Look

Posted on by
Reply

Not in the loud and clamorous claims

Nor in incessant sound;

Not in storied sorrows shared

Nor trouble searched and found.

 

Not in self-pity, sad and true

Nor in great despair;

Not in calls for sympathy

Near or far or there.

 

No, only in a careful look

Inward and outward, too

Is Christ’s mind heard and understood

By such a man as you.

 

God heeds not frivolous plans;

He bears not stupid talk;

His will does not comport desires

In crooked ways to walk.

 

Where is His love? Oh it is there

But not in your design

It is unvarnished truth alone

That rules fullness of time.

Image: bird-s-eye-photography-of-mountain-1624496.jpg

 

Family, After All

Posted on by
Reply

Her breath made small vaporous puffs as she hurried back to her apartment. Boy, it was cold! Why had she even agreed to go in the first place? But her co-worker’s persistence had done its work and she went. After all, it was only an hour, maybe two, out of her evening and there wasn’t anything else to fill the time. Christmas being what it was, was a family affair and she didn’t have one. Strike that. She had one, but didn’t know their names. She’d tried looking, but had concluded it would take a miracle to find them. And if she did, then what? She doubted she would fit in even if they agreed to meet her.

She’d known most of her life that she had been adopted. Her parents loved her to pieces was how they put it; and sometimes she quietly thought it was an apt expression. Being an only child had its pressures and perhaps being adopted added to them – or subtracted; she couldn’t know for certain. But they had been old when she was a baby – having tried and tried to have their own. Their own. They would’ve been upset such a thought crossed her mind. Anyway, they had died within two weeks of each other. Heartbreak maybe. That was three years ago.

When they died, she’d sold the townhouse they’d bought the minute she graduated from high school. She didn’t blame them for the purchase. But once her childhood home was gone, it hadn’t felt the same. And due to their move, most of the pieces that had filled their house had been sold or given away. Going “home” hadn’t held the same sense of belonging afterward.

She unlocked the door of her apartment. The 1920’s architecture of her building more than suited her. Shrugging out of her coat, she hung it on the coat tree by the door. This was her home now. She was content.

She wrapped an afghan around her shoulders and picked up Rockwell Kent’s World Famous Paintings. She didn’t begrudge not having family, but it did mean if she was to get a Christmas gift, she would buy it herself. This one was from the used bookstore two blocks over. But as she sipped some cocoa – it was a Belgian chocolate concoction she favored – and paged through the book, something she had heard tonight pestered her. The minister had mentioned something about adoption. Why would he say such a thing and at a Christmas Eve service of all times?

She knew about baby Jesus. She knew the whole Christmas tableau. She’d gone to Sunday School with her childhood friend while her parents slept in, but she’d never heard adoption mentioned. Laying Kent’s book aside, she pulled out that Bible her friend had given to her in high school. It was still like new. She fingered the gilded edges of the pages. A quick search of the concordance brought success. There. And there! More? Yes, more!

The evening waned and she read like her Bible was a seven course meal. She hadn’t know she was hungry. Adopted? She knew about adoption. She lived adoption. But this was different. A father who would go anywhere with her, even if it meant not sleeping in; who would give anything – anything – a baby in a manger, for instance, for her! A father who wouldn’t sell her home, but rather prepare one that felt more like home than any place in the world! And family! People just like her.

Christmas morning peeked over the horizon as she drifted to sleep. She would have loved how the sun’s rays touched her face just so had she been awake to notice it. She’d read through the night. Shepherds. Scientists. Fishermen. Kings and governors. Prostitutes. Teachers. Lawyers. Beggars. Thieves. Businesswomen. Children. People from all walks of life. And one Father. And one Savior Brother. And finally. Finally, finally, she felt more than adopted. She felt like family. Was this the miracle she’d wanted? The discovery of family? Yes. And more: A Christmas gift she didn’t have to buy herself.

