A Change of Pace

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They walked past the house every day at the same time: the man with green tennis shoes and the Scottie dog. He didn’t scroll through his phone like some walkers did, and the Scottie dog was content to match his master’s pace without pulling on the leash. And then one day they didn’t.

It gave the man who noticed them every day pause. He’d grown used to taking a second sip of decaf and looking up from watching the news at exactly 6:10 every evening. He barely noticed he did it. But this evening was different. This evening he noticed because the man with the green tennis shoes and the Scottie dog didn’t walk by. He put down his coffee, rose from his chair, and peered out the window; then, seeing nothing, he hurried down his front steps and looked both ways down his street. No one. Nothing.

The next night, the man took a first sip of decaf and sauntered over to the window. No reason. No man with green tennis shoes. No Scottie dog. It shouldn’t bother him. It really shouldn’t.

The third night, the man didn’t pour a cup of coffee at all. He didn’t turn on the news. He sat on his front steps and watched the street. A neighbor slipped quietly into his driveway and tinkered on the new car he’d purchased just a month ago. Another neighbor stared blankly out her picture window, petting the cat in her arms.

The fourth night, the man gave a tentative wave to his neighbor who happened to, once again, be tinkering with his new car. The lady with the cat in her arms mistook his wave, and waved back.

The fifth night, the lady ventured into her yard – minus her cat. She set out a card table with lemonade and lemon cookies. The man tinkering on his car went over and chatted as he ate a cookie.

The sixth night, the three neighbors found themselves once again in the lady’s yard eating cookies and drinking lemonade and talking all at once. Did something bad happen to the man with the green tennis shoes? What about his Scottie dog?

More neighbors congregated on the seventh night – so much so, that the lemonade pitcher had to be refilled three times. And then – then a hush fell over the crowd as they watched the man in the green tennis shoes and his dog stroll by. He waved. They all waved back. And that, dear reader, is how a week’s vacation can help a neighborhood.

Image: pexels-ray-piedra-1456738.jpg; beverage-black-and-white-black-coffee-2360894.jpg; imagesX15DD7Q1.jpg; pexels-julia-zolotova-1320997

Newton’s Third Law

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https://www.bitchute.com/video/w2SFI0HLlDze/

The Importance of a Good Boat

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I like the quiet slice of a canoe through the water. The soundless dip of the paddle and the barely-there ripple of the water is a peaceful ballet. But when the water’s rough or if you have a partner who tends to lean over the side and doesn’t care to sit very still, you don’t really want to be in a canoe.

It’s the same with a kayak. The people who like kayaks seem to enjoy close proximity to the water, don’t mind a sunburn on the top quarter of their legs, have a pretty dependable paddle stroke, and can actually get out without getting wet. That is to say, kayaks are great for some folks, but not for others.

Now a speedboat is another thing entirely. You can really move in those things! You can see more of a body of water in less time as long as you don’t mind your hair blowing every which way and didn’t plan to carry on a conversation at normal decibels.

Some people like pontoons. No comment.*

But often boats are used for more than leisure. Ask anyone who fishes for a living or who is part of the Navy. They would tell you that the type of boat is determinative to success. And although the design might change, a good boat has been an important and dependable means of moving to a desired destination since the Stone Age.

There was a time in our nation’s history when its citizens were fighting heart and soul for freedom from King George. They didn’t want his unreasonable regulations. They wanted to be in charge of themselves while he wanted to call the shots. We haven’t thought about it for a long time – too long – but subjugation manifests in all sorts of ways. Some people are serfs without even recognizing it. Imagine that.

Anyway, by Christmas of 1776, some of the soldiers were ready to go home. They were cold, without adequate winter clothing, low on food, and lower on morale.

Thomas Paine penned his now famous words around that time, and General George Washington asked that they be required reading for every soldier.

These are the times that try men’s souls; the summer soldier and the sunshine patriot will, in this crisis, shrink from the service of his country; but he that stands it now, deserves the love and thanks of man and woman. Tyranny, like hell, is not easily conquered; yet we have this consolation with us, that the harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph.

The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph. Think about that for a minute. The men who read it did. Those words gave heart to men who were war-weary battling for freedom. What they needed was a miracle. Freedom is sometimes preceded by miracles. God is, after all, the freedom-giver as well as a miracle-worker.

Their General planned a surprise attack at a time when the enemy would least expect it: Christmas night. They couldn’t use just any boat. They would need strong cargo vessels to cross the Delaware. The weather than night was awful – a regular hurricane of a storm: driving rain, sleet, and snow. But it was a victory or death situation, and cross they did despite below-zero temperatures and the storm.

