So went the chorus of a 1960’s song, one of the songs that wasn’t quite as obnoxious as something some unfortunates witnessed last week at the Grammys.
Who could have imagined back then that balloons would be in THE NEWS? Surely not the 5th Dimension, who sang that catchy song. Maybe not even Rod Serling.
I know I’m not alone (not in the space aliens sense, but in the we are the world sense) when I feel a bit like we’re living in The Twilight Zone. I don’t know how recently the acronym UFO (Unidentified flying object) was changed to UAP (Unidentified Anomalous Phenomena), but it seems to me the different term allows for expansion of the definition. And while airspace was closed over Montana, parts of Lake Michigan and Lake Huron; and while there have been some “incidents” off the coast of South Carolina, Lake Huron, and Alaska not to mention other parts of the world; the chatter makes a great distraction. Compare it to losing track of your keys when the dog bolts out the door into traffic. It’s natural to . . . become flustered.
Only now (instead of keys) people lose track of things like the US blowing up the Nordstream Pipeline, big tech companies colluding with the FBI to influence elections and to censor our First Amendment right to free speech, the H. Biden laptop from hell; the Epstein client list of possible pedophiles and worse, Pfizer, Died Suddenly, and a recent train derailment in Palestine, Ohio leading to the spill of vinyl chloride, ethylene glycol monobutyl ether, ethylhexyl acrylate, and isobutylene resulting in widespread contamination including farmland (figure it out). Am I missing anything? Oh yes. People’s attention is being drawn away from illegal aliens (who come over our southern border, not in spaceships), confusion over which ones are the good guys and which ones are the bad guys during this time of wars and rumors of wars, who’s using balloons, and who’s sending up drones. And let’s not even start talking about EMPS and their cousins. I’ll bet you can think of others not listed here.
I don’t mean to dismiss UFO/UAP concerns. Some of the folks I follow warned even five or six years ago about plans of the powers that ought not be to disseminate this kind of stuff. Project Blue Beam didn’t just appear out of nowhere, you know. (Thank you to the one reader who got that joke.) And there are more people than you might think who believe we are not alone (not in the we are the world sense, but in the space aliens sense). The times being what they are, we might just find out what they were hiding at area 51 in Roswell after all. Or maybe we’ll be told another lie. It’s quite fashionable to do so just now. Or maybe we’ll find ourselves deeper than ever in learning about the ’emergent physics’ and ‘spatio temporal displacement effects’ that the Navy is reported to have emailed each other about.
Maybe Rod Serling was on to more than we knew. There is a fifth dimension beyond that which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, between science and superstition.
In the meantime, go ahead. Hum along.
The world’s a nicer place in my beautiful balloon It wears a nicer face in my beautiful balloon We can sing a song and sail along the silver sky
For we can fly (we can fly) Up, up and away My beautiful My beautiful balloon
And while you’re at it, remember there is good *reason to contemplate things not of this world.
Image: farshad-rezvanian-Eelegt4hFNc-unsplash-scaled.jpg; Lyrics: Up, Up and Away, 1967, composer Jimmy Webb, sung by The 5th Dimension; https://youtu.be/w-EmN3oe4NU; Juan Ramos in https://sciencetrends.com/5th-dimension/ ; The Twilight Zone, a television series by Rod Serling on CBS, 1959-1964; Fifth dimension quote attributed to Rod Serling; https://rumble.com/v292rnc-breaking-pentagon-shoots-down-high-altitude-object-over-alaska.html; https://welovetrump.com/2023/02/12/ufo-is-trending-and-dominating-the-news-right-now-heres-what-comes-next/; https://youtu.be/vHrLxRZo8Ho; https://rumble.com/v2914ow-02-09-23-hhr-with-l.a-marzulli-pt.2.html; navair.navy.mil/foia/sites/g/f…; * I John 4
It had been a year – or was it two? Maybe more. Yes, maybe more. Time was like that, clear at some points, offering Monet-like images in others. What he did know was that it didn’t seem like a year or two or more ago. It seemed like yesterday. And it seemed like a lifetime ago.
Whenever it was, he’d been walking along the railroad tracks sorting through his financial troubles and wishing them away. His thoughts had turned to the tons of money (lucky sport) that had been made with something beginning with the likes of the Tom Thumb. Most folks thought of the name as belonging in English folklore stories of the 1600’s rather than a steam locomotive. Then his mind had wandered to the buildings and towns that had sprung up along the railroad and drifted into curiosity about how the people of those towns had lived and loved and died. He hadn’t reached much past the beginning of those thoughts, however, when something along the edge of the tracks caught his eye – a flash of brightness made him stoop to look closer.