Scripture: Moses was adopted.; Esther was adopted.; For you did not receive a spirit of slavery that returns you to fear, but you received the Spirit of adoption to sonship, by whom we cry, “Abba! Father!” (Romans 8:15); And more than that, we ourselves, though we possess the Spirit as a foretaste and pledge of the glorious future, yet we ourselves inwardly sigh, as we wait and long for open recognition as children through the deliverance of our bodies (Romans 8:23); They are the people of Israel, chosen to be God’s adopted children. God revealed his glory to them. He made covenants with them and gave them His law. He gave them the privilege of worshiping Him and receiving His wonderful promises.(Romans 9:4); so that He might redeem those who were under the Law, that we might receive the adoption as sons and daughters.(Galatians 4:5); and having predestinated us unto the adoption of children by Jesus Christ to himself, according to the good pleasure of His will. (Ephesians 1:5); Image: pexels-photo-306864.jpeg; alice-pasqual-bDL5INidTEQ-unsplash-scaled.jpg; al-elmes-ZiCz-oW1LXA-unsplash-scaled.jpg

Out of the Darkness

Posted on by
Reply

At first it had the feel of adventure to it; a whimsical sort of challenge which he gladly accepted. The downing of not just electrical wires, but of the entire power grid across his region – at least he thought it was his region (it certainly couldn’t be the entire country!) had been cautioned, warned, and discussed until everyone was sick of it and drank more eggnog than they should. He, himself, had made a ‘Tis the season excuse for his overindulgence, giving little thought to what “the season” meant. Sure, he knew – baby in a manger, light of the world and all that. However, most reasonable people also knew it had little influence in the world just now. But no, it couldn’t have spread across the whole country: not that he nor anyone in his vicinity would know; since there was no communication unless one neighbor without knowledge of the current situation consulted the next who had identical knowledge. And at this point, he wasn’t certain whether said neighbor would meet him with a plate of Christmas cookies or the point of a rifle (and he wasn’t sure that he cared). He’d heard that happened to people who were isolated from each other. Of course, could he blame someone for their defensive posture when his suspicious one was no better?

He’d read somewhere that things like this could last for months and much longer. A year? More? Ugh. It had been a week. Seven long nights and days. There was no traffic. Without electricity, the gas pumps didn’t work. Even if they could have made the trip, people didn’t go to work. Why? It was a computerized world – a world that thrived on electricity. At first, a few of the folks who preferred winter to summer walked here and there. After awhile, they didn’t. Perhaps they’d grown too cold without a place to warm up in afterward. Maybe they’d grown tired. Even those with gym memberships needed calories and cold food in cold houses lost some of its appeal. Who knew how much longer they would or could endure? Had the weather been temperate, things would have felt more hopeful. But this? His window thermometer registered 0.

It wasn’t as though he hadn’t prepared. He had. Of course, he didn’t plan on helping anyone else. How could he? They should’ve thought ahead. He’d kept his curtains closed to keep in as much warmth as possible and told himself it helped a little, but now he pulled his curtains aside and peered down the street. Dusk approached and soon it would be as black as sin, as his grandma used to say. He looked around the room, taking stock of his supplies. He had canned food, but had lost his appetite. He forced himself to eat each day, though. Today’s feast was a can of corn. Refrigeration was without power, of course, but the indoor temperature without a working furnace made it unnecessary. However, frozen hamburger wasn’t of much use. Water – check; and when he ran out, the snow outside . . . Then he began to wonder if eating snow would help or harm him. His fingers had begun to feel like thick sticks sometime around midnight the night before. At least he could feel them, unlike his toes which had no feeling at all.

