedly not the norm, I have personally witnessed women walking down the streets of Britain wearing absolutely nothing from the waist down (with the police only feet away). I've seen protesters in London practicing violence in the streets. I've seen drunkards throwing bottles and disturbing the peace. I've seen drunken children whose parents have allowed - if not encouraged - their excesses (children are allowed alochol "in private" from age 5). Brian and I live in a nation that not only allows abortion, it funds it! And, yet, a Christian man is jailed for reading directly from God's word.

According to various sources (again, I can find NO actual news coverage of this story), Shawn Holes was charged with "homophobia," “breach of the peace,” and "sectarianism." This FOR PREACHING FROM THE WORD OF GOD in a nation that still echoes, "God Save the Queen." Indeed. And God save Britain!

Update on Saturday, March 27, 2010 at 9:10PM by Brian

I'm glad to see that there is so much interest in this story.

We are all a little baffled about why we can't find good information about this story.  I did a search on an educational website I'm able to use for a legal class I'm taking.  I was able to come up with a little something.  The Scottish Daily Record from 24 March 2010 (on page 9) states:

PASTOR A SINNER

AN AMERICAN churchman missed being the first person to be convicted under the new laws by days.

Travelling preacher Shawn Holes was arrested last week in Sauchiehall Street, Glasgow, after shouting "homosexuality is a sin against Jesus".

He was charged with breach of the peace aggravated by religious prejudice.

Holes was fined pounds 1000 at the city's sheriff court - but his sentence could have been tougher.

Copyright 2010 Scottish Daily Record & Sunday Mail Ltd.

Of course, when we looked at their website, we were unable to find anything.  If I wasn't up to my ears in school, work, and helping my wife through her last month of pregnancy, I'd probably try to do a bit more research.  It seems that none of us know enough about this particular instance to have a convincing opinion. 

It does raise one concern from me though.  I can see that many people are making every effort to be tolerant of everything and everyone, regardless of how sinful it is, unless of course, someone is being "intolerant."  The article does state that Shawn Holes is a sinner.  Newsflash:  we all are.  How about another newsflash:  being intolerant of sin is far from being sinful.  God is intolerant of sin, and I long to be more like that.

 

How could I ever doubt the presence of God when I have seen this little miracle growing inside of me? How can I articulate the thrill of hearing that little heartbeat for the first time? How can I get my husband to stop messing with all the sterilized instruments in the doctor's office before I have to slap him? These were just a few of the thoughts that went through my mind yesterday at my first OB appointment. 

When I originally scheduled my 6-9 week appointment for next week, I wasn't thinking that my dear friends Amy and Donna are coming to visit! So, I moved my appointment to yesterday (Wednesday). Of course, the only time they had available was 8 a.m. - not really a "happy" time for me these days. But none of that mattered knowing we would see our baby for the first time!

After the nurse practitioner (who is a Major in the Air Force) had asked and answered lots of questions, we made our way to the ultrasound room. As soon as she properly positioned the machine, I knew immediately what I saw. I looked at that little peanut and exclaimed, "That's the head!" I couldn't believe how clearly we could see it. In fact, it wasn't that long ago that I looked at friends' ultrasound photos at 20 weeks and couldn't distinguish one black and white blob from another one. The technology available to us now is absolutely incredible. Not only could we see the shape of it's little body (approximately 3/4" in length), but we could see a precious little heart that was beating for all it was worth. The nurse recorded 170 beats per minute. No wonder I'm so out of breath!

I believe that was the first moment I allowed myself to believe that this is really happening and that I hadn't just imagined it all. There is a human being that is 100% dependent on me already. Every decision I make - whether to travel, eat, sleep, exercise, etc. - is preempted by the thought, "Is this the best thing for our child?" What an absolutely thrilling and terrifying feeling.

As for Brian's part, he's managed the extra responsibilities well. I don't think he fully understands why I can't even go into the kitchen without dry heaving or why I wake up every day more exhausted than when I went to bed, but he's more than willing to help out. I am trying my best not to overwork him now, because I know I'm going to need him desperately when I can no longer see my feet. 