The gold coin that had glinted in the sun covered another one or two. Maybe more. He looked around and, seeing no one, dug down, pocketed them and hurried home.
The time that passed offered both good and bad, excitement and boredom, fun and trouble. He learned that, while it made life easier, money did not make it better. What made it better was purpose. He found one, maybe two, and found many ways to accomplish them, some with money and some without.
And then one day he was tired. No, not tired of his purpose, but tired of the wealth and of the things that went with it; tired of false friends, tired of those living in pretense of either importance or victimhood, and (curiously enough) tired of always getting what he wanted. His mind wandered back to the Tom Thumb and the buildings and towns that had sprung up because of it. He thought again of the lives affected by it – lived in glory or ruin or everything in between. And he wondered if in some grand tangle of meaning the Tom Thumb that had brought newness and greatness was somehow inextricably linked to the miniature folklore character who found trouble.
In such ponderings he found himself as he walked through tall grasses on a beautiful day. Ah. Here it was. The spot. He looked around and, seeing no one, dug down and placed one or two – or maybe more – gold coins just visible in the ground. Maybe some lucky or unlucky soul would come upon it as he had done. He wished whoever it was well, but did not wish it again for himself. After all, troubles of the rich aren’t necessarily dwarfed by troubles of the poor.
He began his return walk without a backward glance and no regret.
God hates a coward. That was a tweaking comment made to someone in These Happy Golden Days, a book in the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. Did God actually say such a thing? Sorry to break any preconceptions of Jesus coming on a white horse with a white flag to match. No, He’ll have a sword. We find something like that in Revelation 21:7-8.
He who overcomes shall inherit all things, and I will be his God and he shall be My son.
But the cowardly, unbelieving, vile, murderers, sexually immoral, sorcerers, idolators, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burns with fire and brimstone which is the second death.
It seems to me there’s a gradation on the road from cowardice to courage. Oh sure. Sometimes a burst of courage busts out of someone (maybe you) from seemingly out of nowhere and shocks us all. But it is often more like dipping one’s toe in the shallow end of the pool and going from there. You start by making a comment no one expects, move to rejecting social mores that don’t make sense, and pretty soon you find yourself speaking truth to a crowd who doesn’t want to hear it and feeling something akin to Keanu Reeves or Sandra Bullock in the movie Speed. Good times, eh? No one wants to be a coward, but very few want to be at the front of a battle either.
Sometimes people think fear makes someone a coward, but I agree with George Patton who said, Courage is fear holding on a minute longer. The person who breaks through the roadblock of emotion is the one who shows courage. Many of us must simply push past feelings and intimidation, put on a brave face, and do the right thing regardless of personal consequence. Those who live by faith, also live by God’s assurance that His strength helps us in our weakness.
I don’t believe we’ll be waving to each other across a lake of fire. I am confident, dear reader, that you and I will do what needs to be done during times of trial. We look to good examples and imitate them. But might we also consider this: Maybe the antithesis of courage isn’t cowardice or fear. Maybe it’s conformity.Quote: found in These Happy Golden Years by Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House series, published by Harper and Brothers, June 15, 1940; Speed: 1994 American action thriller written by Graham Yost, Produced by Mark Gordon, The Mark Gordon Company, and directed by Jan de Bont; courage – George Patton; Image: lion-pexels-alexas-fotos-2220336.jpg; Scripture: Revelation 19:11-16; Revelation 21:7-8; Romans 8:31
“No! I said it should go there!” The overseer slammed him against some rock and pointed.
The workman picked up the heavy stone and moved it two feet to the right. He rubbed the place on his back and shoulder where he’d hit the rock. The overseer was not only inconsistent, but easily angered. This needs to go here. No, there – are you deaf! We don’t have time for a lunch break. Get back to work. A funeral? Really! And who’s supposed to pick up your slack when you’re not here?!
Maybe he should find another place to work. But where? His shepherding days were past. He didn’t mind manual labor. He was proud to have worked on the Masada, but the space had a weird feel to it for some reason; and although it was a feather in his cap, he was glad to move on. He’d worked on a few small synagogues and now on the temple complex in Jerusalem. It was steady work, and didn’t appear to be slowing down soon. But the overseer! He dreaded coming to work each day. A tightness in his chest took hold, and he didn’t try to release it. He didn’t believe he would ever be able to forgive the man for his harshness. Or want to. No, it would take some kind of miracle to forgive the guy, and he wasn’t asking for one. He was the worst he’d ever encountered.