The sun would set in another thirty or so minutes, and somewhere on day two, he had decided to use his flashlight to read through the evening. A few days in, he began to worry about how long the flashlight battery would last, and switched to depending on a candle to read before the dark encroached when he blew it out. Tonight he sat by the curtained window and parted the fabric ever so slightly to let in the waning light. He’d save candle light for later. He read:

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

He’d grown to like Tennyson lately, though he didn’t always understand what he was getting at. It was that way with those old authors, those ancient poets. He made more time than usual for them because in the last week time was all he had. What was that his uncle had liked to say? You have all the time in the world, but that’s all the time you have. Closing his eyes, he reflected; and his mind wandered to what their days and culture had been like. Surely such things had affected their perspective. His mind wandered further as he  recalled something he had heard about the holiday he didn’t celebrate – Hanukkah. Having enough oil to light the menorah wasn’t the problem. The Maccabees had enough oil. It was simply that there was only one jar of pure oil – one with the priestly seal. That jar would last just one night. Just one. Compromise seemed necessary. Certainly easier. But they were unwilling to use adulterated oil for something sacred. And God saw their pure hearts and met their desire for doing what was right. Oil for one night became oil for eight nights. He thought about those guys. He wondered if they’d fit in at the company holiday party. Then he wondered if they’d fit in anywhere.

He sat with those thoughts until they met him in his dreams. When he woke, the dark completely enveloped him, and he knew somehow that the One for whom “the season” was celebrated was watching him, his street, his city, the world to see whether any pure hearts remained. And he knew, too, how compromised his heart had become. Taking the middle ground was popular, even seemingly necessary and had been easy, so easy. Rising from his chair, he knelt on the ice-cold floor. Just knelt. A few tears escaped from his closed eyes. He was so tired. But he didn’t ask for warmth or electrical power, for he was overwhelmingly conscious of how undeserving he was. No, he asked for one thing: forgiveness. Purity.

And God saw his crippled, frozen heart and met his desire for doing what was right. He suddenly felt a sort of freedom he’d forgotten existed.

Then – a quiet hum. He heard it before he opened his eyes: the blessed sound of his furnace! And he rose to bask in the shining lights turned on in every room! The Christmas tree lights! The outdoor lights! The lights decking the houses along the street! He hurried to make some cocoa on the stove (hot soup! hot toast! hot anything!), then threw open his curtains despite the night.

Image: pexels-pixabay-278823-scaled.jpg; Quote: Alfred Lord Tennyson; Source: https://open.substack.com/pub/naomiwolf/p/hanukkah-on-the-battlefield?utm_campaign=post-expanded-share&utm_medium=web

In Silence

Posted on by
Reply

Surrounded by pines, a few birch trees, and neglected barberry bushes and undergrowth, the building stood like a soldier in the gloaming. The silence of a snowy night surrounded it in cold solidarity, and the stone structure, carved hundreds of years before, did not yield to occasional wind gusts that otherwise skittered grainy snow across the icy ground.

It had been celebrated at its inaugural opening to the town with speeches and flowers and a large shared meal. Depended upon during important and common occasions both, it was the town’s centerpiece!

But a national crisis came with its hardships and fear, and the building had been conscripted as a field hospital. Seating and large instruments had been stored away, small instruments had been given away, and books boxed and stacked away. The war over, the townspeople found other, newer buildings, and the stone building was deserted.

Eventually though, weary travelers’ hearts gladdened at the sight of it, and a few benches outside its doors became a welcome wayside rest.

Eventually whispers and uninformed opinions about it spread. Someone thought it of little use. The gradual and quiet growth of disinterest grew until the building was sold for much less than it was worth. They – the buyers – made it into a house. However, they, too, lost interest after a time. The property was too remote. The town – too small.

Sometimes words are mighty, but sometimes they are just syllables that dissipate into thin air. And the air – the quiet, purifying air of a Christmas night that was the pnuema of its Creator – began to stir; softly at first, then to swirl with sparkles of gold-tipped frostiness until an otherworldly brightness glowed from the building’s windows and swept over the grounds around it. Pine and birch branches rustled. Barberry bushes’ berries glowed red. And the church that had been used for – well, for its intended purposes – returned to its original stateliness. After all, not all needs are understood, and not all miracles are seen.