And speaking of enormous bellies, I did ask the nurse if it was normal to eat about 8 to 10 meals a day. I usually eat something substantial (like a sandwich or soup and a piece of fruit) and feel absolutely starving one hour later. I'm watching that scale creep up pretty quickly, and it's making me wonder. If this is how almost 9 weeks feels, how is 40 is going to feel? She assured me it was my body's way of forcing me to store up some extra fat to help the baby grow. So, now I feel completely justified eating enough in one day to satisfy four grown men. As a side note, it seems a bit ironic now that we live in a barn...a barn that housed cows, as a matter of fact. First person to call me a heifer gets a swift slap on the head.

Anyhow, after such an exciting appointment, we both wanted to travel to RAF Feltwell (just north of RAF Mildenhall and RAF Lakenheath). This base houses the local military veterinary clinic as well as a small furniture store. We walked straight to the baby section of the store to check out prices on cribs, strollers, car seats, high chairs, playpens, toys - I never really stopped to think about how much gear a baby requires! There was an interesting toy that caught my eye.

They advertise it as an "activity station" rather than by its street name, "vibrating, noise-making plastic device that shuts your baby up for a few hours." Yes, activity station sounds much nicer. I was actually admiring the cute little children on the front of the box when I thought that perhaps one of them looked like our niece Reagan. I looked a few seconds longer and said, "That IS Reagan!"

I think we may have to buy that activity station just to show off the box to all our friends!

So, that's the latest in the development of our Mini-Morgan or "Peanut." Or as Gerald likes to call it, G-baby. Or as Pam likes to call it, "MY Grandbaby." This poor kid is going to be so confused.

In the mean time, Brian and I aren't sitting around twiddling our thumbs waiting for this baby to arrive. I believe the reality of our new family dynamic has motivated us to make the most of our amazing location. So, stay tuned for more on our upcoming trip to the Czech Republic next week and a Mediterranean Cruise in October (including stops in Italy, Greece, Turkey, Israel, and Egypt). April will be here before we know it!

PS - We'll keep all pregnancy photos in "The Peanut Gallery"

"For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven." Ecclesiastes 3:1

As the glorious, summer days swiftly fade into crisp, autumn ones, I am grateful for this past season of my life. I learned more about God, my husband and myself this summer than I ever expected or imagined. I experienced a full spectrum emotions:  anger, disappointment, sadness, hopefulness, forgiveness, joy, and gratitude. This season in our lives and in our marriage taught me that the things I work to build in my own strength will only fail, because "He has made everything beautiful in its time" (Ecclesiastes 3:11). I learned that this does not read, "I can make everything beautiful in MY time." Fortunately, life doesn't work that way. Just imagine if it did. 

As I mentioned in my last post, Brian and I spent a few months apart this summer to gain some perspective. While it was a difficult time for the two of us, I thoroughly enjoyed spending time with many of the people I am blessed to call my family. Brian came to Georgia at the end of July, and it was a precious time of healing and reconciliation for us. Since that time I can honestly say that I experience joy in a way I never did before. I'm not talking about the kind of "happiness" or "self-esteem" the world would want us to believe we should have. Rather, I have the kind of joy that comes from not knowing what tomorrow will hold but knowing full well the One who holds it.

With this newfound joy and gratitude for what God has done, I hopped a plane in early August eagerly anticipating my return home to Brian (and, I'll be honest, I was as excited to see The Chief). But when I arrived home, nothing sounded better to me than my bed. And that was the first place I went. When I didn't get out of bed for the first week, I chalked it up to jet lag. Around the second or third week I started to suspect that something else was seriously wrong. Was I depressed? I didn't think so. Was this narcolepsy? I hoped not! Brian tried his best to coax me out of my sleepy stupor with dinner, salsa dancing, and movies, but I wouldn't budge. I was seriously considering moving my bed into the kitchen - that whole two birds with one stone thing - when I had a revelation...

