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February 24, 2003 Dear Gabby,
I am a 21-year-old young lady who feels like God has a
special ministry for me in my future. Recently, my parents told me that there is nothing wrong
with wearing pants. My family
raised me in the church, and they always taught us that girls should wear
dresses and skirts. Now my mom is
wearing pants (just not to church). She
says that it is not wrong for girls to wear pants; it is just wrong to be
immodest. I always believed their
teachings about the immodesty of girls wearing pants.
Now I am not sure what to think. When I am hunting with my father, he says that it is better
for me to wear pants for safety hazards, since we are climbing and sitting in
trees. I thought that by the time I was 21 I would know my own
mind better and be able to make my own decisions.
My pastor just tells me stuff like: “You have to make up your own
mind” and “It is your conviction that matters.”
Gabby, do you think ladies wearing pants is a heaven or hell issue? If it’s about modesty, some people can object and say
that certain women shouldn't wear skirts or dresses because they don't know how
to sit or walk in them. Also, women
can look just as immodest in a tight skirt as they can in a tight pair of jeans.
And I think lust is a bigger issue than clothing. Am I wrong for this? Am
I over-analyzing the issue? I am
having a problem with this pants thing, because I do feel called to ministry for
God, and I know it will be an issue when the time comes for me to answer that
calling. Sincerely, Dear Miss Minnesota,
Helga Schneider, a friend of mine here in the retirement
community, was raised in Germany during World War II. We were having tea recently in the community’s
conservatory, and our conversation turned to the probability of war again.
She began reminiscing about her own difficult experience during the Great
War. “I was raised in a Christian household,” she told me in
her still-accented English, “even more strict than most of our neighbors.
We went to church every single Sunday and my father read to us from the
Holy Scriptures each night. My
mother taught all her children right from wrong.
And one of the most important things they taught us was to love our
neighbor as ourselves.” “How many brothers and sisters did you have?”
I asked her as we both watched “the plant lady,” Millie Dodd,
watering a beautiful orchid. “There were three sisters; I was the eldest and I had two
brothers, both older than me.” I sipped my tea, settling back in my chair, ready to hear
about Helga’s memories. “When Hitler took power and the edict came to the
citizens that we should report on the activities of the Jewish people in our
neighborhoods, I was upset. We had
many, many Jewish friends before the war and I couldn’t imagine following the
new law to spy on them. Of course,
I knew our family wouldn’t do anything active to hurt our friends.
We were Christians, after all.” She was silent for a moment. Then she reached into her pocketbook and pulled out a lacy
white handkerchief. She dabbed her
eyes with it. “What happened?” I
asked as I set my teacup on the table, curious as to what exactly would make her
lose her composure. “It was a few months after they began to take the Jewish
people away – we didn’t know to where – when I walked into my father’s
barbershop after being dismissed early from school. I heard the last of his comment to two handsome young
soldiers before he saw me. He was
saying, ‘…yes, they’re planning to leave tomorrow for Munich.’ I couldn’t believe my ears.
I had spoken to one of our Jewish family friends, Mrs. Heinze, at the
market just the day before. Mrs.
Heinze had confided to me that they were going to try to escape to safety, and
I’d told my mother about our chat when we were cleaning the kitchen that
evening.” “Do you mean,” I interrupted, “that your father was
turning those people in to the authorities?” She wiped at her eyes again and then stopped to have a sip
of tea. Then she began to speak
softly again. “That’s exactly what I asked my parents when the
soldiers left that afternoon. I
could not believe that my godly parents were doing something so different from
what they’d taught us all our lives.” “What did they tell you?” “They said a lot of things.
I don’t remember all of it anymore.”
She reached for a cookie and took a bite. “Well, what was the gist?”
I was curious – and so was Millie – who’d stopped working on the
plants and was shamelessly eavesdropping. I
winked at her and she started pretending she was working. It was some time before Helga finally started talking
again. “My father talked to me about obeying the laws of the
land. My mother said that there was
no real harm in talking to the authorities; it wasn’t like we were personally
doing anything wrong. Besides, if
the government said we were supposed to do something, shouldn’t we do it?