He mulled it over. He could use a miracle about now – but not to forgive. No, he could use a miracle to lead him to another job or help him endure the one he had. He’d heard of miracles taking place. Some didn’t believe such things. But he did.
He was picking up another block when a cacophony broke out on the other side of the wall. Searching for the overseer and not seeing him, he moved toward the crowd to see what the noise was about. He saw a man carrying a cross. It was nothing new these days. But something stopped him from returning to work. And the man carrying the cross looked at him, caught his eye, and held his gaze for a moment. A chill he couldn’t identify ran through him.
He wished he could look at those eyes forever, for it was then he remembered. He recalled a quiet night that had been disrupted by the loudest shout and song he had ever heard. He remembered falling to the ground in fear, and running to a manger in the little town nearby. And he saw once again in his memory a baby in a manger just as he had been told, the steaming breath of nearby animals, and how, when the mother picked up the baby, the tiny one looked at him over her shoulder.
And just like that, nothing else mattered.
Images: start-public-domain-pictures.net_.jpg; creche.jpg; Music: Connie Miller Pease, https://www.jwpepper.com/Softly-Now-He-Comes/10686074.item
The mother tucked in her little boy, running her fingers lightly through his wispy hair. Whispering an extra prayer, she tiptoed from the room. He was already sound asleep.
The clock had just struck three in the morning when the little boy woke. He climbed out of his crib landing with a quiet thump, plodded into his parents’ room on little footie pajama feet, and, unable to wake them, wandered into the living room. The Christmas tree’s glowing lights twinkled softly bringing a delighted smile to his face.
He stood on tiptoe, looking out the picture window to the neighbor’s house across the street. The front door creaked as the little boy pushed it open and slid through the space between doorjamb and door and onto the front step. Oops! He slipped and landed in the snow. But he was up in no time. Snowflakes drifted gently down, crowning his little towhead with white and just touching his eyelashes.
There it was: the blow-up reindeer and an elf beside it! Finally! He’d be able to look at it up close! Snow soaked through his pajamas to his tiny feet, and he hurried to touch the forbidden decoration. It was bigger than he remembered! Reaching out his hand, red with cold, he touched it and – what was that? Did it actually blink?!
The wind picked up and snow skittered across the snowy yards and street. The little boy’s ears burned! Why would they burn when it was cold? He covered his ears with his hands. It didn’t help. It just made his fingers tingle.
A quiet voice whispered, “Back you go, dear one.” The elf? He thought he should go home, but his little feet felt frozen – glued to the ground. He stood there uncertainly as his body shivered. The quiet of the dark night held little to comfort him, and tears began to slide down his cheeks. What could he do? Jesus, keep me through the night, he whispered. He couldn’t recall the next line of the prayer. Jesus, keep me through the night, he repeated. The reindeer and elf stood immovable. He looked over at the pretty tree lights shining through his own home’s window. How he wished he was there now! But his feet! They were so cold!
Suddenly he was back in his living room and the front door firmly locked. He took a few steps and lay down on the floor by the beautiful tree.
He grew inexplicably warm, and it was there his mother found him the next morning; soaked to the skin, but covered and tucked in with two cozy blankets.
And his angel sighed with a tired smile. Safe until the morning light . . .
Original prayer by Mabel J. Cachiaras; Images: lighted-christmas-tree-1708601-1.jpg; selective-color-photography-of-pine-leaf-1263891.jpg; pexels-photo-717988.jpeg
His clear baritone cut through the icy air. Jingle bells! Jingle bells! He pulled up to the curb, pulled two packages from his truck, made the delivery, and was back in his seat and on key within three minutes. Jingle all the way! Oh what fun it is to ride in a one horse open sleigh! Hey!
He turned the corner, checked his delivery list, and glanced at the clock. Just maybe he’d be home at a decent hour tonight. He couldn’t bet on anything, but it looked like maybe. He mentally crossed his fingers. T’was the season.
He’d be blasted if it silenced his music! Jingle bells! Jingle bells! Jingle all the way! He pulled up. There it was. His second to last delivery. He was out and back in two. He looked down to ascertain the final address. Rats. It was that one: the one that was always the dickens to find! He’d think he’d located it, then the house was two blocks down. Or down an alley and behind a tall hedge. It was almost as if it moved, and the trick was on him.