Sunday, August 30, began the way most Sundays begin in the Morgan household. A little bit late and in a hurry so we wouldn't miss church. It's the story of my life, really. I rolled out of bed and jumped in the shower only to jump right back out as the urge came over me to...well...become ill. And I then did what I suspect every grown woman does after a moment like that. I said to my husband (who had promptly left the bathroom), "I need to call my mom!" Fortunately for her it was the middle of the night. Otherwise, I am certain she would have received this call:

Katy - "Mommy! I'm not feeling well..."
Pam -  (Long pause) "Who is this?"
Katy - "Do you seriously have to ask me this every time? It's your daughter...Katy!"
Pam - "Oh. What's wrong?"
Katy - "I just threw up." (Sniff, sniff)
Pam - "Well, what do you want me to do about it?"
Katy - "Nothing, I just wanted you to know."
Pam - "Oh. Well, thank you so much for informing me." 

Somehow, at 28 years of age, I still feel compelled to call my mommy every time I get sick. Call me crazy, but I believe it's just a bond some mothers and daughters instinctively have. The kind of bond that makes a grown woman say to her mother, "Sure, you cleaned me up my entire childhood, but you're not done yet!" The kind of bond that will one day cause an elderly mother to say to her daughter, "Guess what, you overgrown brat? It's payback time."

Unfortunately (or fortunately for mom), the miles and hours that separate us caused me to reconsider my compulsion to inform my mother of my every visit to the loo. So, I picked myself up by the bootstraps, and we made our way to church. Surprisingly, my rendezvous with the toilet that morning didn't leave me wondering what kind of flu bug I caught this time. Mainly because I felt absolutely FINE after the whole "incident" (Honestly, am I grossing y'all out yet? I promise there's a point to this story.). In fact, I could only think of ONE thing that would have caused that kind of momentary "sickness." That's when it occurred to me to freak out a bit. 

To be honest I was so distracted the entire service, and I couldn't wait to get back home. The suspense was unbearable. If only we hadn't been running late, I could have taken a pregnancy test before church. Must make a mental note to always leave time for unexpected things like sudden illness and peeing on a stick. 

Fortunately, I fake myself out every month, so we had a stockpile of pregnancy tests in the cabinet. I grabbed two of them - thoroughness is key when you're married to a pilot - and shut myself in the "loo" for approximately 6-8 minutes. I was disappointed when I couldn't quite determine if that second line was a figment of my imagination or an indication of a mini-me. I took the test to Brian who was as inconclusive as I was. I drank about a gallon of water and returned to the loo. When the second test displayed similar, inconclusive results, I was (as the Brits say) gutted. Why couldn't they make those things so that fireworks or confetti or something spews out when it's positive? Why does it have to be so confusing? 

With all this drama and uncertainly we found ourselves nearing teatime, and most of the stores around us close early on Sundays. If we were going to have any rest at all, we needed to know for certain. I needed a different kind of test. We found a convenience store in Bury St. Edmunds (about 25 minutes from our house) that was open a bit later on Sundays, so we quickly got ourselves and the Chief in the car to make it there before they closed. Again, my thorough husband insisted on two tests and I insisted on more to drink. I'm not a camel, for crying out loud!

Two minutes after returning home, I emerged from the loo with a huge smile on my face. Sure enough, the Brits know how to make a straightforward, no-nonsense pregnancy test. There was NO mistaking that second line. I didn't even need fireworks or the second test to prove it, but I went ahead and took it anyway for good measure. Brian (ever the cautious one) decided he was more reluctant to believe anything store-bought, so he suggested I go on base for an "official" test. Once again, our suspicions were confirmed, and we started to realize that if five pregnancy tests wouldn't convince us, nothing would. 

So, if our calculations (and the calculations of the nurse on base) are correct, my due date is April 22! I will most likely have a more accurate date once I have my first ultrasound in two weeks. What a wonderful time to have a baby in England. The flowers are blooming, the winter is waning, and the sun is hanging around a bit longer. I can hardly wait to meet Mini-Morgan (or G-baby as my father has already designated it). Whatever you want to call it, please just pray that this baby won't have me in the loo much longer. Oh, and who's the idiot who coined the phrase "morning sickness"? Try "all-day-every-day sickness." Must have been a man. A man without a clue. 

Excuse me, I need to go now...