I remember,” she said, blowing her nose this time, “how I talked and
talked to them. It was like they
were suddenly strangers to all that I’d known them to be.
I remember asking them about whether or not they felt odd to know that
their actions were responsible for sending their supposed friends to
who-knows-where. They seemed to
honestly feel sorry for me that I didn’t understand their actions.” She was silent for a long moment. “So, what did you do?”
(I wanted to hear the whole story and her pauses were annoying me.) “Nothing overt for awhile.
Except that I was more careful about what I talked about at home with my
family. And I began to read and
listen to what I was hearing from the government so I could make my own
decision. Something just didn’t
feel right about what was happening.” Then
she sat up straighter and looked directly at me.
Her voice got stronger and harder. “I joined the resistance efforts that summer when school
was dismissed.” “The resistance efforts?”
This time it was Millie who asked. She’d
pulled up a chair to our table and set her watering pot down on the floor beside
her. I poured her a cup of tea. “Yes, I did,” Helga responded. “I was determined to save more Jews than my family sent
away.” “What did you do?” “I carried false documents to the people trying to
escape. I dropped off food and food
coupons in specific locations so people would be able to eat while they were
escaping. I walked three little
girls to a safe house where they were transported to a family in the country.
I did whatever was asked of me by the leaders resisting Hitler’s evil
government.” “Wow,” said Millie. “Wow,” I said, thinking that word about covered what I
was thinking. We all sipped our tea for a few moments.
Then I asked, “So what about your family?
What happened to them? Did
they know what you were doing?” “My father died in ’52.
My mother lived 12 years after him.” “But did they…?” “They never seemed to grasp the end results of what they
participated in. Even when the
horrible news came to light about the concentration camps and all the Jews, and
other innocent people who’d been murdered, they still seemed unconcerned.
It was very, very difficult for me to lose my idealist view of them.” “Did they know about your work with the Resistance
efforts?” Millie asked. Helga looked thoughtful.
Then, she smiled at us sadly and said, “Probably.
But they most likely just considered it youthful enthusiasm that would
die down when I finished growing up.” “Did it?” “What do you think?”
Helga folded her handkerchief and deposited it back into her pocketbook.
“I did the right thing. I
made a good choice of what to do during the war years.
After all, I followed the rules and the Bible my parents had taught me
all during my growing-up years. ‘Love
your neighbor as yourself’ was as much a part of me as my curly hair.
And, unlike many of the people in our community, I’ve been able to live
out the rest of my life knowing that, no matter what the people around me were
doing, I, personally, did right.” “Do you have any guilt about those years?”
Millie asked softly. “Only about the Heinze family,” she said, looking sad
again. “They all died in the
concentration camps and it was my fault.” “But you were a child…” “I guess I grew up that year. For the rest of my life, I never made the mistake of letting
someone else’s life choices affect what I knew to be right in my own heart.” And, Miss Minnesota, that’s what I want to say to you.
When your heart asks you if something is right or wrong, there’s
obviously a reason. The very fact
that you’re questioning a new direction is enough to know that you should look
back to what you were taught and to what the scriptures say.
It doesn’t matter what the people around you are doing.
They have to face God on their own.
So do you. You can’t say
to God, “But my parents said…” He’ll want to know about you and what
you, personally, did. I’ve lived my life – or at least most of my life –
following the edict: “When in doubt – don’t.”
If you’re serious about ministry, you’ll want to live all of your
life so that when you look back, you’ll have nothing to be ashamed of.
In the long run, trying to live a life that’s above reproach is much
easier than being sorry later for following the crowd.
It’s time for you to grow up! Sincerely Sincere, ninetyandnine.com © 2003, ninetyandnine.com --------- Gabrigail VanBurden
has been offering advice for longer than most of you have been alive. Email your
practical Apostolic life questions to Gabby@ninetyandnine.com
and be prepared for some straight answers!
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