Images: annie-spratt-tEHoH5kP7w-unsplash-scaled.jpg; mateusz-majewski-rL40zBCi-Dk-unsplash-scaled.jpg; sharon-waldron-k_PscfWwz5w-unsplash-scaled.jpg; Luke 19:40 “I tell you,” He answered, “if they remain silent, the very stones will cry out.”

A Prayer of Thanksgiving

Posted on by
Reply

Almighty God and Heavenly Father, who of Your gracious providence and tender mercy has preserved me, I humbly praise and magnify Your glorious Name for all Your goodness to me this day. If I have walked uprightly and honestly and truthfully; if I have kept my tongue as with a bridle, it is of Your mercy, O Lord, my God; therefore thanks and praise be to You this day; through Jesus Christ. Amen.

Prayer taken from Alone with God, JH Garrison, copyright 1891, St. Louis: Christian Publishing Company.

Pumpkin Seeds

Posted on by
Reply

A girl with long black hair and torn jeans sat cross-legged on the cold ground that was on the edge of freezing, but not quite. The pumpkin had served it’s purpose in being part of the autumn display at the entry to an apple orchard where families and infatuated couples came to welcome all things belonging to a change of seasons: apples and their offerings of cider, pies, pastries, and butters; pumpkins in shades of orange and green, perhaps even striped; straw bales, and hay rides. Of course the celebratory mood had left with the customers who now were making lists and checking them twice to have ready after their day – one day – of Thanksgiving.

The woman recognized it, though. The careful collecting of pumpkin seeds to roast and salt, not for a seasonal tradition or treat, but for food. She pulled her car to the road’s shoulder and got out.

“No, no! You don’t need to leave. Please. Stay.”

The girl sat back down, placing her her half-filled bucket on the hard ground beside her.

The woman walked to the now unused entrance, and picked up a pumpkin. As she sat near the girl, she said quietly, “I was reminded of myself when I saw you. I used to do this very thing.”

She deftly pulled out some seeds and rubbed the stringy insides from them. Chuckling, she commented, “Slippery.”

“Yea,” said the girl. Her hands were chapped.

And as afternoon turned into the gray of anticipated mist, the two shared individual stories. The girl told of family struggles and unmet needs and the woman told a similar story of her own girlhood with slight variation. As the bucket filled, two souls looked through the lens of similar experience into God’s provision in the midst of empty buckets and the conviction that hard times and good times could mesh together. And somehow it warmed them.

Images: timothy-eberly-yuiJO6bvHi4-unsplash-scaled.jpg; shaun-holloway-EuEfDQH_AYc-unsplash.jpg; priscilla-du-preez-bJPn27RFg0Y-unsplash-scaled.jpg

Chair Prayer (Lament)

Posted on by
Reply

Dear Father, and we call you that because Jesus did and we love the thought that You – in Your glorious majesty and power – not only allow it, but think it is fine for us to do so,

Here we are – just wanting to be in Your presence, not knowing what’s going on in the world and grateful You’re with us during this time of change and shaking and so many voices. And we sit here with You, knowing that all the many, many voices and sources and claims serve mostly to clutter the space between us without lending the truth we really seek. Please know this: we love You. Oh what You have gone through as many have rebelled and pretended and tried to usurp (they never could – You are so much higher and greater). Oh what You’ve watched as the wicked have plotted and acted in ways more despicable than we ever knew or care to know. It must bring such sorrow to You to see people who could be quite good grasp instead at meaningless trinkets (money, fame, acceptance…) and invite corruption into what could have been so good because You extended Your generous hand – You gave talent and beauty and intelligence and they used it for villainy rather than virtue, depravity instead of decency.

And we weep for what You see and the little that we can see. Our eyes have a film over them still, though not as much as there once was. We’ve walked around in a dim stupor, thinking we saw what there was to see. And we didn’t. Although there is nothing we could do to deserve Your presence, we are here and love You. We love you and our hearts ache for what glory was intended and what has happened since the garden. And no matter what, we are Your’s. Our little insignificant selves are on Your side. You’ve said when we’re weak, You’re strong, so there’s that. We’re available for whatever You need us for.