To be honest, one time the delay caused by the troublesome address had kept him from an accident on the way home. He’d ‘ve been on 94 at the very spot for sure had he not spent the extra twenty minutes driving around like a lunatic looking for the house. That night he had sat in backed-up traffic for more than an hour; but when he’d witnessed the scene he thanked his lucky stars time spent looking for the stupid house and waiting in the line of traffic was the worst he’d experienced. Oh! And there was another time he’d happened on a stray dog due to hunting for the house. The dog looked pretty rough – like he’d been in the elements for awhile. He’d gained weight with good food and eventually had a jaunty trot. The delivery man named him Bowser. He was no doubt snoozing on the chair he wasn’t supposed to sit on this very minute.
He hummed as he turned on his GPS. He usually didn’t have much time for it. It took him indirectly to where he needed to go and the woman’s voice was as irritating as heck. But maybe he could find the mysterious address with less trouble this one night. Oh what fun it is to ride in a . . .
SCREECH! The old woman appeared out of nowhere. He slammed on the breaks, just barely avoiding hitting her. It mattered little. She’d been startled and fell to the ground anyway. Probably slipped on the ice. He pulled his delivery truck to the side of the road and hurried to help her up. Her moaning wasn’t a good sign.
“My back. Ohhh my back.” She looked up at him as he squatted beside her.
“Is anything else hurt, Ma’am?” How he wished he’d been a minute later or a minute sooner!
She struggled to raise herself.
“I’m so sorry. Let me call for help.”
“It’s not your fault. Just give me a minute. I hate to think of an ambulance bill.”
He stayed with her then. And they talked of Christmases past and present, how her back had bothered her for years, and how she knew better than to venture out so late. He placed his rough hand gently on her back and nodded sympathetically. Her face grew curious and his hand grew exceedingly warm.
“Leave it there. It feels like, like, I don’t know.”
His hand tingled and he felt heat radiating from it. What a strange encounter! Then, suddenly, his hand returned to its normal temperature. Her face aglow, she jumped up with no trouble at all.
“My back! My back feels like I’m 20 again! Are you an angel?”
He shook his head quickly. “No, Ma’am. I’m a . . . I’m a . . .” He searched his brain for something. “I’m a Christian.”
He didn’t know what to make of it.
“A healer then?”
“No, Ma’am. I don’t do anything special. I just deliver packages.”
“Well you delivered a stunner tonight! Let me pay you!”
He backed away. “No, Ma’am. I’m just glad you’re alright.”
“Alright? I’ve lived with back pain for fifteen years! Fifteen! Let me do something for you. Anything.”
He looked at his watch, then his truck. All hope of getting home at a decent hour had fled. His route would take another thirty minutes for sure. “Could you tell me how to get to this address?” With little hope he held it out to her.
She glanced at it and laughed – a sweet, tinkling laugh. She turned, then reveling in the motion, twirled around, and pointed. “It’s straight ahead.”
He couldn’t believe his eyes.
She started down the street with a hop and, of all things, a skip. And the delivery man turned the key as his truck roared to life. One. Horse. O-pen. Sleigh!!!
She’d switched out her morning cup of coffee for tea – tea with raw honey – otherwise it was too bitter, and bitterness was something she was trying to avoid. That and, of course, fear. Who hadn’t felt at least a tinge of fear these days?
She tucked her long legs under her as she settled into her favorite chair, a soft yellow armchair with a crisscross pattern in forest green. It didn’t feel like a chair, but like a pillow with just the right amount of firmness.
She stared into space and thought of current events. For one thing, the vaccine that had everyone disagreeing with everyone else worried her. She’d done all the right things. But now she wondered if she and half the population had been led out of the frying pan and into the fire, and also wondered if there was a way to jump out of the fire and back into the frying pan.
She sipped her tea. Another? Was her DNA really being damaged by toxins from food and water, medicine, and even clouds (of all things) in the sky? Had her body been biologically altered without her knowledge somehow? And what was that article she’d read while waiting at her auto mechanic for an oil change? Could that cutesy test she’d taken three years ago to find out her exact lineage actually allow some bad actor to create a genome-specific pathogen leading to ethnic cleansing? Hers?
The flicker of candlelight in the window caught her eye. The flame was battery-powered, but it was easier and almost the same.
What about those poor people she’d read about: the ones who were being trafficked? Enslaved, more like. Or worse. It turned her stomach, and she’d rather not think about it. Was it really possible there were so many? Was she supposed to do something about it and, if so, what?
Border trouble went without saying, and the people who struggled with drug use were more vulnerable than ever. She glanced across the street at her neighbor’s house.
Politics and fraudulent elections tracked through her thoughts. Scrunching her eyes shut, she opened them again.
Weather events seemed to be happening so often now. Had it always been this way and she’d just not known of it until fast-access media?