What an inspiration they are to us these hundreds of years later! They persevered despite privations, fear, and exhaustion. They continued on because some things are more important than uncomfortable feelings or distress. They kept going at the behest of an admirable General and the dictates of their own conscience. Bravery is a righteous quality, and there are times when shrinking back is – I’ll let you ponder that. Our entire nation has them to thank for the freedoms we have known since birth.

And the boats which carried them across?

DURHAM

* No, actually I do have a comment since I was corrected after this essay was first written. Apparently, I missed the point of such crafts: party! Okay. I can get on board with that. Quote: from The American Crisis by Thomas Paine; image: Washington Crossing The Delaware https://img.wallpapersafari.com/desktop/728/410/20/56/yOSaQE.jpg

A Last Look At The Upper Room

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It was clean except for one – no, two things. They were unobtrusive, but caught her eye. On the floor near the wall lay a towel; a muddy towel, now dried. And near it sat a basin of dirty water. Strange things left in such a clean room.

She wandered over to the table. She’d heard the stories. You couldn’t live here and not have heard about the man who said things so remarkable they sent shivers down your spine; who healed – healed! – lame people who hadn’t felt the earth beneath their feet for years, if ever; and who talked with anyone, not just the important or educated or honored. Oh yes, she’d heard. She, herself, had heard from her neighbor’s daughter’s friend about a woman caught in a situation that shouldn’t be spoken of and, instead of hurling accusations with the rest, he had asked some questions that had sent her accusers running. There was something very gratifying in that, though she couldn’t say exactly what.

She’d heard the rumors, too. He had said – reportedly, mind you – that “Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father”. The Father. God! He’d actually said that! That comment right there did it for some people. It was a bridge too far. But others? Not so much. They’d stuck with him. They believed it was true.

And herself? Hmmm. She wasn’t sure. But those healings – you couldn’t deny them. Or the creepy guy in the tombs who was freed from demon-possession. Really. Who does that? Or the huge storm that was stilled in an instant. Seriously.

And now the worst. Because whether you believed him or not, he hadn’t done anything deserving a crucifixion. Those were the whispers spreading through the city. The ones who were offended by his defense of unremarkable, diseased people were crowding together. It’s the way mobs were. And others joined in, of course, because they did whatever anyone else did. They thought whatever anyone else thought. It was almost like they didn’t know they could act or think for themselves.

A loud sound startled her. As it grew louder, she ran to the window and looked out. Oh no! The man! No! NO! Soldiers surrounded him. One of them flicked a whip his way every once in awhile for his own amusement. The man was carrying a cross – those heavy, dirty, terrible, tortuous things. As her breath caught in her throat, he glanced up at her for an instant. And in that instant, her doubt vanished.

Tears started slowly, then ran down her face as her body shuddered with heavy sobs. Why did some people blacken light with dark? Good with bad? What was the point? She wished she could fix it. She wished there was something she could do to chase away the hardened hearts and evil mobs. She wished she could drive them from the whole world, or, at least, from hers. From here. From the street the man with the cross was trudging down.

He was so good. Really good. And kind. And, as she thought about it, one of the purest souls she’d ever known – or at least known about. She harshly brushed her tears away.

Her eyes roamed the room in a last once-over. Ah. Here was a crumb on the table. Unleavened bread. How could she have missed it? Oh. And a drop of wine. She began to clear them with one swipe, hesitated, and placed them on the tip of her tongue instead. Then she picked up the towel and basin and walked out.

Image: jackson-david-8qudl9pDZJ0-unsplash.jpg; Scripture text: John 14:9 (on second thought, why don’t you read the whole chapter); Image: mads-schmidt-rasmussen-v0PWN7Z38ag-unsplash.jpg

Winds of Change And the Witch

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Rain blew through the forest as the storm tossed limbs and branches in its torrential fury. On through the night the wind blew, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled and crashed. The crack of a birch, weakened by unseen pests eating it from the inside out, reverberated over the commotion as it slammed to the ground, crushing the brush and bushes around it.

     And then – in an instant – it was over. Droplets glistened on both bough and leaf. A nearby river rushed loudly with the memory of the storm just past. A chipmunk’s bright eyes peeked out of its hiding place and a couple of deer took tentative steps nearby. And the oldest tree of the forest seemed to shake itself as the sun caressed its shadow.