In Jesus’ blessed Name, Amen.

House Lights

Posted on by
Reply

The darkness was suffocating; the kind that made you feel as though it was something almost living and surrounding you, waiting to pounce. If I hadn’t stumbled – and when I say stumbled, please take me literally – on the poor soul in front of me, I would’ve been out of here.

But there he was – lying in a heap on the sidewalk about four blocks from my house. And what had started out as a pleasant evening walk on a late fall day had turned as quickly as had the sudden mist dropped the temperature and the light dimmed. By the time I’d turned the last corner, it was uncomfortably dark. And then I nearly tripped over the man I hadn’t seen.

“Sir?” I whispered. Then more loudly, “Sir!”

I touched him, then poked him. I leaned closer to see whether he was pale (Pale? In the dark? I don’t know what I was thinking.), shook him slightly, then pushed him from his lumpy state onto his back. There was no response. I checked for a bump (none) and bodily fluids in the vicinity (none, to my great relief – so much of a relief, I felt like dancing except for the unfortunate situation). I looked around at the empty street for help, at the houses; their cheery lights reaching into their yards, but no farther. I didn’t blame them. If I were a cheery light, I’d prefer the familiarity of my own yard, too.

“Help! Someone! Someone needs help here!”

Nothing. I reached for my phone before recalling I’d left it at the house, thinking (at the time) how much I needed the quiet of nature as I walked. Oh, I’d gotten some quiet alright; just not the kind I needed.

As I pressed on his neck and wrist, yes, feeling a faint pulse, I noticed headlights in the distance and (praise be!) growing nearer. I ran as far as I dared into the street and waved and shouted. The car pulled over and stopped, and a tired-looking man got out.

“What’s your problem, Miss?”

I pointed. “There’s a man passed out on the sidewalk. I don’t know what’s wrong, but I can’t rouse him.”

As an afterthought I added, “I can’t just leave him, you know?”

The driver looked at the man, then at me, and answered, “Oh. I know.”

I thought to myself he must wish he was home even more than I was wishing it. But he had a car and I didn’t. He was stronger than I was. And though we both seemed to feel some sort of obligation, neither of us was glad of it.

He pulled his phone from a jacket pocket and talked as he walked to the stranger on the sidewalk, checking for a pulse, sniffing his breath, and looking up at me.

“Help me get him into my car. I’ll drive him back to the hospital.”

“Back?”

“I just got off a twelve-hour shift.”

We half lifted and half pulled until the man was slumped into his backseat.

Back in my little house, I double-checked the lock, took a quick shower, and put tea on to brew. And as I made sure the cheery lights from my house reached all the way to the street, I sat in a cozy chair and thought about pleasant evening walks, the quiet of nature, and unsettling situations. I thought of strangers who make bad decisions and cause those who make good decisions unmitigated trouble. I wondered which type of stranger the driver thought I was. I sipped my tea, loving how it’s warmth traveled from first sip deep into my veins. And I thought about the kindness of strangers.

Image: pexels-koolshooters-6495709-scaled.jpg; alice-pasqual-bDL5INidTEQ-unsplash.jpg

BABYLON: A Tower, A City, Or A System?

Posted on by
Reply

Now the whole earth had one language and the same words. And as people migrated from the east, they found a plain in the land of Shinar and settled there. And they said to one another, “Come, let us make bricks, and burn them thoroughly.” And they had brick for stone, and bitumen for mortar. Then they said, “Come, let us build ourselves a city and a tower with its top in the heavens, and let us make a name for ourselves, lest we be dispersed over the face of the whole earth.” (Genesis 11:1–4)

The story of the tower of Babel is the account of prideful people deciding they could elevate themselves through building a ziggurat so high they could knock on heaven’s door and God would need to answer. Isn’t that special. They actually went to a place that was considered God’s special property and expected He would need to come to some sort of agreement with them.