And China. And Russia. And the Middle East.
A soft sigh escaped her lips. In the past few years, fear had become more of a millstone than a warning. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. Fear was a tool, not a tyrant.
And it was Christmastime. Three days before Christmas, to be exact. It was the time of carols and cards, cookies and twinkly lights and poinsettias. She wanted it all and had none. She’d need a miracle to find her Christmas spirit this year!
Determinedly, she opened her Bible and read. She might as well start at the beginning. Hmm. Things weren’t exactly red bows and wrapping paper that first Christmas. Why were the three kings included in the story everybody knew and not the bad one: the one who arranged for little boys 2 years old and under to be killed? She wished genocide didn’t sound so familiar. And as she read, everything else she witnessed each day was somehow in the pages of scripture. Border trouble? Nehemiah. Weather events? God used signs in the sky all the time! Revelation didn’t talk of a Christmas star, but promised oh so many other signs. So did Matthew. So did Joel. Even her concerns about DNA were there on the thin pages. The very first thing written was that she was made in God’s image. The God above all gods was imprinted in her. In her! How kind of Him.
She drained her cup. The most honey was at the bottom, she thought with a wry smile. As she continued to read, two words jumped from the page. She should have known. If not today, tomorrow; and if not tomorrow, eventually. Eventually everything would be okay. Better than okay! It would be more merry and bright than she’d ever imagined! Satan didn’t have the last word. Jesus did! She got up and poured another cup of tea. With Honey.
Articles and videos: https://youtu.be/1B-L_wfbhXc Project Veritas: HHS Whistleblower Says Government Complicit in Trafficking; Child Admits Being ‘Pimped’ by Sponsor; https://rumble.com/v1xqj6a-lara-logan-on-balenciaga-scandal-and-child-trafficking-more-broadly.html; https://youtu.be/OGlpLZEekeQ Glenn Beck: Balanciaga’s DARKNESS goes WAY FURTHER than teddy bears; https://rumble.com/v1y6yxw-p-a-r-a-s-i-t-e-s-..html; https://www.foxnews.com/us/fentanyl-crisis-continues-to-ravage-us-communities-border-drug-trafficking-hits-new-records-memo; https://youtu.be/c0cGOuSuIt0 Dr. John Campbell: Excess deaths, mixed news, lack of data; https://substack.com/profile/40661664-steve-kirsch; https://www.stewpeters.com/video/2022/11/live-world-premiere-died-suddenly/; https://youtu.be/E7-6rG1Rz9U Man in America: Will China’s Mass Protests COLLAPSE the CCP?; https://www.neurocienciasdrnasser.com/post/could-mrna-vaccines-permanently-alter-dna-recent-science-suggests-they-might; https://stream.org/can-mrna-vaccines-alter-human-dna-new-study-blows-debate-wide-open/; https://www.medicaldaily.com/can-mra-vaccine-change-dna-459011; https://allianceforscience.cornell.edu/blog/2020/12/yes-some-covid-vaccines-use-genetic-engineering-get-over-it/; https://t.me/PepeMatter/13250; https://t.me/team1anons/18089; https://www.youtube.com/@RyanHallYall; https://www.youtube.com/@dutchsinse; Matthew 2:16; Nehemiah; Colossians 1:13; Genesis 1:27; https://youtu.be/_J6yeIxKmJ4; Revelation 6; Isaiah 41:10; II Timothy 1:7; John 14:27; Luke 1:30; Luke 2:10-11; Image: pexels-varvara-galvas-8850651.jpg; candle-in-window-lecoffreauimages.centerblog.net_.jpg
We most often think of things we see and events we experience when we give thanks. Well-loved places and people come to mind when we list our gratefulness. But, Father, our thankfulness must be wider and deeper, for beyond all of these are the invisible things from Your hand. Your love, of course. Yet more: Grace, Patience, Forgiveness, Discipline, Comfort, and Mercy.
We thank you for revealing evil to us so that we can see good more clearly. Thank you for pricking our conscience so that we can kneel in repentance. It’s not a punishment. It’s a gift. Thank you for teaching us courage. Thank you for the sense of Your Holiness in moments of quiet. Your patience is beyond our understanding. Your mercy – wider and deeper than we can grasp.
You never fail. You are faithful always. And, our dearest God, this day we are grateful for You in all of Your perfection and beauty. We give this day and all days to You, for You and You alone deserve all praise.
. . . that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth. – Abraham Lincoln, November, 1863
After it all . . .
President Abraham Lincoln, Gettysburg Address, November 19, 1863