It was on that night that a little girl was born. She was given all she desired and more than she needed. And she grew, through the seasons and signposts of life, diligently working toward her goals, finding beauty and glory and seeking more. Always more.

And every year she visited the forest that called to her and spent a day at the base of the old tree thinking – no, pondering – as hope and discouragement, good and evil, light and dark played tag in her soul.

And although myriad paths lay open to her, she considered prestige and power a worthy aim and chose that path which offered most and best. And she got it. For there are in life ways some do not recognize or chose to know; but for those who seek them, their allure calls clearly and relentlessly.

She attended the best schools where she learned to think in the accepted manner; not only learned, but embraced the lessons that scoffed at old wisdom and blessed those that tore its fabric. She acquired beauty at the cost of dignity, fortune at the cost of integrity, and success at the cost of legitimacy.

She followed the clear and relentless path to dark places and shadowy travelers. She made everyone around her a servant and thought of those she did not know, slaves. Others’ lives became a means to an end, and she didn’t hesitate regardless of hurt or harm her actions might cause; until life became as expendable as used package wrapping.

She gave in to gluttony, but was never satiated. Whatever of the many things she’d dreamed and worked to gain were never enough. She began to think of herself as a god, really. No one was higher or should be. She was greater than anyone! Larger than life, even bigger than creation! She had it all and would control it all, too!

And then a storm came; quietly and slowly at first, as some storms do. It continued, and disturbed her. Putting her hands over her ears, she demanded it stop. But the wind rose higher and the rain pelted harder. On through the night the wind blew, lightning flashed, and thunder rolled and crashed.

It occurred to her that the old tree beneath which she had sat and pondered and planned in her youth, and later neglected until it was forgotten, could be a shelter. Running to the forest, she looked but couldn’t find it. At last she was spent. Raging at the storm and any who had the audacity to cross her, she lay on the ground, cursing until the very end. The ground swallowed her weaselly body, and the rain washed away the filth of her life.

And the oldest tree of the forest seemed to shake itself as the sun caressed its shadow.

Images: pexels-pixabay-53459-; pexels-nejc-kosir-338936.jpg; pexels-kyle-killam-106006.jpg; pexels-veeterzy-38136.jpg

We’ve Met The Enemy And He Is Us

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Walt Kelly’s cartoon strip, Pogo, ran in newspapers from 1948 – 1973. And although I was a kid then, one of his cartoons has always stuck with me. The text wasn’t original with Kelly, though. He borrowed the phrase from Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry. After the Battle of Lake Erie, he is reported to have said to William Henry Harrison, “We have met the enemy and they are ours”.

People have differing opinions about what is going on between Russia and Ukraine depending on what they read and who they listen to. Allowances for opinions must be made (believe it or not), especially since none of us fully knows what’s going on. But when denial about bio weapon labs in Ukraine turned into an admission of their existence by Political Affairs Undersecretary of State Victoria Nuland, and we learned that US tax dollars were used to finance those labs, I’d say that little phrase in Pogo might need to be reintroduced.

Some sources say it is these labs (the bio weapon labs financed by your tax dollars) that Russia has been destroying with surgical strikes. Additionally, a Georgian “health center” has been used as cover for US bioweapon research close to the Russian border. At least that is an accusation leveled by Russia’s Foreign Ministry. If this is true, our dear nation is in violation of disarmament agreements. Other sources point back to 2005 when Senator Obama was part of negotiations involving biolabs. In fact, there seem to be a number of countries calling for an investigation – something the US press apparently has chosen to not share. With. The. People. Whose. Money. Was. Used.

We are not the only guilty party, at least according to the Russian Federation’s claim to the UN.  “The Kiev authorities basically agreed to make their country into an experimental platform and use their citizens as guinea pigs.” Again, if this is true, the Ukrainian people have been under threat of bio weapons. What a way to live. Oh – wait.

But the 2014 coup d’etat in Ukraine ousting duly elected officials and installing the current government, a video clip of Senators Lindsey Graham and John no name McCain promising to give top military leaders what they needed to defeat Russia, and that nasty little video clip of Biden actually describing his pay-for-play exchange with, I believe it was ex-President Poroshenko back when he was VP, money-laundering and trafficking (did you read about the 100 trafficked children rescued? I did, but not from mainstream media), lend an unsettling credence to corruption defying the imagination. Corruption of this magnitude appears to reach to dark corners of every nation, and it looks like there will be hell to pay one way or another. It also looks like the USA had something to do with it.