It speaks, doesn’t it, of their view of God. Though they didn’t yet have the Lord’s Prayer to suggest they consider God’s holiness before saying anything else, they had some Mesopotamian ideas and their own interpretations, as well. Such audacity wasn’t unheard of then. During those times kings and tyrants would compete to build the highest structure to challenge the divine order. What’s that you say? Yes, pride goes before a fall, but we also know that during their heydays Egyptians and Romans did just that when they considered their rulers to be gods. I suppose those who disagreed kept their mouths shut.

So the Lord dispersed them from there over the face of all the earth, and they left off building the city. Therefore its name was called Babel, because there the Lord confused the language of all the earth. And from there the Lord dispersed them over the face of all the earth. (Genesis 11:8–9)

That right there, folks, is one of the most temperate and creative responses I can think of. Instead of smacking them into oblivion, God multiplied their one language into many. The ones who could understand each other found distinct places to live and nations were formed. He set them in a direction to save them from the terror of having a one-world power.

In the case of the Tower of Babel, God was DONE with those folks who apparently decided they would disseminate the religion of Babylon and substitute its gods for Yahweh. God doesn’t push in that regard. If they didn’t want a relationship with Him, if they didn’t want to honor Him, so be it. He assigned some of the lesser gods (I’m sorry if that doesn’t fit your belief system. You believe in angels, don’t you? What about demons? I don’t want to get off-topic. Just remember that God’s creation is not limited to the planets and everything on the earth. Read Michael Heiser and you’ll feel better. If doing so makes you feel worse, make yourself a cup of chamomile tea, look out the window, and rock back and forth to calm yourself.). As I was saying, God assigned lesser supernatural beings to stand in for Him. The dispersed nations would see what it was like to worship the lesser deities they wanted. And He would choose just one nation to show Himself to. This all happened before Israel existed, mind you. (Deuteronomy 32:8-9)

So when God called Abram out of Mesopotamia, He essentially was making a way for the rebellious, now disinherited, nations to return to Him. Israel would be the one nation, example, and source of a pathway back. It takes awhile (and the Babylon that some in the Old Testament experienced – think Jeremiah, Daniel, Esther Nehemiah, etc. was no picnic) but by the time we reach Pentecost, we understand that the Jews who embraced Jesus would be God’s messengers who tell the others the way back. The nations of the earth can again be under God’s authority through His Son.

As we reflect on a culture that has shrugged its shoulders at people replacing God with themselves – oh what am I saying – a culture that has encouraged its habitants to do so, we must acknowledge it is in stark contrast to who God is and how we should think of Him. In fact, it is the exact opposite. It is reminiscent of Babel – Babylon, if you will.

We are living during a time and in a place in which there is a segment whose desire is to build a Babel tower again in the form of centralized authority. The authority might be governmental, but it could also be financial, religious, or technological. Maybe all four. Maybe more. (Or maybe there are those who already do so under the radar.)

(Let’s take a moment, shall we, to differentiate between disagreement and actual crimes against humanity. Such crimes must be met with swift punishment. Without that response, the victims are again victimized and those who do such things are free to do them over and over and over.) The problem, of course, is that in a corrupted culture, even words are corrupted until everything loses its original meaning making it difficult, if not impossible, to operate with a defined sense of what is right.

If your centralized authority was righteous, it would probably be a very good thing. But I can only think of one person who could manage it: Jesus. And He’s not here (in the physical) yet.

People keep saying this must happen or that must happen for Biblical prophecy to happen next. I think that when we shake our heads at the New Testament people who didn’t recognize the fulfillment of prophecy in Jesus’ day, maybe we need to make allowances for us doing the same. Maybe we haven’t recognized Babylon in our own day to day lives because we thought or were taught it would look different. We’re waiting to witness what is and has been already here. If so, shouldn’t we work to, in the words of Clyde Shelton in Law Abiding Citizen, “. . . pull the whole thing down. I’m gonna bring the whole xxx diseased, corrupt temple down on your heads. It’s gonna be biblical”? And let’s clarify, I am not condoning violence of any type or kind. But there are smart ways of “pulling things down”. One is where you put your money and how you use it. Another is seriously understanding the power of prayer to the God above all gods. Another is returning good for evil as counterintuitive as it might seem. Another is speaking truth about all things to all people. As you recall, the truth will set you free. It can also get your killed these days, but we’re told to STAND, to not desert our post – whatever and wherever it may be.