Can I clarify? Just as we are careful to say things like, “not the Chinese people, but the CCP”, can we give our nation the grace to say, “not American citizens, but its corrupt deep state political machine”? Or corrupt cabal? Or maybe not. You choose. We should’ve known. We should’ve known, and we didn’t. But we let things slide that we shouldn’t have – I’ll tell you that much. If you have a lick of moral sensibility in you, you’ll agree.

You know what bothers me most? Our money was used for it, we didn’t know it, and our standing in the world is stained with the sins of those who did.

Sources: https://www.timesofisrael.com/liveblog_entry/russia-wants-un-meeting-over-us-biological-activities-in-ukraine/; https://www.redvoicemedia.com/2022/03/whats-in-the-u-s-biolabs-in-ukraine-pentagon-operated-taxpayer-funded-biolab/; https://russia-insider.com/en/politics/russia-accuses-us-placing-bio-weapons-labs-its-borders/ri8082; Ron Watkins on telegram: Nunn-Lugar Report Aug 29, 2005; https://adinakutnicki.com/2022/02/28/putin-vows-to-crush-child-traffickers-in-ukraine%ef%bf%bc/; https://youtu.be/pYtcXS9zJXo

The Picture On The Refrigerator

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There are un-noted populations in times of war. Invisible, silent people in all nations whose lives are deeply affected walk past us at the gas station or grocery store and park next to us in the parking lot. They have a lot to say about one thing, but talk about other things instead. They don’t directly answer questions. They’ve learned to not mention anything on a calendar or clock, map or birth certificate, base or company.

They walk around with a lump in their throat and a smile on their face. If you push them too far, they might feel like smacking you upside the head. Nine out of ten times they won’t, and you’ll never be the wiser. They cry and pray in private.

They search for the best phone plans in other countries and apply for a passport. They learn which services are most dependable to deliver packages in and out of the country. They celebrate birthdays and holidays with someone missing. They keep their phones with them 24/7.

If you’ve ever hung the picture of a little boy or girl on your refrigerator, ever gone to school concerts and plays and fairs, ever replaced the tennis shoes you bought a month ago because he was growing just that fast, or ever prayed with that little boy or girl as you tucked them into bed, then you must understand that the warrior you envision – the one dressed in military fatigues – might look textbook to you. But to those invisible, silent people, he looks like the picture on the refrigerator.

Sgt. Tim Martin, an infantryman with Headquarters and Headquarters Company of the 1st Battalion, 17th Infantry Regiment, 2nd Infantry Division, shows evidence of the long journey after returning from Operation Buffalo Thunder II at Forward Operating Base Spin Boldak, Afghanistan, July 2, 2012. During the eight-day mission, Afghan and American forces cleared more than 120 kilometers of rugged terrain and escorted approximately 60 truckloads of humanitarian aid for distribution to the people of Shorabak.

Great Worship

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“It’s just easier, you know? I click the link, sip coffee in my pajamas, and even get a little housework done during the boring parts.”

“Plus I don’t worry about the kids getting antsy. God is there where two or three are gathered, right?”

The people in Berea were more open-minded than those in Thessalonica. They were so glad to hear the message Paul told them. They studied the Scriptures every day to make sure that what they heard was really true.

And continuing daily with one accord in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, they ate their meat with gladness and singleness of heart.

“What a great sermon!”

“I just can’t get enough of him, can you?”

“I don’t know how he does it week after week. But he does!”

And upon the first day of the week, when the disciples came together to break bread, Paul preached unto them, ready to depart on the morrow; and continued his speech until midnight.

“And the worship! I felt transported!”

“The worship is the best around, for sure.”

Therefore, since we receive a kingdom which cannot be shaken, let us show gratitude, by which we may offer to God an acceptable service with reverence and awe; for our God is a consuming fire.

Speak to one another with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your hearts to the Lord.

And God watched. He heard their voices and music and words. And He listened to what hearts were saying.

Image: edwin-andrade-6liebVeAfrY-unsplash.jpg; Acts 17:11; Acts 2:46; Acts 20:7; Hebrews 12:28-29; Ephesians 5:19

Game Day

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Remember the movie, Jeremiah Johnson? Well really, who could forget a movie starring Robert Redford (is he a beautiful man or what)? One of the things I recall is the huge animal furs he wore to keep warm.

I also recall animal rights activists throwing buckets of red paint (some reports said it was animal blood, others said paint) on people wearing fur coats. I would guess they felt they were doing the right thing. It looked like it wandered over to revenge, but only they could say for certain. One commenter on Quora wondered whether pouring buckets of crude oil over people wearing polyester or other synthetics or throwing pesticide on those who wear cotton wasn’t a similar act. My my my. That escalated quickly!

It’s the game we play. We all do it. Perhaps it’s more accurate to say we get sucked into it. Let’s call it the game of Either/Or. It’s a wonderful, magical game where you must choose to stand for only one side and absolutely be against the other. Those who hear you say something can automatically smack an invisible label on you without your consent or knowledge, and you can do the same to them. The devil loves this game because everybody loses.

It goes like this: If you like a speedboat ride, you don’t care about the clarity of the lake you zoom around on, and if you hate to see oil floating on the water, you must be an aging Hippie. If you support the timber industry, you don’t care about forests or the cute little animals who call the forest their home, but if you’re concerned about said animals, you have no comprehension of what’s necessary for the business and don’t appreciate the chair you’re sitting on. If you support some big businesses, you’re heartless when it comes to the environment and the little guy, and if you are a small-business supporter you miss the great contributions big businesses provide. On and on we go until someone gets hungry and asks, “But what if you like both animals and a good meal?”

We’re not quite at the questioning part yet in the current game. The game we play of late is a simplified version. If you spin the spinner and it lands on support your local police, you’re a racist; or a certain skin color, you’re a racist; and if it lands on a certain sex, you’re a sexist; but if you don’t know which sex you are – then you get a free turn. And another favorite – if you think everyone needs what some call a vaccination and others call the newest experimental gene therapy, you get a ‘don’t care about freedom’ label or, conversely, if you don’t believe everyone should be vaccinated with it, you get a trifecta of labels: anti-vax and think there isn’t a troublesome virus among us and you don’t care about others. And if you question the rules, you get a conspiracy theorist label and lose a turn. This is a multi-purpose label that can earn the person who gives it the “I’m smarter than you” award which can be traded back and forth among the players.

There’s an extended version of the game involving masks, lockdowns, and accusations, but for the purposes of this post, we’ll stick with the simplified version. There’s also a companion game called Truth or Die which can be played with either the simplified or extended version of Either/Or. This is a game that can be played by people who don’t even know they’re playing it, which leads to greater overall intensity of play for those who do.

When we arrive at a place of understanding that most of us really do want very similar things, we will stop playing the game. But the final rule of the game that brings it to a halt is twofold: unfolding the card we each get at the beginning of the game marked ‘God-given rights’ and rejecting fear and extending grace and forgiveness. And we’re not there yet.

Jeremiah Johnson, 1972 American Western film based on the life of legendary mountain man John Jeremiah Johnson described in Crow Killer by Raymond Thorp and Robert Bunker. Screenplay: Edward Anhalt and John Milius, Producer: Joe Wizan, Director: Sydney Pollack. Title character: Robert Redford. Also Will Geer as “Bear Claw”; https://www.quora.com/Does-Joe-Namath-deserve-to-have-buckets-of-animal-blood-poured-on-him-while-he-is-wearing-fur-skins?

The Other Shore

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My father died around this time six years ago. This description is one he, himself, shared at a friend’s funeral many years before. It’s a good piece of prose, not just due to its imagery, but because it is true.

‘Gone From My Sight’

“I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,
spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts
for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.
I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then someone at my side says, “There, she is gone.”

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,
hull and spar as she was when she left my side.

And she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port. Her diminished size is in me – not in her.

And just at the moment when someone says, “There, she is gone,” there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices ready to take up the glad shout, “Here she comes!”

And that is dying…”

We find ourselves amidst immense struggles just now. Though the death of those we love always pricks, death out of time lends considerable pause to our days. For those who have lost loved ones during these few years of trouble and loss, I read everything you write, look at every photo, and think about the unnatural quiet that has come to your daily routine. And not I, alone, but the world experiences a heavy grief and silent ache. That world, people we know and those we have never met, sends prayers – many prayers – that an unseen enemy’s attack will, itself, receive its just counterassault.

For while goodness might be temporarily silenced, it will not remain so. It will rise in glorious triumph. Until then, those of us left will stand. We will stand firm in the knowledge of God’s mercy and Jesus’ victory. We will stand firm in our part of the battle wherever it may find us. And we will stand firm because we know Who has already won.

Poem: Henry Van Dyke,1852-1934; image: sailboat-pexels-taryn-elliott-6790330.jpg