In the book of Revelation, John describes a great prostitute sitting on many waters – nations, if you will. He pictures a terrible beast. And he tells of the destruction of Babylon. That original tower was intended to lead people away from God. It seems to me, doesn’t it to you, that the final Babylon does the same thing. It sacrifices preborn babies and children of all ages. It rejects God’s omniscience.  It’s degenerate. It believes it can take over God’s creation. As far as not being able to buy or sell – I’ll leave it to you to come to your own conclusion. Those who are familiar with scripture know we will experience a sudden financial collapse. Lotta upset gonna happen.

Me? I’m going to take time to be holy, speak oft’ with the Lord, abide in Him always, and feed on His word. You might want to do the same.

Image:pexels-mauborjjaph-8742891.jpg; Sources: Dr. Michael Heiser: theTower of Bable Explained, Remnant Radio, youtube; Jordan Peterson: Why the Tower of Babel Matters in 2025, youtube; https://answersingenesis.org/tower-of-babel/ ; https://www.logos.com/grow/really-happened-tower-babel/ ; Logos Word by Word: The Tower of Babel Story: What Really Happened by Michael Heiser 5/18/22;  https://www.ministrymagazine.org/archive/2014/04/babylonian-mentality; Quote: from the movie Law Abiding Citizen, 2009, directed by F. Gary Gray , starring Jamie Foxx and Gerard Butler; Take Time To Be Holy by William Longstaff, 1890, Public Domain

The Balance of the Universe

Posted on by
Reply

Charlie Kirk was assassinated today. Here’s a guy who, in the eyes of those who believe that the what and where of the education of a man is more important than his character, surely shouldn’t amount to much. He did. He co-founded Turning Point USA (a nonprofit that advocates for conservative politics on high school, college, and university campuses), traveled the world, met with world leaders and could debate anyone to his or her knees. His easygoing manner, encyclopedic knowledge, and persuasive reasoning was winning a generation to adherence of logical and moral thinking; or at least to consideration of it. We were initially told the shooter was detained, but, per the usual of late, now no one knows who it really was and he, she, or they are still walking the streets. It’s accurate in a way, isn’t it, to use that description (he, she, or they) because it is a description of the demonic world that prefers neither specific sex nor identity.

Those who prefer the shadows of power would love for Charlie’s family, friends, and followers to respond in kind. They would love a war. But those who share Charlie’s character hold a different view.

While our nation considers the good, the bad, and the ugly of what it’s become, let it also consider this: We are in a war. It is 5th generation warfare; that is to say a war of information. It’s time you stopped expecting the media to tell you what to think and to do a little investigating for yourself. It’s not always on the great or the important that the balance of the universe depends. In other words, stop waiting for someone else to do something, and do your part to right the balance, to enrich the beauty, and to clarify the narrative.

Talk with our Heavenly Father and His Son, Jesus. Listen to God, to Jesus, to the Holy Spirit. Stop ignoring the still, small voice or the dream that seemed unusual. Go to God with your questions. Read the Bible. Wait on the Lord. His timing is impeccable. Is it okay to defend ourselves? It is. Should we despise what God despises? We should. What else? Plenty. After all, the garden is our responsibility.

That’s about all I have to say on this sad day. I might be tired, but I’m not beaten. And neither are you. You want one more suggestion? Overcome evil with good. Good night.

Quote: A Wind In The Door by Madeleine L’Engle. Published by Farrar, Straus, and Giroux. 1973.; image: Earth_in_vivid_colors_1.jpg; https://rumble.com/v6xftka-fall-of-the-cabal.html